tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13491287150822299902024-03-28T20:30:13.883-07:00Isotope Queen-Biogeochemistry MemoirIsotope Queenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00346511476816956274noreply@blogger.comBlogger218125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349128715082229990.post-40722608063652808002022-04-28T18:05:00.004-07:002022-04-28T18:08:52.597-07:00Rounding Third Base and Heading Home<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLZxX4ZzJqvAVcqe4zVUCHCsQcHtT6xe2aDfjT66f70klfqmydqYhjb4y73QjZeS5Mqpv_zSSzoUplcx0lIxW7xKBZNJ-m1c_YGDo_E23O195FhIBwJ88Yo_izgNk3crrQquv3dw0NoKdyB2ni9nyTOILpsUmxpOB63lnASD87IMRrkIW83sxQyliQhQ/s4032/IMG_2356.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLZxX4ZzJqvAVcqe4zVUCHCsQcHtT6xe2aDfjT66f70klfqmydqYhjb4y73QjZeS5Mqpv_zSSzoUplcx0lIxW7xKBZNJ-m1c_YGDo_E23O195FhIBwJ88Yo_izgNk3crrQquv3dw0NoKdyB2ni9nyTOILpsUmxpOB63lnASD87IMRrkIW83sxQyliQhQ/w400-h300/IMG_2356.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cards from Franny and Flowers the Rumbles<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />
<p></p><p class="MsoNormal">My daughter Dana is marrying George Goryan on June 25 at our
home in Mariposa. Family and friends will gather on the hot June evening, enjoy
outdoor games, drinks, and good food. It is my personal goal to make it to
their wedding.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The two months will not be easy. The Isotope Queen is using non-invasive
ventilation much of the time to help me breathe. My son Evan is taking Family
Medical leave to help out with the never-ending care chores. We have hired a
great new caregiver, Carol, who massages my legs, gives me showers, and
prepares blended soups.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">My care team is expanding. A home health team will look in
and help out weekly. Soon I will transition to hospice care. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">My journey is rounding third base and heading for home.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">ALS patients die of exhaustion. As your breathing muscles
weaken, breaths are shallow, then non-existent. You can’t chew or swallow. You
lose all that weight you spent a lifetime accumulating.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Mentally, your days shrink. The layers of life are peeled
back leaving only what is fundamental, basic, and important. Work is no longer
center stage. Survival is what’s on my to do list.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Eventually, it becomes Your Time. Your Time to accept what
people have accepted for time immemorial. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">And it’s OK. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I am surrounded by love—loving people, family, friends near
and far. I couldn’t be more fortunate.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I am starting to say Goodbye. At 6 years post diagnosis, I
have had the luxury to do many things, share laughs and meals. It’s been a
great journey.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPh5lK5TRSJoeC-N-CyYvA4XwR4C67kGzOYZEOR0HFxG7seQe9qSK4fOi4CS_DWW6y3R-DDHWDxe4LedIOepb8XnzfIlJzmuJeN1awhB_PDcZjSHhT53tjbi0YDukjs6VT1-oLmw9zYaMBwP9F8C18uQDs5vYD_tBL_I4Ye5WL1IGamUtdHMwPiq1JcQ/s1280/unnamed-3.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPh5lK5TRSJoeC-N-CyYvA4XwR4C67kGzOYZEOR0HFxG7seQe9qSK4fOi4CS_DWW6y3R-DDHWDxe4LedIOepb8XnzfIlJzmuJeN1awhB_PDcZjSHhT53tjbi0YDukjs6VT1-oLmw9zYaMBwP9F8C18uQDs5vYD_tBL_I4Ye5WL1IGamUtdHMwPiq1JcQ/w400-h300/unnamed-3.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Evan, Chris, Steelie, Annalise, 2022<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span>
<p class="MsoNormal">This past week, Science Brother Andrew Steele AKA Steelie
visited with his daughter Annalise. We told stories of field work in the
Arctic. Laughed.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br />
And cried when we hugged and said Goodbye. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br />
It will be an emotional couple of months—but it is my goal to find beauty in
every day. Today, for example Science Brother Doug Rumble and his wife Karen
sent (yet another) bouquet of flowers. And my Old Pal Famous Franny sent 10
cards that I opened one a day for the past few days. What great folks.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I have finished working on a Memory Book for my Moorestown
New Jersey class of 1970. It’s 120 pages of photos, memories and life stories
from more than half our class 52 years ago. I have enjoyed this immensely. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Dana and George are coming nightly to help Chris get me
safely in bed. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I am lucky and blessed in so many ways. And determined to go
forward!</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtRBwUFwjKIVT9uwjXzICdo8N0zRQAkHKFZszAdkft3JLhuwAs3XPovstTeT_6eqibs-fj2JmYYrBKxqHhiz6gsTT-sG7_P3S6seSMH47D3gmINJyLtqI_S2CSdZxHV_lDvKyxvsNMny7ITJCdKm3vujmxEjpugwy2wIEghrHiTxq_k_J2iDfDaHVfag/s1632/IMG_0016.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1224" data-original-width="1632" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtRBwUFwjKIVT9uwjXzICdo8N0zRQAkHKFZszAdkft3JLhuwAs3XPovstTeT_6eqibs-fj2JmYYrBKxqHhiz6gsTT-sG7_P3S6seSMH47D3gmINJyLtqI_S2CSdZxHV_lDvKyxvsNMny7ITJCdKm3vujmxEjpugwy2wIEghrHiTxq_k_J2iDfDaHVfag/w400-h300/IMG_0016.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
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{page:WordSection1;}</style></p>Isotope Queenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00346511476816956274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349128715082229990.post-17162100393785417142022-04-04T17:29:00.002-07:002022-04-04T17:49:52.275-07:00Happiness and Wellbeing from the Isotope Queen<p> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoP0mBg1zR9IZLUWz8E1TrWmH8lHkWq_5utfkrYCI0AR7rS1dehVr3vM_6dvc41X97hFIB0AezU2WR_ne_bRtAWTL6VsD-OAOV2VMYwcbHU9rphogq2J-s8us_NTVhliF5CaVEV9lUzGJpBnNiDcMz3BX5swRWfSwYdguNcubmwYblIPreuFDEt3ohWQ/s476/IMG_4966%202.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="361" data-original-width="476" height="304" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoP0mBg1zR9IZLUWz8E1TrWmH8lHkWq_5utfkrYCI0AR7rS1dehVr3vM_6dvc41X97hFIB0AezU2WR_ne_bRtAWTL6VsD-OAOV2VMYwcbHU9rphogq2J-s8us_NTVhliF5CaVEV9lUzGJpBnNiDcMz3BX5swRWfSwYdguNcubmwYblIPreuFDEt3ohWQ/w400-h304/IMG_4966%202.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Meditation" and Mat and "Mangroves" and Marilyn, 2021<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />
</p><p class="MsoNormal">A bright spot in an otherwise challenging month with health
care issues was giving a lecture to Matthew Wooller’s class on Happiness and
Wellbeing at the University of Alaska. Seemingly, this topic might not be what
you’d think a terminally ill patient might be an “expert” on, but I’ve needed
to build capacity to handle what comes progressively with ALS.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Tip 1: Laughter is your best medicine.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br />
Tip 2: Figure out what gets you up in the morning. Go for it.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Tip 3: It’s OK to cry every now again and grieve your
losses.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Have a look at these zoom recordings of my lecture and other
thoughts about being a woman in science and science advocacy.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">1)
Introduction to Happiness, Wellbeing and Guest Speaker Dr. Marilyn Fogel</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><a href="https://media.uaf.edu/media/t/1_da3kykne"><span style="color: #1155cc;">https://media.uaf.edu/media/t/1_da3kykne</span></a></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">2)
Happiness and Wellbeing Tip # 1 from Marilyn</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><a href="https://media.uaf.edu/media/t/1_ta5ccb75"><span style="color: #1155cc;">https://media.uaf.edu/media/t/1_ta5ccb75</span></a></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">3)
Happiness and Wellbeing Tip # 2 from Marilyn</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><a href="https://media.uaf.edu/media/t/1_72t8rky2"><span style="color: #1155cc;">https://media.uaf.edu/media/t/1_72t8rky2</span></a></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">4)
Happiness and Wellbeing Tip # 3 from Marilyn</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><a href="https://media.uaf.edu/media/t/1_1k99gdcq"><span style="color: #1155cc;">https://media.uaf.edu/media/t/1_1k99gdcq</span></a></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCw63ViUgR6V3myAvYCY51y1FuUJtMtDdiYWfIQ9eyJLh17mBy5vmM9bRgOEFc7sfXiAgUIClFm1VnR2dKNoeiKkTDrwtjmAkbAzNmM3Kb0aSRAmyYmG0wvwMP9Pi88X8tUNTK_6Uc0XhZVtu1S50CXok6EA7YGZXXXZfis1C0jGfmn72a_Rkobry_zg/s1536/Fogel:2fWooller%20Belize.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1536" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCw63ViUgR6V3myAvYCY51y1FuUJtMtDdiYWfIQ9eyJLh17mBy5vmM9bRgOEFc7sfXiAgUIClFm1VnR2dKNoeiKkTDrwtjmAkbAzNmM3Kb0aSRAmyYmG0wvwMP9Pi88X8tUNTK_6Uc0XhZVtu1S50CXok6EA7YGZXXXZfis1C0jGfmn72a_Rkobry_zg/w400-h266/Fogel:2fWooller%20Belize.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mat and Marilyn in Belize, 2002<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">5) Tips
on work life balance and being a woman in science</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><a href="https://media.uaf.edu/media/t/1_44etd5st"><span style="color: #1155cc;">https://media.uaf.edu/media/t/1_44etd5st</span></a></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">6) Tips
on advocacy</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><a href="https://media.uaf.edu/media/t/1_pbjp6ykh"><span style="color: #1155cc;">https://media.uaf.edu/media/t/1_pbjp6ykh</span></a></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">7) Mat
tells a story of a shared golden moment and gratitude</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><a href="https://media.uaf.edu/media/t/1_bcdr3nco"><span style="color: #1155cc;">https://media.uaf.edu/media/t/1_bcdr3nco</span></a></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;">See Mat’s work in Alaska: <span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">"the
Well" - promoting the science and practice of Happiness and Wellbeing</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><a href="https://sites.google.com/alaska.edu/thewell/home"><span style="color: #1155cc;">https://sites.google.com/alaska.edu/thewell/home</span></a></span></p>
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{page:WordSection1;}</style></p><br />Isotope Queenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00346511476816956274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349128715082229990.post-86426605063266722722022-02-23T21:01:00.004-08:002022-02-24T09:07:16.207-08:00Ending Old Boys Clubs in Science<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgiIdkkh3q-YQY6KLMu3hECbZeb1mB-xKjEcB-MnunOD1vgb7sQrdX4M3AA4MKNuTCzsPkGQ1vdd3rga2f_Crn14Xi3CH5wHOa6mVmZfSjPvUogqEot3fywgMlwRf2370D0YvC82l9TYrXGTRzTpH4Y0rwmrj-bjhOhDoCb6ODFza6c3-IT4WNyzO713w=s2560" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1920" data-original-width="2560" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgiIdkkh3q-YQY6KLMu3hECbZeb1mB-xKjEcB-MnunOD1vgb7sQrdX4M3AA4MKNuTCzsPkGQ1vdd3rga2f_Crn14Xi3CH5wHOa6mVmZfSjPvUogqEot3fywgMlwRf2370D0YvC82l9TYrXGTRzTpH4Y0rwmrj-bjhOhDoCb6ODFza6c3-IT4WNyzO713w=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Geophysical Lab Senior staff, 1990<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />
<p></p><p class="MsoNormal">I am a member of several Old Boys Clubs. I am now old, but
have never been and will never be a boy. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">What’s it like for a Girl to be part of such a Club? </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">How did I end up in more than one such Club?</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">As a woman in science in the 1970s, about 80% of my co-students
were guys. By grad school in marine science from 1974 to 1977, almost 90% were
men. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In 1979, at the Geophysical Lab as a Staff Scientist, I
became the only female among a total of 15 staff (7%) <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">for 30 years</b> until Anat Shahar, a high pressure/temperature
geochemist, joined the Staff. Staff members of Carnegie’s Geophysical Lab were,
indeed, part of an Old Boys Club. At the annual Geological Society of America
meeting in San Diego in November of 1979, I felt like a freak. Prominent
geochemists came up to meet the “woman Hat Yoder had hired.” Hatten S. Yoder,
lab director and member of the National Academy of Sciences, was well known as
an old fashioned geochemist who addressed women with PhDs as “Missus” even
though they may or may not have been married. I received this treatment for
years. Until he stepped down as director, I was in an Old Boys Club, but a
