I was at the US Federal Courthouse in Milwaukee last week. My first impression (while standing in the security line with my shoes in hand) was of great detail and beauty. The building reminded me of a state capitol buildling, albeit with skylights instead of a dome.
As I walked through the atrium and found my way to my destination, I was struck my the old-ness of the building. Modern buildings are all metal and fabric and simplicity, with restrooms in places that are easy to find and designs that are based on cost-savings. The Federal Courthous is clearly not modern. It is all marble and wood and detail, with restrooms that are behind wooden doors that look no different from all the other doors in the hallway. The building was built for beauty and permanence.
At the time I was there, two main activities were taking place: third floor, Naturalization Ceremony, 4th floor, bankruptcy hearings. Two faces of the American dream, one floor apart. Standing in the security line, I could see the faces--the exuberant faces of families and children tehre to celebrate a decision, an accomplishment, an opportunity. And I saw the subdued faces and bowed shoulders of those there with the burdens of financial failure. It was a stark contrast, to be sure.
As my business concluded, I was able to take my time in meandering my way out of the building. I saw many other pieces of the American dream--a senator's office, people working to earn money for their families and contribute to the grandness of the building, and even a display on crime in Wisconsin. As I looked through the display materials on identify theft and rape, it occurred to me that part of the American dream was about many opportunities--the opportunity to succeed financially, the opportunity to publicly and legally acknowledge one's self as an American, the opportunity to pursue justice, and the opportunity to try again.
Going into the US Federal Courthouse, I saw two faces of the American dream. Leaving, I saw the beautiful old building as a symbol of endurance and strength. Just one American dream after all, as strong and enduring and beautiful as ever.
Monday, April 26, 2010
Saturday, April 17, 2010
what women do
For some time, I have been thinking about the way women connect with each other. Several episodes come to mind, and I wish I could find a perfect metaphor for these connections.
becoming a woman
When my daughter was in fifth or sixth grade, her friend's dad died after a painful battle against cancer. This wasn't a particularly close friend at the time, but my daughter had lost an aunt to cancer and felt a connection of support. All the girls in the girl scout troop went to the funeral, girls in one row and most of the moms together in the row behind them. We watched our daughters be women that day. During the service, the girls cried at the appropriate times while their mothers cried behind them and patted their shoulders.
After the service, when it was time for everyone to walk by and hug the family members, I watched an amazing thing happen. The girls would surround Friend BT, giving individual hugs to her and to each other and then engaging in a group hug and crying together. Then, the girls would all wander off to the ladies' room, talking about why they cried while hugging and crying again, and then they'd head back to Friend BT to do it all over again.
They were all caught up in this shared experience, but these pre-teen girls were doing what women do--supporting, hugging, crying, and sharing each other's sorrow.
women supporting women
My time on www.hystersisters.com has shown me a great deal of what women do so well--share their experiences to provide support and encouragement for each other. In my time as a hostess, I've seen this work even more deeply. I am often logged into AIM in order to be able to stay in touch with my sister hostesses. The conversations I've had with these wonderful women have taught me so much about relationships. There are several women I chat with on a regular basis. Most of the time, we are conducting some business--Could you check out this thread? Did I explain myself clearly? How should we promote this feature? How should I handle this situation? Yet, as women do, in the midst of the "getting things done" is the "getting to know you better." I have chatted about faith, religion, abortion, husbands, sex toys, lubricants, children, and more--and while we are chatting about these very personal things, we are circling back to the work of the website. We know each other because we have a shared work-"place," and our work becomes more enjoyable and more meaningful because we know each other as sisters, not just as colleagues.
When I moved offices this year, I found that the most difficult change was not that I was losing my window or having to change my patterns (such as having to park in a different lot and using a different bathroom). It was that I ceased to be part of the daily lives of my colleagues. It used to be that every day included brief moments of sharing the joys and frustrations of our lives--the kids, the spouses, the commute, the price of milk or gas, or the student who came late to class every day. Now, instead of the rich texture that this daily sharing wove together, when I see these colleagues and friends, we have time only for the highlights, and our relationships seem much more tenuous somehow. Whereas I used to see one woman three mornings a week and could find out quickly which kid had been sick the night before, now I see her once a month, and not in the comfortable way of stopping in each other's offices on the way to the bathroom or the way back from class.
When I left the school where I began my career, my heart ached that I wouldn't be able to see what became of my colleagues' lives and families. What did Sean (or Shawn--I can't even remember) end up doing after high school? Did Tina become a grandmother? Is Jan still alive? Did Barb and Wayne get married? To this day, that is still what I treasure hearing about. The women who supported me as I finished my master's thesis, got married, had children, earned tenure, spent 3 1/2 months on bedrest, and juggled three little ones under the age of three are still part of my heart even though not part of my life.
drop and run
On Christmas Day, my daughter received a phone call shortly before we were about to sit down to Christmas dinner. It was her friend, ET, who was having a difficult day with her relatives, who were teasing her about her piercing choices. My daughter dropped everything to run--literally, to ET's grandma's house a block away. She stayed long enough to listen, give hugs, get ET to laugh, and then she headed back home.
