Monday, September 17, 2007
The Rock
Actually, for most of them it all began well before the rocks popped up on their left hands.
The Thesis Widow
A thesis widow can come in many forms.
She could be an art major, taking sculpture and creative writing classes as an undergraduate at the same university where her husband is slaving through his plasma physics PhD. She has no degree in mind, necessarily, just living the free spirit life that goes along with the free spirit town where they live. She followed her husband to this town.
She could be a budding radio broadcaster from Toronto, who, due to the brutal unwillingness of international governments to properly share and transfer members of their workforces, cannot get a work visa to land a job in the field she loves. Instead she takes a job as a nanny for two beautiful little girls and learns more about herself than she ever thought she would. She followed her husband to this town.
She could be a PhD student herself, remotely finishing her degree in environmental engineering. She finishes her PhD years ahead of her husband. She will be the first doctor in this town! But this town doesn't have much to offer for a brilliant environmental engineering PhD, and she settles for a job at the local utility company, where her resources are appreciated but her wings are clipped. She followed her husband to this town.
She could be a bright and motivated law student, set to start her own firm and save the world. But starting her own firm in this town is difficult, and her husband is primed to up and move when he is done with his degree. So instead of working towards her dream, she takes a position at a non-profit firm and holds in her reigns until she can put down roots for her law firm. She followed her husband to this town.
She could be a teacher, working towards her master's degree in education. But this school isn't paying her tuition, and she works nights and early mornings at a local hotel restaurant to pay for her degree. Then her husband's advisor moves to another university, and she is forced to finish her degree in a rush and go as the wind blows. She followed her husband to this town, and followed him to the next.
She could have her degree in business, her mind in investments, but she moves from on unsatisfying job to the next - saleswoman at Victoria's Secret, teacher for a craft company, advocate for uninsured children. She is a City Girl at heart and can't quite find the right place here. She followed her husband to this town.
She could be an art major, taking sculpture and creative writing classes as an undergraduate at the same university where her husband is slaving through his plasma physics PhD. She has no degree in mind, necessarily, just living the free spirit life that goes along with the free spirit town where they live. She followed her husband to this town.
She could be a budding radio broadcaster from Toronto, who, due to the brutal unwillingness of international governments to properly share and transfer members of their workforces, cannot get a work visa to land a job in the field she loves. Instead she takes a job as a nanny for two beautiful little girls and learns more about herself than she ever thought she would. She followed her husband to this town.
She could be a PhD student herself, remotely finishing her degree in environmental engineering. She finishes her PhD years ahead of her husband. She will be the first doctor in this town! But this town doesn't have much to offer for a brilliant environmental engineering PhD, and she settles for a job at the local utility company, where her resources are appreciated but her wings are clipped. She followed her husband to this town.
She could be a bright and motivated law student, set to start her own firm and save the world. But starting her own firm in this town is difficult, and her husband is primed to up and move when he is done with his degree. So instead of working towards her dream, she takes a position at a non-profit firm and holds in her reigns until she can put down roots for her law firm. She followed her husband to this town.
She could be a teacher, working towards her master's degree in education. But this school isn't paying her tuition, and she works nights and early mornings at a local hotel restaurant to pay for her degree. Then her husband's advisor moves to another university, and she is forced to finish her degree in a rush and go as the wind blows. She followed her husband to this town, and followed him to the next.
She could have her degree in business, her mind in investments, but she moves from on unsatisfying job to the next - saleswoman at Victoria's Secret, teacher for a craft company, advocate for uninsured children. She is a City Girl at heart and can't quite find the right place here. She followed her husband to this town.
I'm writing again
I used to write faithfully every night since fifth grade. It would be the ins and outs of my day - what we had for dinner, how much homework I had, what test I studied for, which charming high school guy I liked at the moment. In college it got a little more serious - the life questions started, like Do I really like this major, and Wow it's hard to live with a total and complete stranger, Now the boyfriend interests mean a little bit more. Grad school... it was all about Devon... when's he going to propose!? Are we ready to get married? Eventually... yes we were, and we are :) For 3 months and one day, to be exact!
I have probably 35 journals at my mother's house, filled to the brim with words, and five more like them here with me in Madison. Those five are the more recent ones, of course, filled with literature not appropriate for Mom's potentially wandering eyes as she cleans out my old bedroom to paint and redecorate! At least I hope I didn't leave anything juicy behind...
Each one was different. I loved picking out the next journal. I would always use them in the order that I got them, even if some were gifts... I had to be fair to the little books, of course. One had a bright green tree frog on the front. One had a red barn with yellow fields... I bought that one when I was in Sweden. One had a pink purse and little yellow and purple high heels to boot... from Grandma.
I started a journal specially when Devon and I got engaged. I wrote about the excitement and the planning and the gown shopping and the flower choosing and the invitation making and the showers. I spent the entire honeymoon writing about the wedding day! Its pages took me EXACTLY to the end of our wedding reception.
I have a new, blank journal, its fresh pages waiting to be filled. It says in small letters on the front: Bride. It's from my mother-in-law. I want to write in it so badly but I'm so nervous that I won't be faithful, that I won't catch every detail, that I just don't have time to get out a pen and fill its fresh pages with my thoughts. I never thought I'd resort to a blog to "write." It seems traitorous to post my thoughts on its boring electronic facade, when I have such beautiful fresh enticing pages awaiting me to catch every little detail, every blunder- there's no backspace when you're writing.
But I'm giving it a shot because some "writing" is better than no writing.
I have probably 35 journals at my mother's house, filled to the brim with words, and five more like them here with me in Madison. Those five are the more recent ones, of course, filled with literature not appropriate for Mom's potentially wandering eyes as she cleans out my old bedroom to paint and redecorate! At least I hope I didn't leave anything juicy behind...
Each one was different. I loved picking out the next journal. I would always use them in the order that I got them, even if some were gifts... I had to be fair to the little books, of course. One had a bright green tree frog on the front. One had a red barn with yellow fields... I bought that one when I was in Sweden. One had a pink purse and little yellow and purple high heels to boot... from Grandma.
I started a journal specially when Devon and I got engaged. I wrote about the excitement and the planning and the gown shopping and the flower choosing and the invitation making and the showers. I spent the entire honeymoon writing about the wedding day! Its pages took me EXACTLY to the end of our wedding reception.
I have a new, blank journal, its fresh pages waiting to be filled. It says in small letters on the front: Bride. It's from my mother-in-law. I want to write in it so badly but I'm so nervous that I won't be faithful, that I won't catch every detail, that I just don't have time to get out a pen and fill its fresh pages with my thoughts. I never thought I'd resort to a blog to "write." It seems traitorous to post my thoughts on its boring electronic facade, when I have such beautiful fresh enticing pages awaiting me to catch every little detail, every blunder- there's no backspace when you're writing.
But I'm giving it a shot because some "writing" is better than no writing.
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