sidelined member.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">What did that mean? I had to battle for suitable lab space,
argue for research funding, and accept 70 cents on the dollar for my salary. It
made me tougher, but still a member of the Club with little voice.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh1WCKM_tUPcA6M9c3sBsZLLHZFMXgDh9ZKmeHh8I011-yrNI56dSPQS7TYu9D8G7qqYdpUBpGLGe-kBI1_Cv4JKZjzzyWEOMUb6OCmDj5fdQ4c25wCMnDF1MFyYtvWsb8-O1OKTpg478m6F-ODYwlF59ljX7EG5jb8KRLDYa3p-qtL3C7lZgF2HpMaUA=s2560" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1920" data-original-width="2560" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh1WCKM_tUPcA6M9c3sBsZLLHZFMXgDh9ZKmeHh8I011-yrNI56dSPQS7TYu9D8G7qqYdpUBpGLGe-kBI1_Cv4JKZjzzyWEOMUb6OCmDj5fdQ4c25wCMnDF1MFyYtvWsb8-O1OKTpg478m6F-ODYwlF59ljX7EG5jb8KRLDYa3p-qtL3C7lZgF2HpMaUA=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Geophysical Lab: front row: staff scientists, 1991<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> <p></p><p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">When Charlie Prewitt became lab director in 1986, he
recognized the slights and made sure my new lab was what I wanted and needed to
be successful. He also adjusted my salary substantially, probably to 95 cents
on the dollar. Further, Charlie gave each Senior staff scientist equal research
dollars so that I had an equal shot at internal funding. I was finally
addressed as Dr. Fogel. Some of my best work was done during his reign as
director.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">As part of Carnegie’s Old Boys Club, doors did open for me
based on the Lab’s reputation. I was treated to a pool of postdoc applicants
that was first-rate. My offers were almost always accepted. The Geophysical Lab
paid me a 12-month salary and let me figure out what to do with my time—an
incredible gift.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">When colleague George Cody was hired in 1995 to replace Tom
Hoering as an organic geochemist, Charlie had me lead the search. By changing
the lab’s climate, at least somewhat, I became a full member of the Club. My
confidence soared. I entered the international circuit as a geochemist in 2003,
when I was elected Fellow of the Geochemical Society—yet another Old Boys
Club—only the 3<sup>rd</sup> woman to join this group. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Formal recognition of one’s accomplishments by others does
wonders for a woman’s world, but also opens up a realization that she needs to
do something about gender inequalities that persist, even today. I became a
pesty, persistent voice on awards selection committees. I paid more attention
to mentoring—both women and men. I encouraged women whenever I could. It was
probably not nearly enough. I felt that I needed to keep pushing myself and
kept up a competitive research program. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEigQg4TUt5oQnUJWsLa5tXgqEeeLJwXyhDoEKnRgbAQxs7cRPiFoiPV1k65hkVmpzBl64a380ECaXRwGWeb79QK4g-ziIW3GcXyGDAY3qCN4unTXwJu8DlMwrE-fWFM35iuVRNbWsf8woCTWnotvcH3s61JAUnk8Mp77n0zM8zhQLYWNqR-iSnq0hg6RQ=s475" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="383" data-original-width="475" height="258" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEigQg4TUt5oQnUJWsLa5tXgqEeeLJwXyhDoEKnRgbAQxs7cRPiFoiPV1k65hkVmpzBl64a380ECaXRwGWeb79QK4g-ziIW3GcXyGDAY3qCN4unTXwJu8DlMwrE-fWFM35iuVRNbWsf8woCTWnotvcH3s61JAUnk8Mp77n0zM8zhQLYWNqR-iSnq0hg6RQ=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">UC Merced Professors Peggy O'Day and Jessica Blois<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> <p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In 2013, I made a major move leaving the Geophysical Lab’s
Old Boys Club for a position at the University of California Merced, a startup
school in the Central Valley and a far cry from an Old Boys Club type of place.
What joy to have so many female colleagues! They were a tough bunch, having to
negotiate Merced’s growing pains, battling lab space issues and fighting to get
good grad students. I still encountered gender put-downs from some
administrators, something now considered to be sexual harassment
(Clancy et al., PNAS, 2020). In the company of students, I recognized that it
was easy for both men and women to downplay the accomplishments of women,
particularly underrepresented minority women. When searching for people to
write tenure letters, it was not easy to find women of the needed stature to
write them. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In 2019, the United States’ ultimate Old Boys Club for
scientists, the National Academy of Sciences, elected me as a member of the
Geology section, which along with the Geophysics section, represents the earth sciences.
Before joining the group, I had little idea how election to the Academy
actually happened. How was a person nominated and voted into this distinguished
group?</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I learned the process from bottom up. The details of
anyone’s election are kept secret. [I’d love to find out about mine…]
Basically, four or five members write a simple 2-page nomination with a simple
format: key papers, other awards, date of birth, and a paragraph on the
importance of a candidate’s work. Multiple secret ballots take place over the
course of a year with a few folks eventually reaching the top of a list of
notable scientists—all of whom you have heard of or know. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Since the Academy was created in 1863 by
a decree from Abraham Lincoln, only 10% of the members in earth sciences have
been women.</b> In fact, it was not until 1986, that the first woman, Susan
Kieffer, was elected to the Geology section for her multi-disciplinary work
extending from mineral physics to river dynamics. In 1992, Susan Solomon, who
discovered the ozone hole over Antarctica, was the first woman to join the
Geophysics section at the young age of 36! In 1993, Alexandra Navrotsky (called
Mrs. Navrotsky by Hat Yoder) was the 2<sup>nd</sup> woman to be elected in the
Geology section for her work on nanogeoscience. Today, women make up roughly
20% of the earth sciences membership—some progress but nothing to crow about.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"></p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjMg-OcInlVjBzo5M3RlNggt3tq8svE1UjqwMmq-fNapVJZ74TuV-7Ab1Wergo9TfHfRjz6M4jmXQ1Gbxn0z9fajLRFJOoZbfhIPzZf0g-cz7klpEmp7ZuAw7Nam0d166VQR7oI4WB7ISuzWCzFWXVQ27JlI4HpF-EQtHOJusY3WRRPSnieFfGPug4enw=s2560" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1920" data-original-width="2560" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjMg-OcInlVjBzo5M3RlNggt3tq8svE1UjqwMmq-fNapVJZ74TuV-7Ab1Wergo9TfHfRjz6M4jmXQ1Gbxn0z9fajLRFJOoZbfhIPzZf0g-cz7klpEmp7ZuAw7Nam0d166VQR7oI4WB7ISuzWCzFWXVQ27JlI4HpF-EQtHOJusY3WRRPSnieFfGPug4enw=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">GL Visiting Committee (circa 1986)<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><br /> </p><p class="MsoNormal">This year I participated in the penultimate step in the process. I am pleased
to write that it was a process chaired by women, composed of a diverse group of
scientists who, in my opinion, were sensitive to inclusion and diversity. During
our deliberations, no one mansplained or was a jerk. I hope that what I saw is
evidence that this Old Boys Club intends to widen its membership and thereby
lose its reputation as an “Old Boys Club”.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">When my husband asked me yesterday what I was blogging about
and I told him, he said, “I hate to burst your bubble, but everyone knows that
women have needed to be a part of men’s Old Boy Clubs if they were to be
recognized in science.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I bristled at this. On reflection, of course I knew it. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I’d lived it.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br />
And now hope for things to change for women and under represented minorities in
creating fairness going forward. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Recently, I was awarded the Viktor Moritz Goldschmidt medal
in geochemistry, the Geochemical Society’s highest honor, just the 5<sup>th</sup>
woman to receive the medal in 50 years. I was nominated by a cadre of my female
geoscience colleagues, some evidence that women can have a direct influence on
who is chosen for recognition.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">From
the Geochemical Society’s website: “Nominations of people from underrepresented
groups are encouraged (e.g., women, non-white researchers and/or researchers
from Asia, Africa and Latin America, disabled scientists, those who have led
diversified careers, other historically minoritized groups, and intersections
thereof).”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhK5-vvx2u8t5tg8WtDwgvCfcyq4HEDlm8WOiGKk5MqV9WFa-jRacHB76JuidehEwMV6WdqGGIUQpD4-fi2nS60RyynuisuRihSTPVEpt4A3DsgbuCOhpzqckeRbQq2oBWfOwbnaRDX07jDp3Frg1fT4Qtal_GwPBhPM8aHg5IV-TJBl4EG4OsGgpVjnQ=s1758" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1202" data-original-width="1758" height="219" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhK5-vvx2u8t5tg8WtDwgvCfcyq4HEDlm8WOiGKk5MqV9WFa-jRacHB76JuidehEwMV6WdqGGIUQpD4-fi2nS60RyynuisuRihSTPVEpt4A3DsgbuCOhpzqckeRbQq2oBWfOwbnaRDX07jDp3Frg1fT4Qtal_GwPBhPM8aHg5IV-TJBl4EG4OsGgpVjnQ=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Matt McCarthy, Seth Newsome, Paul Koch, 2022<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> <p></p><p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We’re heading in the right direction.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Over the past few years, I’ve served on numerous award
committees and wrote many nomination letters for my colleagues. From what I
have seen, although gender disparities still exist, those who are choosing who
will receive recognition are all considering the impact of selecting a diverse
group. This is a good sign.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Today, Carnegie’s combined Geophysical Lab and DTM, the
Earth and Planets Laboratory, has eight women Senior staff scientists—30% of the
group—a far cry from two decades ago. Ethnic and racial diversity still remains
an elusive goal with nearly all of their Senior staff being White. Carnegie’s
next generation of earth scientists, postdoctoral fellows, however, are a very
diverse group that I hope will be the future of this lab and other earth
science departments around the world.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi6BXwmsf6ocIqJwkV5-I52wT5oOchVMrrF7fdFiKypz2mp477yU22eUGHUBHWjBWXgjdFV0BJ7_sI2TS-y9LHDHWY4A7ff2ByUYu10ZfDtIt_khbh-jJYw035E_SAqvF0bMFJTD-HVZgtmcJGw82uqk8iugPPNVm-qKlUiji5LA19ZKPTtIYQeexsOeQ=s4288" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4288" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi6BXwmsf6ocIqJwkV5-I52wT5oOchVMrrF7fdFiKypz2mp477yU22eUGHUBHWjBWXgjdFV0BJ7_sI2TS-y9LHDHWY4A7ff2ByUYu10ZfDtIt_khbh-jJYw035E_SAqvF0bMFJTD-HVZgtmcJGw82uqk8iugPPNVm-qKlUiji5LA19ZKPTtIYQeexsOeQ=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">with Professor Maryjo Brounce, 2017<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> <p></p><p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Making sure this crop of new intellect is nurtured and
supported properly is a challenge that those in positions of power should place
as their highest priority for a vision of the future that is inclusive,
equitable, and diverse.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">No more Old Boys Clubs for science. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Let’s move on.</p>
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{page:WordSection1;}</style></p>Isotope Queenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00346511476816956274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349128715082229990.post-78555238561462472462022-01-17T16:49:00.005-08:002022-01-18T14:44:48.118-08:00Winter in the "Olden Days"<p> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiD2u40XOsMtgH8fsacgWg9jtEwSRZIBJY59DTtvGPtBNqYOIAAsf59NeKrUd4x-BmldOrRKaphJZ3Cv_BBzInZz-tM0lKmQVYDjX9n1IPXM2cCCFld9t3OYwYtV2NbZU6VlUSdfM_fmwhZ8rKg1FAExKcqTMUSXh-c4cFdYW5OvIdaNHYg0dRrBiafTw=s358" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="262" data-original-width="358" height="293" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiD2u40XOsMtgH8fsacgWg9jtEwSRZIBJY59DTtvGPtBNqYOIAAsf59NeKrUd4x-BmldOrRKaphJZ3Cv_BBzInZz-tM0lKmQVYDjX9n1IPXM2cCCFld9t3OYwYtV2NbZU6VlUSdfM_fmwhZ8rKg1FAExKcqTMUSXh-c4cFdYW5OvIdaNHYg0dRrBiafTw=w400-h293" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Greenvale Raiders: Marilyn, Albert Stein, Freddy, David Fuhrman, 1960<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />
<p></p><p class="MsoNormal">My mother claimed, and rightly so, that she walked <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">all the way</b> to school from her home in
Camden, New Jersey, even when the snow was deep. And she was proud of it. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Therefore she reasoned, her children should do the same.