Several weeks ago, I got a message from one of my life-long friends that she was worried about her marriage. So, I met her on Facebook chat to "listen" to her concerns about her husband, her job, her marriage, and her life. We were online together for well over an hour. It reminded me of the way we used to talk on the phone for more than an hour in high school. We could have just seen each other an hour before, but we had to connect--to make sure the other one was completely up-to-the-minute on our other conversations, our mean parents who made us do an unpleasant chore, our feelings about something. It wasn't so much that we set aside what was going on in life as much as that we recognized how much this relationship WAS our life (or at least an important part of it).
To see my daughter drop everything and run to her friend's side was heart-warming. It reminded me that this is what women do, and the fact that she was the one who was called said so much about the depth of the young woman she is. Just last week, she was texting after midnight with BT, on the anniversary of her father's death. Together, they marked the anniversary of a sad, sad time in BT's life. To me, it was the anniversary of the moment my daughter became a woman.
becoming a woman
When my daughter was in fifth or sixth grade, her friend's dad died after a painful battle against cancer. This wasn't a particularly close friend at the time, but my daughter had lost an aunt to cancer and felt a connection of support. All the girls in the girl scout troop went to the funeral, girls in one row and most of the moms together in the row behind them. We watched our daughters be women that day. During the service, the girls cried at the appropriate times while their mothers cried behind them and patted their shoulders.
After the service, when it was time for everyone to walk by and hug the family members, I watched an amazing thing happen. The girls would surround Friend BT, giving individual hugs to her and to each other and then engaging in a group hug and crying together. Then, the girls would all wander off to the ladies' room, talking about why they cried while hugging and crying again, and then they'd head back to Friend BT to do it all over again.
They were all caught up in this shared experience, but these pre-teen girls were doing what women do--supporting, hugging, crying, and sharing each other's sorrow.
women supporting women
My time on www.hystersisters.com has shown me a great deal of what women do so well--share their experiences to provide support and encouragement for each other. In my time as a hostess, I've seen this work even more deeply. I am often logged into AIM in order to be able to stay in touch with my sister hostesses. The conversations I've had with these wonderful women have taught me so much about relationships. There are several women I chat with on a regular basis. Most of the time, we are conducting some business--Could you check out this thread? Did I explain myself clearly? How should we promote this feature? How should I handle this situation? Yet, as women do, in the midst of the "getting things done" is the "getting to know you better." I have chatted about faith, religion, abortion, husbands, sex toys, lubricants, children, and more--and while we are chatting about these very personal things, we are circling back to the work of the website. We know each other because we have a shared work-"place," and our work becomes more enjoyable and more meaningful because we know each other as sisters, not just as colleagues.
When I moved offices this year, I found that the most difficult change was not that I was losing my window or having to change my patterns (such as having to park in a different lot and using a different bathroom). It was that I ceased to be part of the daily lives of my colleagues. It used to be that every day included brief moments of sharing the joys and frustrations of our lives--the kids, the spouses, the commute, the price of milk or gas, or the student who came late to class every day. Now, instead of the rich texture that this daily sharing wove together, when I see these colleagues and friends, we have time only for the highlights, and our relationships seem much more tenuous somehow. Whereas I used to see one woman three mornings a week and could find out quickly which kid had been sick the night before, now I see her once a month, and not in the comfortable way of stopping in each other's offices on the way to the bathroom or the way back from class.
When I left the school where I began my career, my heart ached that I wouldn't be able to see what became of my colleagues' lives and families. What did Sean (or Shawn--I can't even remember) end up doing after high school? Did Tina become a grandmother? Is Jan still alive? Did Barb and Wayne get married? To this day, that is still what I treasure hearing about. The women who supported me as I finished my master's thesis, got married, had children, earned tenure, spent 3 1/2 months on bedrest, and juggled three little ones under the age of three are still part of my heart even though not part of my life.
drop and run
On Christmas Day, my daughter received a phone call shortly before we were about to sit down to Christmas dinner. It was her friend, ET, who was having a difficult day with her relatives, who were teasing her about her piercing choices. My daughter dropped everything to run--literally, to ET's grandma's house a block away. She stayed long enough to listen, give hugs, get ET to laugh, and then she headed back home.
Several weeks ago, I got a message from one of my life-long friends that she was worried about her marriage. So, I met her on Facebook chat to "listen" to her concerns about her husband, her job, her marriage, and her life. We were online together for well over an hour. It reminded me of the way we used to talk on the phone for more than an hour in high school. We could have just seen each other an hour before, but we had to connect--to make sure the other one was completely up-to-the-minute on our other conversations, our mean parents who made us do an unpleasant chore, our feelings about something. It wasn't so much that we set aside what was going on in life as much as that we recognized how much this relationship WAS our life (or at least an important part of it).
To see my daughter drop everything and run to her friend's side was heart-warming. It reminded me that this is what women do, and the fact that she was the one who was called said so much about the depth of the young woman she is. Just last week, she was texting after midnight with BT, on the anniversary of her father's death. Together, they marked the anniversary of a sad, sad time in BT's life. To me, it was the anniversary of the moment my daughter became a woman.
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