Back in the early ‘60s, schools in Moorestown, New Jersey, where I grew up,
didn’t close unless snowfall was going to be over 6 inches or so. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">One morning, I woke with excitement to a winter
wonderland—snow coming down at a good clip. I was in 4<sup>th</sup> or 5<sup>th</sup>
grade (1961) that year and walked to school by myself or with my brother or
neighborhood kids. In spring and fall, we’d ride our bikes the easy mile,
cutting through an apartment complex to enter the playground and park our
bikes. But in winter, many times one of our parents dropped us off in front of
the school.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjkNx5rPfhVUME6aV6FQMzOjCsWpZ33UT4yIcy0fqPrQESyzMEASYtT0HnIQzhBY8dTbzsoSPo0awv8G0VZbqTRoCf4a1ij_aORiSkAZQKvpqHa9Up6TYdrKfzh8TQ-a70QVaKCbWVJBhOjGJpJtPlTLek8oIL06gZ7AlEGg5yxut1XCcgiNE3Zag9zWQ=s303" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="247" data-original-width="303" height="247" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjkNx5rPfhVUME6aV6FQMzOjCsWpZ33UT4yIcy0fqPrQESyzMEASYtT0HnIQzhBY8dTbzsoSPo0awv8G0VZbqTRoCf4a1ij_aORiSkAZQKvpqHa9Up6TYdrKfzh8TQ-a70QVaKCbWVJBhOjGJpJtPlTLek8oIL06gZ7AlEGg5yxut1XCcgiNE3Zag9zWQ" width="303" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Backyard Moorestown<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I knew even then that my mother was afraid to drive in the
snow. She had a nearly new ’59 white Chevy Biscayne, the model with soaring
fins that my dad had bought her. It never left the driveway unless the streets
were cleared of all snow and ice. So that morning, she brought up that I should
follow her example and walk the 0.8 miles to Lenola School in the snow. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I wasn’t pleased. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">But I donned thick leggings, my heaviest coat, hat, and
mittens before pulling on a pair of red rubber boots over my shoes. Traffic
down normally-busy Camden Avenue was light; cars crept slowly along. I was
about half way to school when my friend Franny’s mom pulled up in her snazzy
black Ford Thunderbird. The window went down and her mom shouted, “Marilyn, do
you want a ride? Get in.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjzZtDp4VoKqztAnGLYWy8_trpAQIrz-ZFLGvTx4IW-t8lQwSH5I1bweAJYHyMuXD5-pXxFL064SLVkJRgMAi_SBDr0K_Aswph7tc5Fcosy6cMqjwMdtMqCJiZ4y7tih4LIvN_MuZeBEwdU5n_XDMjsIj8-4ycjr6LWGnFFUKdEB6mhukjjoL8zgPLZ1g=s488" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="225" data-original-width="488" height="148" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjzZtDp4VoKqztAnGLYWy8_trpAQIrz-ZFLGvTx4IW-t8lQwSH5I1bweAJYHyMuXD5-pXxFL064SLVkJRgMAi_SBDr0K_Aswph7tc5Fcosy6cMqjwMdtMqCJiZ4y7tih4LIvN_MuZeBEwdU5n_XDMjsIj8-4ycjr6LWGnFFUKdEB6mhukjjoL8zgPLZ1g=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My route to Lenola School<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Franny was smiling from the back seat, warm. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">My pride won out over practicality.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“No,” I muttered, not even no thank you. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I’ll walk.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Are you sure? Come on,” her mom answered.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I’m OK,” I said, stifling a few angry tears that my own mother
wouldn’t give me a ride, but Franny’s would. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Years later, I learned that<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"> my mother lived right next door to her elementary school,</b> so
walking to school in the snow was nothing. As a young mother, I often trotted
out “I walked to school in the snow…” whenever I didn’t really want to do
something my kids had asked for. It became a joke, and I even used it on my
mother years later, when we could both joke about this and share a good laugh.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiGZGgwbNmi6X03Hj-A8m0EfWfDuDucRHC6x8J36kCOoF-23tcKTr5y8Rhx-YPmy877uhkJhndjZ0iHHlHBq80CVyyteQY0rNUIVzoRpzxQE01gCj1nXe66U0_QCTixupmAgApgjidu0c_zhzWRdgitkQ3cJDA6Q0rqBI0MqSiIAbkNlVsJcblOeNHH_Q=s954" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="653" data-original-width="954" height="219" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiGZGgwbNmi6X03Hj-A8m0EfWfDuDucRHC6x8J36kCOoF-23tcKTr5y8Rhx-YPmy877uhkJhndjZ0iHHlHBq80CVyyteQY0rNUIVzoRpzxQE01gCj1nXe66U0_QCTixupmAgApgjidu0c_zhzWRdgitkQ3cJDA6Q0rqBI0MqSiIAbkNlVsJcblOeNHH_Q=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Two years old, Collingswood, NJ, 1954<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Real snow days generated a lot of excitement. But even more
excitement happened when a cold snap froze our local water hole, Strawbridge
Lake, solid—solid enough to support ice skaters. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Strawbridge Lake snakes through suburban
Moorestown providing fishing, picnicking, and skating opportunities for many
people. As a kid, I walked down to its marshy shores in summer to catch
tadpoles and to throw out a string with a hook attached to catch “fish.” In
high school, we kids had a place on the Lake called <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">The Spot</b> where we’d meet up to “pre-game” before going to local
dances. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Ice skating days were the most special times.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">At the corner of Haines Dr. and Kings Highway where the Lake
started, a flagpole sported a solid red flag that appeared after Thanksgiving.
The red flag meant “No Skating!” When the lake was not frozen, this was obvious
of course. But usually sometime in January ice developed, and we waited for
city officials to declare it was safe for skating. Then, and only then, a Green
Flag was hoisted up and the fun began.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgj-58K6I3235x1pI81L7xx6ofg4v2T3vB6Ux5f7NfZFWjr0wZA5CT3ZScsYfMAJD_yPvM8QUjqrlcNPyyAc0cK4cZ4KjXgFp27yTq7V7QIC168Tf_F2TK7vxS2Tf89kYRDR7kekDajkwP4p5X56ufuJZM-cWw9hhWFKf8fnwgxBWBGAhpo5hu7V3syaA=s5728" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3824" data-original-width="5728" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgj-58K6I3235x1pI81L7xx6ofg4v2T3vB6Ux5f7NfZFWjr0wZA5CT3ZScsYfMAJD_yPvM8QUjqrlcNPyyAc0cK4cZ4KjXgFp27yTq7V7QIC168Tf_F2TK7vxS2Tf89kYRDR7kekDajkwP4p5X56ufuJZM-cWw9hhWFKf8fnwgxBWBGAhpo5hu7V3syaA=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Strawbridge Lake in fall<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">As a kid, my ice skates had two blades and strapped on over
my shoes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A kid with these clunkers
couldn’t do much in the way of fancy skating, but these skates were affordable
and worked. In 5<sup>th</sup> grade, my feet had grown enough to fit adult
sized skates. That Christmas, “Santa” brought me a pair of white, single bladed,
high top ice skates. They were a couple sizes too big, and to fit properly the
toes were stuffed with Kleenexes or toilet paper with two pairs of thick socks.
[The bigger sizes insured the skates would last three years. That 3<sup>rd</sup>
year, you’d wear them with a single, thin pair of socks.]</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">My mother was a very good skater and taught me some simple
moves. I was not a natural skater. My first day, I wobbled uncertainly out on
the ice. A stiff wind was blowing. I fell trying to turn and landed on my rear,
feet out in front of me. Standing up again was a challenge. I made it to a
squat then the wind started blowing me across the ice. I literally froze. Facing
me not 10 yards away was open water, an unfrozen patch kept open by a flock of
mallard ducks. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Help!” I screamed. My mother turned and quickly skated
over, stopping me from what I was certain was going to be a cold, icy death.
She then taught me how to stand up with skates on and off I went.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhMbDSY6-BwAf6P3boM1OU_Ghv6e5XGqug5Bv0T0Jthae0ljbNO0NrNyL4ywmmrJkhhd-Znk5Q5Gzzx6jWca5fybeP0TxPv9h5k4E-wvvXF9lSoDNTFZL4EnLrGD1yzcffj_x2tfIf3Oc4wvSXQ3jtix4s_bRBS0JN19pDEjVCCgAF8Z0PA37Tp8sGvrA=s1303" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1020" data-original-width="1303" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhMbDSY6-BwAf6P3boM1OU_Ghv6e5XGqug5Bv0T0Jthae0ljbNO0NrNyL4ywmmrJkhhd-Znk5Q5Gzzx6jWca5fybeP0TxPv9h5k4E-wvvXF9lSoDNTFZL4EnLrGD1yzcffj_x2tfIf3Oc4wvSXQ3jtix4s_bRBS0JN19pDEjVCCgAF8Z0PA37Tp8sGvrA=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Skating on the Lake<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">After school the Lake filled up with kids bundled up in
their warmest clothes. Girls skated in packs, linking arms and going for long
distances together. Boys, wearing black and brown hockey skates, formed
informal teams on the far side of the Lake. Hockey sticks were primitive, some
boys had real ones, while others played with an appropriate sized branch. Their
games were intense and only ended when darkness completely over took them. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Girls in search of adventure found large sticks on the far
shore and rode them like witch’s brooms. You’d get a good head of steam skating
as fast as you could, then sit on the stick and scoot along hollering like
banshees. Life was good. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">You were cold, but life roared with fun.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Many of Moorestown’s kids would go sledding at a slope
called Stokes Hill, which was at the opposite side of town from where I lived.
Since my mother didn’t drive in the snow, it was only in my teenage years that
I got to check it out. For South Jersey kids, this “mountain” was a real
thrill. It was packed with kids of all ages. By the end of a big sledding day, the
snow would be completely trampled down with grass showing in places. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Snow and ice didn’t last long in South Jersey. In a few
days, we were back to dreary streets and frosted brown grass. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgYS4rzAWZ4YqZteapjyG5W-shU3bH5MHF-zr4UIP86BFAf2vywjKn4XHklZkr9ABbzYB5aibvX9EQ1m2tv6Qy0dv7JL1tAMsVgd9h4T52-j7bjXFHRms7ZyJwDCjDkNQ33d208RIP-Nhc3gLcS-VILCpnTp1s0lTRKYnHKW6vWl4wzv0-V-amLyjpdaA=s309" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="259" data-original-width="309" height="259" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgYS4rzAWZ4YqZteapjyG5W-shU3bH5MHF-zr4UIP86BFAf2vywjKn4XHklZkr9ABbzYB5aibvX9EQ1m2tv6Qy0dv7JL1tAMsVgd9h4T52-j7bjXFHRms7ZyJwDCjDkNQ33d208RIP-Nhc3gLcS-VILCpnTp1s0lTRKYnHKW6vWl4wzv0-V-amLyjpdaA" width="309" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A first snow man with Freddy, 1954<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I think that might have been what made those snowy, icy days
so memorable and so special. Looking back 60 years or so from sunny warm
California, I’m thankful for those magical days in childhood.</p>
<p><style>@font-face
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{page:WordSection1;}</style></p>Isotope Queenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00346511476816956274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349128715082229990.post-37592547992121080162022-01-10T20:11:00.001-08:002022-01-10T20:16:43.911-08:00When and where to submit: guidelines for the 21st century<p> </p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjRbcrNbTnhnPA3FPTKXw-tuTgivrbHGr09yI8zHIeTGrZRKWfXVUyLssQd8SAxndqnjMtuI2ZX1YQuAmQUCIJkhVtRrFPsiT6IdqNTPRQcEXbOvl95j1DEwhxrjDtnHv8oN3S_Rt47btkFg9xu69QvGJaWlGuHvSaCYDF40OYCconIfAdcyk1biz_f1A=s5728" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3824" data-original-width="5728" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjRbcrNbTnhnPA3FPTKXw-tuTgivrbHGr09yI8zHIeTGrZRKWfXVUyLssQd8SAxndqnjMtuI2ZX1YQuAmQUCIJkhVtRrFPsiT6IdqNTPRQcEXbOvl95j1DEwhxrjDtnHv8oN3S_Rt47btkFg9xu69QvGJaWlGuHvSaCYDF40OYCconIfAdcyk1biz_f1A=w400-h268" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Evan and Marilyn: New son and new mass spec, 1991<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />
<p class="MsoNormal">Seth Newsome and I use the term “money figure” to describe
that perfect graph that clearly sums up everything you had hoped for when you
designed and carried out your experiment. A “money figure” is often the
cornerstone of your manuscript, which is then written to flesh out the message
in that key graphic. If you are really lucky, your ideas and hard work might
have resulted in more than one money figure in the unfolding manuscript.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It’s not unusual, however, to do a lot of work, and then
come up with results that fall flat. Your job, then, is to make the best of the
situation, graph up and summarize what you can, and write it up. Often, this
type of work ends up unpublished. And that won’t help anyone get to the next
level of innovation or thought. But, the feeling that your work isn’t good
enough can be powerful.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Writing either type of paper requires slightly different
skills. The money figure paper can be fun to assemble, easy to engage your colleagues
to help out, and make you feel triumphant. I’d say that about 10% of the papers
I’ve published recently have that money figure quality to them. Perhaps out of
my lifetime of work, I would say about 20% of my publications have that
“special something” that made the work hold its value over time. Based on
citations, it’s now easy to get a better sense of how the community has viewed
your work. </p><p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgpeF2rE2_Bb-Z6xb2cqVpJsJF1D6uxl9OTLTCMV7XFKj1kf5j8waE2BmrIGrjwy0XA9IW990xWieaOz7X2noVLALEA6rK_SOTAveh6SK8b8LG_VpYxMJemMFgQt1iBuFqxGY3Pw0J387ooZ1PK3-5b1TpAyiwQvpYZSb5jrnJJE2mLqgUpkGgH4-AlOw=s572" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="445" data-original-width="572" height="249" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgpeF2rE2_Bb-Z6xb2cqVpJsJF1D6uxl9OTLTCMV7XFKj1kf5j8waE2BmrIGrjwy0XA9IW990xWieaOz7X2noVLALEA6rK_SOTAveh6SK8b8LG_VpYxMJemMFgQt1iBuFqxGY3Pw0J387ooZ1PK3-5b1TpAyiwQvpYZSb5jrnJJE2mLqgUpkGgH4-AlOw=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Money Figure, PNAS 2016<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The opinion of your scientific community is indeed
important.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">For those works that
don’t have the zing you’d hoped for, you need discipline.</b> You’ve got to
make sure you’ve mined all of your data, made tens of graphs and figures,
discussed the work with your colleagues as you begin to assemble the
manuscript. Take heed—you may drift from getting the words down on paper (or in
your computer.) Chasing after the “better” idea makes some sense, but when you
think about it, not publishing 75% of your work because it’s not easy, is a
waste.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">If you are a graduate student, you’ll need to power through
these challenges or risk slowing down the progress in getting your degree. The
dissertation, in my experience, often includes a chapter that may never see the
light of day other than in the longer, university-required format. If you are a
postdoc, your “job” is to get a “real” job, so you’ll want to publish your most
exciting work as soon as you can. Saving the less thrilling data to complete
when you are first starting the “real” job can be critical for keeping you in
the community’s eyes until you get new work completed.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">If you are pre-tenure, all too often your department will
merely count your papers—and not actually read them. Having a goal of one first
authored paper per year is a modest, but often attainable goal. Sticking with
this for 5-7 years will help with your tenure review.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">But when to submit? </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Will the work be good enough? </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Is it the best you can do with what you have?</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Sometimes, we choke at the last minute. What if it’s not
perfect? Rarely, if ever, are manuscripts perfect when submitted, but if you’ve
done your best, it’s time to push the submit button and let the review process
begin. Let the reviewers, as nerve-wracking as that may be, do their job.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Frolleague Kate Freeman says, “Isn’t that what the review
process is for?” We all hope for polite, constructive reviews, comments that
make our work more readable and understandable. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Times have changed. Even with an explosion of new journals,
getting a swift rejection based solely on a “desk review” by an editor, who
makes an executive decision, is very common these days. A recent paper Seth and
I wrote was desk-rejected 4 or 5 times before finding its journal home—and this
was a paper with a money figure! </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Go figure. Our problem was not the data or the writing. It
was the fit.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Perhaps because of the plethora of journals these days,
specialized journals really look for studies that fit their publication’s
mission. Finding that perfect fit takes thought. And strategy. Sure <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">PLOS One</i> will publish anything, but will
it reach the audience you’d like it to?</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEis_WHrbZY4Lt67Gk9AnLi5pd8a3WqJP0S0XqQQvptOs1DFD4sIaqs2U20vMHNNrfxFeiOlcyH1BNCTkZ_AlBRZKLyI2DxJuHL1HSeSGe8InRYdECT-WDEVVBhA2sIh1XIpJWXpD4rtxJuj6JhjXkoIZLqQVZPBVJa3KHX2qunTWfZju-8lJ73mfOSStg=s917" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="656" data-original-width="917" height="229" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEis_WHrbZY4Lt67Gk9AnLi5pd8a3WqJP0S0XqQQvptOs1DFD4sIaqs2U20vMHNNrfxFeiOlcyH1BNCTkZ_AlBRZKLyI2DxJuHL1HSeSGe8InRYdECT-WDEVVBhA2sIh1XIpJWXpD4rtxJuj6JhjXkoIZLqQVZPBVJa3KHX2qunTWfZju-8lJ73mfOSStg=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">PLOS paper showing variation no one wanted to know about...really<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The answer is maybe. With everything available online these
days, people can find your work on Google Scholar or Research Gate. Keep in
mind, however, if you’re just starting out in your career, very few people may
be “following” you yet. Thus, it is best to publish your work in a journal
where people are most interested in the questions you’ve asked and the results
you found.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">My goal in publishing is to join the community
conversation—get my ideas out there for others to consider, enjoy, or
criticize. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Back to that paper you’re writing with the flashy money
figure, where to submit it? Should you go for <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Science, Nature, or PNAS</i>? Your odds are tough: even really good
papers get bumped without any review. As a guest editor for <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">PNAS</i>, I’m pretty liberal and send out
about half for review. The review process is thorough, and it’s not unusual for
a paper to be reviewed three or four times before it’s accepted. That said,
when the work finally comes out in one of these journals, it’s seen as a
Scientific Homerun.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiQuo4rkl-3DVXrwnLR2MPOtN3CYfkf7jGhYuaVmWl71o8x-1Ux1ReT3gBt4KMQ2keHdOHJ1AExitwf1xwsX05poIsfE7uWhIr1F6IesU9r5KCFQkEFP623G7FFnYvSXk7K1mBJ3oCrHSRGU0w8zekkV0Uec2GFhBV1XCHl1hMRi1PBuKpFpsMqVt6mrA=s1138" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="399" data-original-width="1138" height="140" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiQuo4rkl-3DVXrwnLR2MPOtN3CYfkf7jGhYuaVmWl71o8x-1Ux1ReT3gBt4KMQ2keHdOHJ1AExitwf1xwsX05poIsfE7uWhIr1F6IesU9r5KCFQkEFP623G7FFnYvSXk7K1mBJ3oCrHSRGU0w8zekkV0Uec2GFhBV1XCHl1hMRi1PBuKpFpsMqVt6mrA=w400-h140" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Money figure from Science, 2005<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Using the baseball analogy, how often do we need to hit
homeruns to have a successful career? What about hitting some triples or
doubles? Heck, even singles can result in runs.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I’d guess that about 25-30% of my publications are doubles,
maybe triples, leaving about 50% or more as singles—good but not paradigm
changers. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes, the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Science,</i> <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Nature,</i> and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">PNAS</i> papers have that Home Run touch to
them, but other work published in seemingly obscure journals to outsiders (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Geochimica et Cosmochimica</i> <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Acta</i>, for example) are also very well
cited and remain pertinent to current scientific conversations. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Although perfection isn’t needed before submission, I
strongly advise against the idea that it’s OK to submit a paper that you know
isn’t your best effort because “reviewers will fix it.” You don’t want to piss
off your reviewers, folks taking their precious time to help you out. We all
know that while money is precious, time is even more so. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgAF3DviO9JgvcnaCAzoe0E8XxW7Ff9TkZZrrTwe5axJjo20vW7D5nhAlggWsBUC_2zTQ9EH2vnq1rnecQhPm3g4iEZ7orbXL9UJS8lWZ0-fytZshCvAXye4ceq5NCkoc1fahHDJcBWXq-GiMkLEJkjF9DJ5B36vrWsuwE8fG3HabqSfeaabg8YDgBN7g=s5500" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4163" data-original-width="5500" height="242" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgAF3DviO9JgvcnaCAzoe0E8XxW7Ff9TkZZrrTwe5axJjo20vW7D5nhAlggWsBUC_2zTQ9EH2vnq1rnecQhPm3g4iEZ7orbXL9UJS8lWZ0-fytZshCvAXye4ceq5NCkoc1fahHDJcBWXq-GiMkLEJkjF9DJ5B36vrWsuwE8fG3HabqSfeaabg8YDgBN7g=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Your kids will get old before you know it. 2000<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Balancing your efforts with writing, submitting, and
revising, with a perceived need for perfection, is important to keep in mind.
About half of my papers having 100 citations (about 66 total) or more were
published more than twenty years ago, and half since 2000. I think that's a
decent measure of a successful career—a good early start and then some
highlights peppered throughout. Sprinkle in those “conversation starters” and
you’ve done your job.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Choose your target journal carefully, get the paper
completed and finished. Submit. Grow in your prowess to write effectively and
interestingly. Then, you’ve joined the rich conversation in science!</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">"I am careful not to confuse excellence with
perfection. Excellence, I can reach for; perfection is God`s business." -
Michael J. Fox </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
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{page:WordSection1;}</style></p>Isotope Queenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00346511476816956274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349128715082229990.post-87321919062740437532021-12-31T15:22:00.004-08:002021-12-31T15:30:49.682-08:00Free Link to Remarkable Women Isotope Queen book<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh4o91dxIZ57REvM3S8is5XFHnLsVodNm4V6QgaLtArylwGDZtIxFhqS7e4qdPLQO1vsXWP7i12iRARchXoO-5tUmsmv3slFzzHuweAFFK0WX-y5e5TpTb9FKTuEGtx5Tu8F4rT0k6eylGuo3wJvN4vvFFMZumChTFe02mVeL2dt6PpIHbFpq_iuQx4Zw=s325" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="325" data-original-width="221" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh4o91dxIZ57REvM3S8is5XFHnLsVodNm4V6QgaLtArylwGDZtIxFhqS7e4qdPLQO1vsXWP7i12iRARchXoO-5tUmsmv3slFzzHuweAFFK0WX-y5e5TpTb9FKTuEGtx5Tu8F4rT0k6eylGuo3wJvN4vvFFMZumChTFe02mVeL2dt6PpIHbFpq_iuQx4Zw=s320" width="218" /></a></div><br />Free Kindle book, December 31, 2021 to January 4, 2022 <br /><p></p><p>See Link below:<br /></p><p>"I <span class="cr-widget-FocalReviews" data-hook="cr-widget-FocalReviews"><span class="a-size-base review-text" data-hook="review-body"><span>
think (and I'm certainly biased) that this is the best Isotope Queen
book yet. Marilyn has a true gift as a storyteller, and I think if you
have ever spoken with her, you can easily imagine her voice (both
literal and abstract) telling you these stories in person. Marilyn is
one of my science heroes, so it feels like such a delight to hear about
all the parts of her life and career, but also on who her science heroes
have been! I read this book in the middle of a tough, early-career
style work week, and the theme that emerges over and over again is how
important it is to find your science besties (your friend-colleagues or
Frolleagues as she terms it). While we all have to work with people we
don't like sometimes, finding the Frolleagues who make work feel like
play seems to have sustained a long and illustrious career for her.
Lesson noted, Marilyn! Some of these stories appear on her blog and in
her other books, but they feel like old friends to me, and I enjoyed
seeing them again. I loved the final chapter on cracking open one's
inner shell to spread joy and kindness. I think I'll go do something
nice for someone now. :)" Jeanine Ash, Rice University</span></span></span></p><p><span class="cr-widget-FocalReviews" data-hook="cr-widget-FocalReviews"><span class="a-size-base review-text" data-hook="review-body"><span>"</span></span></span><span class="cr-widget-FocalReviews" data-hook="cr-widget-FocalReviews"><span class="a-size-base review-text" data-hook="review-body"><span><span class="cr-widget-FocalReviews" data-hook="cr-widget-FocalReviews"><span class="a-size-base review-text" data-hook="review-body"><span>Marilyn
Fogel’s third book, “Remarkable Women in the Life of the Isotope
Queen” is a LOVE STORY. Readers of all genders will be rewarded with
insight into what it must feel like to be guided in your professional,
and personal life by an expert. Marilyn’s most remarkable gift is
bringing out the best in those around her. And this book will enrich its
audience the way she has enriched so many. She has spent her life, and
continues, living with purpose, curiosity and sheer delight. She is a
remarkable scientist with a healthy dose of “Jersey Girl” thrown in." Franny Stein Kasen, Childhood Friend, Attorney, and Comedian</span></span></span> </span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Remarkable-Women-Life-Isotope-Queen-ebook/dp/B09B6G7HDD/ref=sr_1_3?crid=2GQ67RZJWI9GR&keywords=isotope+queen&qid=1640992739&s=digital-text&sprefix=isotope+queen%2Cdigital-text%2C325&sr=1-3">Remarkable<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Women Free Kindle Book</a></p><p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgO272_Z7La-BRQDExA_HWcHQNz_Icgozvn9czQaG0G3v_kF_hdMxxAWnfJwMe7517gYD59VDwCGAg55pWB6NScFHph3F1RgT9wyVv3tRNS5l2AnN-sQX72fQnybXBhoCzQCKkkxYnr6fIOzhOC3L0Za7Be8FFyMN2cinSrMnS5WooA2yfhJLmp6vSLyw=s2016" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgO272_Z7La-BRQDExA_HWcHQNz_Icgozvn9czQaG0G3v_kF_hdMxxAWnfJwMe7517gYD59VDwCGAg55pWB6NScFHph3F1RgT9wyVv3tRNS5l2AnN-sQX72fQnybXBhoCzQCKkkxYnr6fIOzhOC3L0Za7Be8FFyMN2cinSrMnS5WooA2yfhJLmp6vSLyw=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p> </p><p><style>@font-face
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{page:WordSection1;}</style></p>Isotope Queenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00346511476816956274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349128715082229990.post-15642077643331860092021-12-12T17:36:00.003-08:002021-12-14T13:02:59.885-08:00An Isotope Christmas Carol (2021)<p> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhI7EqIW2GFl41dntHej8S7jt3GlojJJQ1SYlM7E8Pdh21PhnrgTyiSg2UlTUgeTiQNLaxH0Zm6-V3OlnChvDizaIzBXi0m9zB-4PfIxCl6ZgtkNoFbH8V4x28c0ZLoiE9u4-WNOnB4ffVdqUgB9unlhXQb-N6Re752xlAEgwd7mOYunxZEttBpeL_sWQ=s720" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="720" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhI7EqIW2GFl41dntHej8S7jt3GlojJJQ1SYlM7E8Pdh21PhnrgTyiSg2UlTUgeTiQNLaxH0Zm6-V3OlnChvDizaIzBXi0m9zB-4PfIxCl6ZgtkNoFbH8V4x28c0ZLoiE9u4-WNOnB4ffVdqUgB9unlhXQb-N6Re752xlAEgwd7mOYunxZEttBpeL_sWQ=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sloths and Gremlins can take over an isotope lab<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p><b>**This is PURE Fiction. None of the characters are real people.**</b><br />
</p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">It was December 23<sup>rd</sup>. Professor IsoPope strode
into her stable isotope mass spectrometer laboratory at 9:37 am expecting to
see a full crew of people working away. She heard only the sound of turbo pumps
whining and fume hood fans exhausting. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Her mood soured even more than normal. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Lazy good for nothings,” she muttered. Glancing at the
computer screen on a Thermo Delta V mass spec, she noted the autosampler had
skipped a sample, followed by a double drop. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Harrumph!” she snorted. A quick look at the screen of the Thermo
253 mass spec showed possible poor chromatography and small peaks. She shook
her head at the seeming incompetence of her group.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgYJYMRTszHW5LqbrmghawTstGbE1BlZGkqsVHllBs1oUdkFvnkLn8Rl40Tt5P2wtjn_FRbvjJMUruP8CwNjnx4z8puXM6BTJtfSKTSGvt3xu7tsKyH6IkpZTGKHod9RV9CBJ2bWMkzmaEn4wTdzCY6Y5TudwmFol5n2K_vybkHuaR_luy39MksT7DcEQ=s720" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="720" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgYJYMRTszHW5LqbrmghawTstGbE1BlZGkqsVHllBs1oUdkFvnkLn8Rl40Tt5P2wtjn_FRbvjJMUruP8CwNjnx4z8puXM6BTJtfSKTSGvt3xu7tsKyH6IkpZTGKHod9RV9CBJ2bWMkzmaEn4wTdzCY6Y5TudwmFol5n2K_vybkHuaR_luy39MksT7DcEQ=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Geophysical Lab run by Sloths<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">At 10:07 am, there was a small commotion at the lab door,
then in burst her lab manager, postdoc, two grad students, and an undergrad
intern. They were laughing and carrying various types of drinks—fancy coffees
and candy-cane flavored concoctions. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Professor IsoPope instantly recoiled. “I should report all
of you to University Safety for bringing liquids into the lab!” </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The lab crew grew silent, eyed their fancy drinks, then
quickly reversed course and left them outside the lab. When they returned, they
quietly went to their workstations, weighing, analyzing, and computing.
Professor IsoPope reminded them sharply that their contracts stipulated that
work began at 9:00 am sharp. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Seconds later, IsoPope’s senior technician, IsoHope, opened
the door looking frazzled. She had gotten up early that day to head to Target
to get a hard-to-find toy stuffed sloth for her 3-year old son. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Stuffed sloths were “In” that year,</i> and
with shipping having been disrupted by COVID, they were at a premium to find in
stores, much less affordable for her, a single mom. Her early shopping didn’t
pan out, however, and she knew her son would be disappointed Christmas day.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjR2ik8tMmhBz9ln4ZoGY_B0cTxmkN-XRQ0WOAI88FHVEMzZnijkPbK0rhvf1KUi0e1oOT_wOT4gci09Fh-4yPRbFCYuufnqE4s1fWE8Fiw7GyJun4lKiqRsUmT6OGYvF1lKvOnrSKG4tbrdKQ3Q88sjrRX9NstLDBPYlnHU6qzJlqJITsc5vbJF_6XTQ=s720" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="720" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjR2ik8tMmhBz9ln4ZoGY_B0cTxmkN-XRQ0WOAI88FHVEMzZnijkPbK0rhvf1KUi0e1oOT_wOT4gci09Fh-4yPRbFCYuufnqE4s1fWE8Fiw7GyJun4lKiqRsUmT6OGYvF1lKvOnrSKG4tbrdKQ3Q88sjrRX9NstLDBPYlnHU6qzJlqJITsc5vbJF_6XTQ=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sloths trained to use complex instruments <br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Sorry I’m late today. Stuffed sloths are the new “In” thing
this year. I was waiting for them to go on sale, since they cost more than a
full tank of liquid nitrogen,” IsoHope explained. “On my salary, I couldn’t afford
one without a discount.” </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">IsoHope went straight to the microbalance, weighed out 50
samples in less than an hour, and had them running by noontime. Skipping lunch
to make up for lost time, she then went to the freezer, pulled out a rack of
autosampler vials, and started a 30-hour run on the gas chromatograph-stable
isotope mass spec system. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Professor IsoPope had walked out without noticing her hard
work. “Bah Humbug!” she was heard to say before the lab door snapped shut.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Rhymes with Witch,” her postdoc announced when IsoPope was
gone. The grad students brought their drinks back in and finished them. At less
than $2,000 salary per month, they couldn't waste anything. The undergrad
started Googling different intern opportunities. The lab manager searched on
Isogeochem for new positions. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The 24<sup>th</sup> was a holiday, so the lab crew tidied up
their benches, disposed of chemicals, and got the isotope mass specs ready for
their holiday “sleep.” Isohope made a mental note to come in at 6:30 pm
Christmas Eve to put her instrument in standby. At 5:00 pm, the crew left the
lab, with their spirits starting to revive as they headed to the campus Brew
Pub for a quick holiday pint. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Only IsoHope was staying in town for the holidays and was
scheduled to carry out lab checks. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>**********<span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>***********<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>**********</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">IsoPope packed up her laptop at 6:30, walked through the
deserted hallways of the Geology building out to her car, which sat alone in a
normally crowded faculty parking lot. As she drove home, she thought about how
her isotope heroes had died years earlier—Harold Urey (of course), Tom Hoering,
Sam Epstein, and even John Hayes. Her house was cold when she arrived and she
didn’t feel very hungry, so she microwaved a small vegetarian pizza and went to
bed. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj_SgEsn0_010bNPhaBOF3hQOtMmHPyJA2K2ozUixTnaM16QIrVIGSHvpPl6CG9arBM5Jf2u2izhwUbvGmItDEfHkj4GkxZ3ABZHas4XrfPX7LllRRNV23lNK1_zM6wlcE7kTEeJjPFqRTsdq6Ep_Jk8hExOejEXpe9Jvk3P_-xok0iM9YPTRQjfTDTeQ=s990" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="869" data-original-width="990" height="281" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj_SgEsn0_010bNPhaBOF3hQOtMmHPyJA2K2ozUixTnaM16QIrVIGSHvpPl6CG9arBM5Jf2u2izhwUbvGmItDEfHkj4GkxZ3ABZHas4XrfPX7LllRRNV23lNK1_zM6wlcE7kTEeJjPFqRTsdq6Ep_Jk8hExOejEXpe9Jvk3P_-xok0iM9YPTRQjfTDTeQ=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">By 9:00 she was asleep and her dreams began. The <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">ghost of Tom Hoering</b> appeared first. He
was dragging an electrical cord attached to an old rotary vacuum pump that left
a trail of oil dribbling out of its heavy, grey frame. Around his neck he wore
a collar made from an old-fashioned chromatography column. His tie had burn
holes from glass blowing, and over his shoulder, he was draped with a chewed
length of hose he had used for years to glass blow vacuum lines. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Mend your ways now or you’ll measure your last isotope
values alone!” Tom’s ghost moaned. IsoPope rolled over in her sleep. “Bother,”
she thought.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The parade of ghosts continued.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 391.5pt;">The <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Ghost of Isotope Christmas Past</b> came first, pulling her out of bed
and into a shadowy world. IsoPope saw herself as a postdoc, only in a dingy lab
on Christmas Eve struggling to measure nitrogen isotopes in Precambrian rocks
on a leaky vacuum system. The work never panned out. She spent a frustrating
year trying to restart her career. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As
time went out on, IsoPope met what should have been her life’s Soul Mate. He
wasn’t an isotope guy, but he was a scientist who respected women and loved
her—even without her having much success yet. They moved in together and for
three years, things went swimmingly. Then, her first paper made the cover of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Science</i>, then <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">PNAS</i>, and offers came in from prestigious universities around the
country. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 391.5pt;"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 391.5pt;">She took an offer for herself, but
didn’t negotiate for her Soul Mate, who remained behind. He drifted away. Her
career consumed her. The name IsoPope was given to her when she reached an
h-index of 80, at the age of 52.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 391.5pt;"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 391.5pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>*********<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>***********<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>************</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 391.5pt;">The <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Ghost of Isotope Christmas Present</b> appeared next in the form of a
see-through specter with a lab coat peppered with chemical stains. The ghost
took IsoPope’s hand in her dream and led her to see Christmas in IsoHope’s
house. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 391.5pt;"> <br /></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjty9C30DJEvkVDdsbNggmkI47-BQ6xxXRe4nfksTdAgL0EFihl0I0TN9cEHkOg1eLU8SKmxFnkIwMOG1HCkhoUOMgrudEMsLiaw4gp-nIa5pg1cNrtOE8JwKFDLV5gkKliWpHhSXgVCVgJJiQ2Emy_6t4KIetUhJfkIsjvMHQXiaPimKK3Pr_MXEHFEA=s720" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="720" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjty9C30DJEvkVDdsbNggmkI47-BQ6xxXRe4nfksTdAgL0EFihl0I0TN9cEHkOg1eLU8SKmxFnkIwMOG1HCkhoUOMgrudEMsLiaw4gp-nIa5pg1cNrtOE8JwKFDLV5gkKliWpHhSXgVCVgJJiQ2Emy_6t4KIetUhJfkIsjvMHQXiaPimKK3Pr_MXEHFEA=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Data Processing Sloths<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 391.5pt;">A small table sized tree with
shabby ornaments adorned a kitchen table in a small 1-bedroom apartment in a
student part of town. IsoHope’s son, little Delta, was excited to see a book
“Goodnight Lab”, but looked disappointed that Santa left him a teddy bear
instead of the hoped-for sloth. IsoHope had family across the country but
couldn’t afford the flight home for the holidays, and anyway she had to work.
After a quick breakfast, she buckled little Delta into his car seat, drove to
campus, and did her daily mass spectrometer checks.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 391.5pt;"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 391.5pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">[“Merry Christmas!” she told the instruments. It was well known that
when isotope mass spectrometers are ignored, Gremlins infiltrate mass spec labs
causing havoc.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>IsoHope knew from
experience that if she ran an On-Off measurement and gave each machine a slug
of carbon dioxide, they’d be satisfied.] </i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 391.5pt;"> </p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg_yyMHNrQ8fWu0oaI3xyiUsBMxRLyXgCRQ4PE4hC4i10-TShAHSzCawa60wp71nDBltO9dQ2WDmGSfDwwXBwoOzUOYziW6B4ouCaZJ1i-jC6Gg-iL8JS6ijQWgYF9lBXB1BcMog-4wHNvdYvBgGXjfTUqsESkEDPsnGVvnPwdfZcKaFjxaf_naPN_19Q=s720" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="720" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg_yyMHNrQ8fWu0oaI3xyiUsBMxRLyXgCRQ4PE4hC4i10-TShAHSzCawa60wp71nDBltO9dQ2WDmGSfDwwXBwoOzUOYziW6B4ouCaZJ1i-jC6Gg-iL8JS6ijQWgYF9lBXB1BcMog-4wHNvdYvBgGXjfTUqsESkEDPsnGVvnPwdfZcKaFjxaf_naPN_19Q=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gremlin infecting vacuum line<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 391.5pt;">IsoPope was dragged by the Ghost past
the campus Bell Tower and heard the words “Fame” and “Distinguished” and
“Workaholic.” Then she saw her mass specs lose vacuum and grind to an eerie
silence.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 391.5pt;"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 391.5pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>**************<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>***************<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>******************</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 391.5pt;"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 391.5pt;">The <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Ghost of Isotope Christmas Yet to Come</b> drifted to her next—a shadowy
filmy ghost dressed in black. IsoPope was taken to a memorial service on Zoom
where the attendees fiddled with their phones, told jokes, and logged off after
only 20 minutes. She recognized her old Soul Mate, postdoc, grad students, and
IsoHope in the Gallery. The ghost dragged her to IsoHope’s apartment where she
sat alone without her son, now a teenager serving jail time in Juvenile Hall
for stealing toys from Target. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 391.5pt;"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 391.5pt;">Stricken suddenly with compassion,
IsoPope was shown a simple cardboard box with ashes titled: “IsoPope:
1955-2025” sitting on a shelf, covered with dust, forgotten. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 391.5pt;"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 391.5pt;">She awoke with a start.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 391.5pt;"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 391.5pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>***************<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>****************<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>****************</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 391.5pt;"> </p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiD1eirNJS2djxJf8fv1i7aD8hV9ntEzZ6soirfCMBcRKQbUa9kJWEh1VgP4yy4DjPpAjnLfCghp5RiIc6Rq3t1NOy5ozzyRnE6EEdj6I0iuCerKceYFfzRY2tkF4j_CfHmg6CO8kBiy0no7_qhSEGU56SmhCnxTXBnqSE0Wz0d29QhP9p1B0Rt-zu0qg=s720" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="720" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiD1eirNJS2djxJf8fv1i7aD8hV9ntEzZ6soirfCMBcRKQbUa9kJWEh1VgP4yy4DjPpAjnLfCghp5RiIc6Rq3t1NOy5ozzyRnE6EEdj6I0iuCerKceYFfzRY2tkF4j_CfHmg6CO8kBiy0no7_qhSEGU56SmhCnxTXBnqSE0Wz0d29QhP9p1B0Rt-zu0qg=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Source Gremlin: Hard to get rid of them<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 391.5pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was the morning of the 25<sup>th</sup>, her
long strange dream had lasted a day and night. IsoPope hustled to get dressed
and drove the 7 miles to the Target store that stayed open until noon for last
minute shoppers like her. Rushing in, she saw a picked over display of stuffed
sloths. But to her chagrin, it was mostly the sloth’s friends—parrots and
monkeys. Deflated, she rummaged through the pile, and lo and behold found one
remaining sloth! “Holy s*$^,” she hollered and sprinted through the store
throwing snacks, new towels, a soccer ball, and some fancy Christmas
decorations into her cart before checking out. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 391.5pt;"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 391.5pt;">Now traveling fast, she stopped by
the only grocery store open in town, found a roasting chicken, fresh salad
greens, a good bottle of Chardonnay, and for good measure, a fruit cake. She
arrived at IsoHope’s apartment building just before 9:00 am (sharp), knocked on
the door, left the packages on the doorstep, then retreated behind a parked car
and watched little Delta open the door. “Mommy, look! Santa left us some extra
gifts.” </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 391.5pt;"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 391.5pt;">Satisfied, IsoPope drove home,
savored a cup of strong coffee and opened her email. In her Inbox, a message
from the 24<sup>th </sup>popped up: “Last minute Invitation” greeted her. Her
neighbors were hosting a Friends Christmas Party—informal, bring something.
Running into shower and getting dressed in an Ugly Christmas Sweater, she
wrapped up one of her books, a bottle of botanical flavored gin, and a fruit
cake. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 391.5pt;"><br />
Determined to change her life and treat everyone with kindness and compassion,
IsoPope committed herself to generosity. The mass spectrometers felt the new
energy and smiled, joining hands with the Gremlins for a peaceful vacation.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 391.5pt;"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 391.5pt;">Just before leaving to celebrate ,
she hopped onto Isogeochem—her favorite listserve—and wrote “Happy Holidays to
All!”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 391.5pt;"> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg3YOB5NiEAv0XTG_cu8iUG_Zu9hMRXt_P9FLMtMJJAgWDhw-JHdVpPAdmdPDevxd-OwHHyYEPgg90EyLACEo8fI3Z4DKhpSK2p8SqOR4nBfrBWzX8NxnKoxYdujVtEviUHhwe7-I4sNPKtF4jArxANIi382xX_As4jcfI04LgwKxmy0tP_T358xg4kUQ=s843" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="504" data-original-width="843" height="382" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg3YOB5NiEAv0XTG_cu8iUG_Zu9hMRXt_P9FLMtMJJAgWDhw-JHdVpPAdmdPDevxd-OwHHyYEPgg90EyLACEo8fI3Z4DKhpSK2p8SqOR4nBfrBWzX8NxnKoxYdujVtEviUHhwe7-I4sNPKtF4jArxANIi382xX_As4jcfI04LgwKxmy0tP_T358xg4kUQ=w640-h382" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Non-fiction: Max Coleman, John Eiler, John Hayes, Ed Young, Marilyn, AGU 2016<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 391.5pt;"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 391.5pt;"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 391.5pt;"> </p><br /><p><style>@font-face
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{page:WordSection1;}</style></p>Isotope Queenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00346511476816956274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349128715082229990.post-91457659605193319362021-11-23T17:43:00.003-08:002021-11-23T17:51:59.734-08:00Keep your heart open<p> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiLY5NbpU6d_7PKhWrQHXt31NBRZ-48fYohe5l_12wN-eKy0nFGZFIgiiKJLeZYv-WvzGcWM8K07BHOZaOE2mJ05NZuDfiti2nDGOK0kprE8uU3wOaPmGcElTFvA-M4_TO2_UtQ7MpYjfjqH-2MbBwkf4w9F595p739I6IkgP_GWvgQeFOs4EkKSK7LCg=s720" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="720" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiLY5NbpU6d_7PKhWrQHXt31NBRZ-48fYohe5l_12wN-eKy0nFGZFIgiiKJLeZYv-WvzGcWM8K07BHOZaOE2mJ05NZuDfiti2nDGOK0kprE8uU3wOaPmGcElTFvA-M4_TO2_UtQ7MpYjfjqH-2MbBwkf4w9F595p739I6IkgP_GWvgQeFOs4EkKSK7LCg=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Some of the visitors in 2021<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />
<p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Keep your heart open for as
long as you can, as wide as you can, for others and especially for yourself. Be
generous, decent, and welcoming.” Morrie Schwartz, 1996, “In His Own Words”</span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Vaccinated,
then boosted, 2021 has unfolded as a year of ups and some small downs. Our
country, and the world at large, is unsettled as much today as it was a year
ago, maybe even more. Even more important to read Morrie’s words above and put
them into practice. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Today’s
simple blog highlights earlier Thanksgiving essays. They chronicle my life
before and during the pandemic that never seems to end. Please have another
look.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://isotopequeen.blogspot.com/2019/11/advice-to-myself-keep-your-heart-open.html">Advice
to Myself 2019</a></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://isotopequeen.blogspot.com/2020/11/thanksgiving-stories-and-lots-of-photos.html">Pandemic
Thanksgiving 2020</a></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Your need to feel connected to other people
is as vital to human survival as food, water, and shelter.” Morrie Schwartz,
1996, “In His Own Words”</span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></i></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgBr17VXPeSdn98CGI3Awx2iQIftxk3oCghnAlsvRs4cdvnx4q-57diaB32e1o7nngIqDUC95Y6A7zQE9owIUY4lRjFbIJwhqEBOX-Hz-0je06S9qE8r8EM-8IQkZAL1TECKoEkONaD1hMTixYvp2-6U0IdN7n3OUhUEDE8OEBYoEkjOnpO6GKX8Gt2AQ=s2048" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgBr17VXPeSdn98CGI3Awx2iQIftxk3oCghnAlsvRs4cdvnx4q-57diaB32e1o7nngIqDUC95Y6A7zQE9owIUY4lRjFbIJwhqEBOX-Hz-0je06S9qE8r8EM-8IQkZAL1TECKoEkONaD1hMTixYvp2-6U0IdN7n3OUhUEDE8OEBYoEkjOnpO6GKX8Gt2AQ=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Remarkable Tom Cassidy and Joy Oakes, now retired, in 2019 <br /></td></tr></tbody></table><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></i><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">2021: Two
years after we held a wedding vow renewal on a frigid day in November 2019. It
rained for 5 days straight, only stopping briefly for our outdoor ceremony. The
house was packed with people. Little did we know that in a few short months,
we’d be locked away from so many for so long. Looking back: such a special
time.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Message:
Carpe diem (seize the day)!</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://isotopequeen.blogspot.com/2019/12/wedding-vows-33-years.html">Wedding
Vow Renewal 2019</a></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Talk openly about your
illness with those who’ll listen. It will help them cope with their own
vulnerabilities as well as your own.” Morrie Schwartz, 1996, “In His Own Words”</span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjeAK_N59cH89-U2hM0_cRmEkZU9n3GauN7kt4jfyK2gkUm1aFFoa_V3SRsxmLBLajzPpGxTy5pYcoquRnPIOozI74RN9WHAiuZL5VjyDoKevic-ngx9nfG-CbRb9TifBUKgdBd0vBIMcJHpoZZomJUAWA9X_3zrBWK8brbk9__Xfj42erwrGqUp1PlGA=s720" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="720" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjeAK_N59cH89-U2hM0_cRmEkZU9n3GauN7kt4jfyK2gkUm1aFFoa_V3SRsxmLBLajzPpGxTy5pYcoquRnPIOozI74RN9WHAiuZL5VjyDoKevic-ngx9nfG-CbRb9TifBUKgdBd0vBIMcJHpoZZomJUAWA9X_3zrBWK8brbk9__Xfj42erwrGqUp1PlGA=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Never give up! Let your feelings show. It’s been a year in
which my own journey with ALS has hit more physical “milestones” of loss. I now
need to use more medical devices to keep going. Ugh…As my son Evan says,
“You’ve adapted to a million things. This is just another few hundred.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Let others’ affection, love,
concern, interest, admiration, and respect be enough to keep you composed.”
Morrie Schwartz, 1996, “In His Own Words”</span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We’ve gone from no visitors to hosting vaccinated, and
boosted, people from all over. <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Thanks to
you for making the often tedious journey to Mariposa. </b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">For those I Zoom with on seminars and meetings, thanks for
adapting to my small travel circle. For all my “pen pals” on Isogeochem, I love
to think and post about your lab quandaries. Keeping engaged is one of the most
important aspects to keeping going.<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgBkc8zWqIBt3cLMBVN4w3ee3M0BgEiWo7YbsHaZmKQAK89IDiCWxwMWpiL18mvXY8aS1woeu0Xb3ut7uwVqwZz5h8NWCQQ7octGa6qKMHORrZIJJucMskDKc0h6rK-qjNRDCEokjZb_PS6ThYze969Gf7YU2QBT6QCgtAtF2chiomMUE0mDqAHx1fSoQ=s2048" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgBkc8zWqIBt3cLMBVN4w3ee3M0BgEiWo7YbsHaZmKQAK89IDiCWxwMWpiL18mvXY8aS1woeu0Xb3ut7uwVqwZz5h8NWCQQ7octGa6qKMHORrZIJJucMskDKc0h6rK-qjNRDCEokjZb_PS6ThYze969Gf7YU2QBT6QCgtAtF2chiomMUE0mDqAHx1fSoQ=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lecture at Isocamp, 2021<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /> </span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">This
year, I published three of my memoir books on Amazon and have delighted in
sending eBooks and author’s copies to friends and family far and wide. Thanks
to those who have read the books and submitted reviews.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/author/isotopequeenbooks">Isotope
Queen Author Page</a></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In writing, I’ve had the joy to relive wonderful times with
people I’ve known since childhood, thought about my early career, marveled at
being a young mother then seeing how my children have grown into caring adults,
and every day, thanked my Lucky Stars that I met my patient, funny, loving
husband who makes every day, a day to enjoy and embrace.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjmYqKhf4tN6xE8mw26vYJPw65lQZAIAOmiStfszLgHqfpewGWmDHAsKgqBcraEWTsjNXbjdOMYoNVnw_HdY6K_IbzOR7xWl6n21hR9IRSHA_LZEHcodtB6KX4GBjLGTimOeOHyFfl9T5edyyf78xhaf8uQ0r_mr4eV4qKSDicjJ57Abjk_5noLS3Gzsg=s2016" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjmYqKhf4tN6xE8mw26vYJPw65lQZAIAOmiStfszLgHqfpewGWmDHAsKgqBcraEWTsjNXbjdOMYoNVnw_HdY6K_IbzOR7xWl6n21hR9IRSHA_LZEHcodtB6KX4GBjLGTimOeOHyFfl9T5edyyf78xhaf8uQ0r_mr4eV4qKSDicjJ57Abjk_5noLS3Gzsg=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chris and Marilyn, Sea Ranch, 2021<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Happy Thanksgiving to all.</p>
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{page:WordSection1;}</style></p>Isotope Queenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00346511476816956274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349128715082229990.post-23065213529751721652021-11-21T14:46:00.005-08:002021-11-21T14:52:14.382-08:00Don't Yuck my Yum: Millennial to Boomer<p> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhkIXEi_jloGki4AcUTu1MxaKX7Ej-OnPXSrp_PEjjZnGdMXcfGaVACPOCbWKWXKhiznezPWGf7s4w2geHWVlHu8xaaa6Ai3VQdyb2tkd_8dbbJuZuVK8UU0cMjBm7GD0PwmXSW9_oqpb14gKQxdpN7oVZyed9PRh9RgF1lybeRHPJOfSEIunSMK1-F7Q=s2048" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhkIXEi_jloGki4AcUTu1MxaKX7Ej-OnPXSrp_PEjjZnGdMXcfGaVACPOCbWKWXKhiznezPWGf7s4w2geHWVlHu8xaaa6Ai3VQdyb2tkd_8dbbJuZuVK8UU0cMjBm7GD0PwmXSW9_oqpb14gKQxdpN7oVZyed9PRh9RgF1lybeRHPJOfSEIunSMK1-F7Q=w400-h266" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(L-R): Liz Williams, Joy Stewart, Christina Bradley, David Araiza, 2015 UC Merced<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />
<p></p><p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Remember, ‘don’t
yuck my yum’,” my daughter Dana scolded me on the phone this week. “We’ll see
you at around 6 pm tomorrow.” </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I had been
telling her about something going on in my life, I don’t recall now what, but
her phrase stuck with me. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>My Millennial
daughter and her Boomer mother often talk at cross purposes with each other.
Talking about problems in society—even when we agree on the problem—can be
tricky. As a Boomer, my goal is often to “solve the problem” where her thoughts
trend towards understanding different perspectives. Fortunately, we are both
liberal and left-leaning, but our strong willed nature can complicate things.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>When Dana
and her fiancé George arrived, she said, “Me and George are going to help put
up Christmas lights this weekend.” </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>George,
listening, piped up, “I learned to say ‘George and I’ not ‘me and George.’
Isn’t that correct?”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Dana
quipped, “Language is changing! Don’t yuck my language yum. That could be
elitist.” </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEifkTilzrEif2e6ESosg5pyILXEUfqEcag5unyvhUamItRjgzHgy0egewU3yHIF_78p0ZfQKKciWtSAwhD-Xlfvk48Q1j-loODMYb81Y5PgwU8kEiHf2QedJ64E155Nm7PdJ95B7VE37dqZhiNIOXRjq7ivj960pvfWvalc9tamKXO95TSDq2ln4k5YyA=s2048" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1539" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEifkTilzrEif2e6ESosg5pyILXEUfqEcag5unyvhUamItRjgzHgy0egewU3yHIF_78p0ZfQKKciWtSAwhD-Xlfvk48Q1j-loODMYb81Y5PgwU8kEiHf2QedJ64E155Nm7PdJ95B7VE37dqZhiNIOXRjq7ivj960pvfWvalc9tamKXO95TSDq2ln4k5YyA=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me and Dana, 2021<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I know this
conundrum personally, having been recently embroiled in a debate between Boomer
science women and Millennial science women about the use of “me and so-and-so…”
in a public scientific conference. I have given this plenty of thought,
discussed it with other Boomer science women, and decided to stick my neck out
with this blog. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Boomer
science women need to take a breath when Millennial science women are offended when
we ‘yuck their yum’. I hope that Millennial science women will wait an hour or
two before thinking a Boomer’s comments are targeted at a certain group (for
example, them) or meant to be offensive.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br />
<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">We have much to learn from each other. </b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"> </b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>In my field
of isotope biogeochemistry and earth science, there were very few women when I
earned my PhD in 1977, perhaps only 10% of us were women. For 30 years earlier
in my career, I was the only woman on the Geophysical Lab’s senior scientific
staff of 15. Having weathered that difficult time, my strong personality formed
because I needed to be a fighter to keep going. There were no female role
models. And there was essentially almost no diversity within women science
colleagues my age. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Women in
science, especially the physical sciences, have not reached parity. Recently at
a faculty meeting, our Dean noted that it would take 12 years at the rate UC
Riverside is hiring to reach a ratio of 50:50 women to men—a hiring pathway
that is unrealistic and short-sighted, as well as ignoring other
under-represented groups. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgJW5aIrxw0NQQrlEYiSUx_5M7l56Z8RMzYTWLGRsFZesf9_vsf9BYPakr5y-JvLXSFCYEME1hwueIebjkPyv6tTOc9ev9BcOuhV5CuxITsKf_2kS870Hsu5zj85Y1hLTvkEgjsEKN-1t27DEua9RoWr-TVBXZW5ZC9wG62pHBFItvuyJ-OzdDIHX4YCQ=s700" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="377" data-original-width="700" height="173" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgJW5aIrxw0NQQrlEYiSUx_5M7l56Z8RMzYTWLGRsFZesf9_vsf9BYPakr5y-JvLXSFCYEME1hwueIebjkPyv6tTOc9ev9BcOuhV5CuxITsKf_2kS870Hsu5zj85Y1hLTvkEgjsEKN-1t27DEua9RoWr-TVBXZW5ZC9wG62pHBFItvuyJ-OzdDIHX4YCQ=w320-h173" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I can turn my laptop on...but<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhFIORCFZ3530NRCPlNCTkqWjbE8Y3Hn9JvLtYDOyjY5sgAXxBxOPds8wKxKgaMxlb8rLY0Zvo8YAKi_yuSHVU_b9RrbnNtuS_Gj5PIBJuGh94jeRsZqNGnzuM0wG0d3s6jYUPLRSx0PzHmxUYgNFpfhqVO29eQQ9O2oTH18ptKR5Q7h7IDRCzxleiQbg=s625" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="415" data-original-width="625" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhFIORCFZ3530NRCPlNCTkqWjbE8Y3Hn9JvLtYDOyjY5sgAXxBxOPds8wKxKgaMxlb8rLY0Zvo8YAKi_yuSHVU_b9RrbnNtuS_Gj5PIBJuGh94jeRsZqNGnzuM0wG0d3s6jYUPLRSx0PzHmxUYgNFpfhqVO29eQQ9O2oTH18ptKR5Q7h7IDRCzxleiQbg=w200-h133" width="200" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Today, we
recognize that diversity extends well beyond gender—race, ethnicity,
disabilities, gender identification, social status—are some of the identities
that are as important today as just being a woman. The Boomer women scientists
I hang with are all well aware of this new push to promote diversity. Until I
started as a professor in 2013 at an Hispanic serving institution at the
University of California Merced, I didn’t have a great opportunity to do much
about the wider diversity issue. After almost 9 years immersed in this culture,
I understand more what needs to be done. I think it is too early to tell how
diversity, inclusivity, and equity (DEI) thinking will change scientific
culture.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>What will
we see in the next 5 years?</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Boomer
women will largely be out of the workforce. But like me, a retired Boomer, we
can still contribute. Our experiences, while somewhat limited, still chronicle
what it took for us in a world where goal-oriented, competitive, and
disciplined traits were critical for success. My work ethic remains strong.
Dealing with ALS has forced me to continue to be resourceful, disciplined, and
mentally focused, or I would have retreated to a shell waiting for disability
to over take me. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I
would like to continue to mentor</i></b>. My rhinoceros-hide days are gone,
however. I am very sensitive to negative energy. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Adding an “R” for respect to DEI is a new goal:
DEIR. I hope to no longer “yuck your yum.” I’ll need help to do this with the
sensitivity that is required to work with a broader group of scientists in need
of encouragement to enter the important work of making new discoveries,
changing scientific and academic culture, and changing how we judge and
evaluate each other.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg9HSUuffEcMnxuH1yGl8lej0OHsXg74QyJ7GVxL5iIKaprD8ELKDJobJrHBBhC0Cx3WH0mH1q4wKzjGHU43ndqtAJ03MUgUgLlvROggA5fFgdKarwNSG_QAgiI3ZzaGkEQxvfRUb8RVQinUO67OUYEhUilWsQe-YvVq933hwYxyH6nUF_dCM3JkSfaqQ=s700" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="380" data-original-width="700" height="174" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg9HSUuffEcMnxuH1yGl8lej0OHsXg74QyJ7GVxL5iIKaprD8ELKDJobJrHBBhC0Cx3WH0mH1q4wKzjGHU43ndqtAJ03MUgUgLlvROggA5fFgdKarwNSG_QAgiI3ZzaGkEQxvfRUb8RVQinUO67OUYEhUilWsQe-YvVq933hwYxyH6nUF_dCM3JkSfaqQ=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Millennials
are right to question the status quo of the hierarchy that they are joining.
Social change isn’t easy—and it’s been noted that we Boomers didn’t accomplish
what we set out to do when we were in our twenties and thirties. An appropriate
work-life balance is often more important to younger scientists than an
academic position at a research-based university, where it is expected that you
devote 6-7 years of working your ass off without much time for family building
or personal growth. In my opinion, this must change. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We’ve got
to work together to support the whole person, someone who will promote DEIR
during their career and life. I hope to remain in touch with Millennials—and
any others—to effect change and to work on DEIR, and will try as best as I can
to respect others as much as I can. </p>
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{page:WordSection1;}</style></p>Isotope Queenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00346511476816956274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349128715082229990.post-55706458232491495732021-11-06T13:28:00.003-07:002021-11-06T15:02:24.661-07:00Your 60s—Get ready for change!<p> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiHmJ1IbAKP3LOo5EFtK4JZ-MRe624zb-O7sWV9ysz6eB2m1E13n9YDmoGvAkhj9G1y3UaPws7eTgtKpqfymh5RdrUs8x1wMw6IpbD1nz1oM6Xomsfbj5pVZO83vsj6qju-O0rL3swo_7IPTRXpNIiXH0M5a7IdB7uerwoOVJQ2AXo2Xwnr0pRP-3YhuA=s2048" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiHmJ1IbAKP3LOo5EFtK4JZ-MRe624zb-O7sWV9ysz6eB2m1E13n9YDmoGvAkhj9G1y3UaPws7eTgtKpqfymh5RdrUs8x1wMw6IpbD1nz1oM6Xomsfbj5pVZO83vsj6qju-O0rL3swo_7IPTRXpNIiXH0M5a7IdB7uerwoOVJQ2AXo2Xwnr0pRP-3YhuA=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Selfie: Marilyn and Chris at 63, Norway<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />
<p></p><p class="MsoNormal">When the Big Six O comes around, many of us are heading for
change. Often a big change—not necessarily good, but not necessarily bad. It
can be a decade for coasting into retirement or putting on the gas and firing
up for the finish line. Usually it’s up to you to choose what you’ll be doing
now that you’re no longer figuring life out as much as you did as a youngster.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">But, a good situation can be a bad situation; a bad
situation can be a good situation. Humility, humbleness in the face of your
longevity will make you think. What’s important? What can drop out of our
lives? Who are we? </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Our 60s hold surprises for us, as well as inevitable
experiences that come with the decade. Honestly, it’s been a time of such major
change and upheaval for me that it is almost impossible for me to think of what
life might have been had I not left the east coast for California and if I’d
remained healthy. Below are some reflections on things that you’ll likely
encounter if you are younger when you reach this decade, or have already
encountered if you are as old, or older, than I am.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Inevitable</b>:
Everyone knows that you’ll be headed for more doctors appointments than you’ve
had previously. Cancer is often first discovered in your 60s. Arthritis creeps
in. You might have a bad back, a bad knee or an aching hip that will require
surgical repair. Your heart may skip a beat; a life of stress may have elevated
your blood pressure. Even if you are in peak, tiptop shape, your body will let you
know it’s 60+ years old.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Listen to it carefully.</b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">With medical advances as they are today, early detection and
intervention is key to making it to your 70s and even 80s and 90s. Finding a
physician you like, who is caring and committed to your health is important.
Without someone to guide you in this decade, not only will you feel frustrated,
but also may waste valuable time finding out what is needed to make you heal. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"></b></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiwIEGIdH8pn0cSFhAWlCEjnU2bPIsGCfyTu0-k6dykM0t0EdsuFM93zbvdC-ETdp3-wbXLdx-gv4D6DNsnuILlJYfppJqbYhKFiUEpAzHcEzJF6dTD_1QOXctBwXgWGpKzIupaAeqKMXxIa3ZxjK1P_kJauGIypDQZaItQ1HuDlEZnOPYewiOefW3pjQ=s640" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiwIEGIdH8pn0cSFhAWlCEjnU2bPIsGCfyTu0-k6dykM0t0EdsuFM93zbvdC-ETdp3-wbXLdx-gv4D6DNsnuILlJYfppJqbYhKFiUEpAzHcEzJF6dTD_1QOXctBwXgWGpKzIupaAeqKMXxIa3ZxjK1P_kJauGIypDQZaItQ1HuDlEZnOPYewiOefW3pjQ=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Selfie: 60th birthday, on a 5K run<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><br />Surprise:</b>
Although today being 60 doesn’t mean you are necessarily “Old,” be aware that
just like you were in your 20s, Generation Z and Millennials think you are Old.
In fact, it’s likely that you will encounter something now discussed more often—ageism.<p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Ageism: </b><span class="dttext"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">prejudice or
discrimination against a particular age-group and especially the elderly</span></b></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span class="dttext"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></b></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Get ready for this. Recently, I experienced being on the
wrong end of ageism when I commented on a Facebook discussion board with a
group of mostly younger women. I was swarmed; younger, less experienced women
found my comments offensive, when I had intended them otherwise. The swarming
led to some sleepless nights and introspection. What had just happened to me?
Did I deserve the outcry of vitriol I received? This sort of thing can happen
to anyone at any age. But in my case, I felt old-fashioned and out of touch
with the ultra-sensibilities in vogue today. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">So, get ready to steel yourself for ageism when you least
expect it.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Inevitable</b>:
Although you might be living alone with just your partner, you could be lucky
enough to have grandchildren to spoil! Conversely, you may also have a 90-year-old
parent with dementia. Enjoy them both as much as you can. Neither will last as
cute-and-sweet or on the earth forever. I was fortunate to have my mother be
active, funny and alert for much (but not all) of my 60s. I treasure the time
I’ve had with her when she could converse and interact.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"></b></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg9gKkQFU2h5nSsZpkPBdX7lOwcX5--42auyN-5ZDHsLyBDKRny8JoaFDgAwLGJcIu6A6zW3UHMconG4FpYRzuQm29TewZiDEg74ZxA3n4EUZOddFL9Ks3kINk6K1Dce_nWDN6HHwl76O8-9l1NbfJnXyr2mdg0WOfrnXALdW-LDbRlYX4wDsbirexAzA=s640" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg9gKkQFU2h5nSsZpkPBdX7lOwcX5--42auyN-5ZDHsLyBDKRny8JoaFDgAwLGJcIu6A6zW3UHMconG4FpYRzuQm29TewZiDEg74ZxA3n4EUZOddFL9Ks3kINk6K1Dce_nWDN6HHwl76O8-9l1NbfJnXyr2mdg0WOfrnXALdW-LDbRlYX4wDsbirexAzA=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Selfie: First day of Teaching 2013<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><br />Surprise:</b> You
will likely have a younger, less experienced person as your boss or supervisor.
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">It can be very demoralizing to have
someone tell you what you should be doing who doesn’t have your wisdom or
knowledge.</b> When my husband and I came to UC Merced in 2013, we naively
thought we’d be recognized as people on a mission with good ideas and track
records of getting work accomplished. Both of us reported to people who under
estimated us and didn’t see us for who we were. Chris decided to retire, and I
went elsewhere where leaders knew what they were getting. Not being firmly in
the driver’s seat in your 60s is something you will hope to avoid.<p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Inevitable</b>: In
science, this is often a time that folks walk into their labs and assess
whether they have the stamina to do a final upgrade of aging equipment, take on
more grad students needing long term commitments, or letting things gently age.
</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In the world of stable isotopes, if you are talented and/or
have talented technical support working for you, there is a good chance you can
keep your 5-year old mass spectrometer going until you reach 70. If that’s not
the case, and the whine of turbo pumps no longer thrills you, perhaps it’s time
to finish up that last data set and wrap up actual data collecting.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEixVt-HL_dK4uEq07Zs3aO3No0AXIP5RvdINKOyAIwflXalqza19GXRcVUbtm8EIGyr1Qxd5NWCFuQLAsNLesENGfZ7mz96mzpJWBdBkmdwqGebADu1WZpavXmIjgZabXmadVW5mm3tGp7ROawF_WgFUvgikuThxL1XMquOVlT6c8vDBK8oWgpMU7qfWQ=s1280" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEixVt-HL_dK4uEq07Zs3aO3No0AXIP5RvdINKOyAIwflXalqza19GXRcVUbtm8EIGyr1Qxd5NWCFuQLAsNLesENGfZ7mz96mzpJWBdBkmdwqGebADu1WZpavXmIjgZabXmadVW5mm3tGp7ROawF_WgFUvgikuThxL1XMquOVlT6c8vDBK8oWgpMU7qfWQ=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Selfie: Son Evan, me, Chris, Golden Gate 2014<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />In my case, at the ripe age of 69, I have almost as much
unpublished data as I have data that’s in the press. I certainly don’t need
more of it—and really what do I need to accomplish at this point in time? I
have two or three major projects that I’d like to see worked into manuscripts:
more hydrogen isotopes in amino acid papers, ecosystem study in California’s
San Jacinto Mountains, and microbe-animal interactions. <br />
<br />
I have been mulling over posting some of the mountain of data on Isobank <a href="https://isobank.tacc.utexas.edu/">(website)</a> the newish web-based
system for archiving stable isotope data. I am just enough of an old-fashioned
person to cringe slightly at the thought of copying and pasting bits of data
into a website that might be unforgiving. Let’s say it’s not something that
“gets me up in the morning,” but I can knuckle down and give it a try.<p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Surprise:</b> Old
friends from 40-50 years earlier in your life suddenly are interesting to you.
You feel like you’d like to get to know them again after a busy middle age. Now
living in California where he grew up, husband Chris is thoroughly enjoying
seeing his buddies from the early 1980s when they lived in a big group house in
Berkeley. They tell old stories about the big parties they had, the good food,
movies, and I’ve also noticed they switch their manner of speech to how they
talked back in the day. Another example is my high school class’ 50<sup>th</sup>
reunion happening this weekend. My former classmates are engaging as never
before in their past and reminiscing about life as a teenager.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEijmbkSk9djLr9gJggmuLvfcwdGMtk4dBnxSo1W2bQ4n6ohl1Ropo-hTKRzN-mPdajt0I7ISGvrlbXWQP-hBtBHnw7ntTsTngdIQEGPSOKVdboyYFFkWBqLUa8DOzyb63aYYctmhmSpEpnW8mtywl0vumBEyyiw0EAPf6t_d-JhFiVA7uFO9FumkMkqOg=s1280" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEijmbkSk9djLr9gJggmuLvfcwdGMtk4dBnxSo1W2bQ4n6ohl1Ropo-hTKRzN-mPdajt0I7ISGvrlbXWQP-hBtBHnw7ntTsTngdIQEGPSOKVdboyYFFkWBqLUa8DOzyb63aYYctmhmSpEpnW8mtywl0vumBEyyiw0EAPf6t_d-JhFiVA7uFO9FumkMkqOg=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">L-R: Paul Sussman, Chris, Linda Dallin, Nella, Yosemite, 2019 <br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> <p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Colleagues I’ve known for decades get in touch—maybe because
of writing this blog. But I get a bigger sense that people just want to
reconnect as they age. On Monday, I zoomed with a colleague on the east coast
that I’ve known since the 1980s. It tickled me that he beamed and smiled when I
appeared via video saying, “Isn’t this wonderful?”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Inevitable</b>:
People will expect you to retire—often whether you want to or not. Retirement
is a very personal thing. Some abandon their life’s work entirely, while others
like me continue on a limited basis. Finances change, of course. Sometimes for
better, sometimes not. If you’ve reached 60 without a serious effort at putting
money away, don’t skip a minute…save all you can. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Retirement may bring a change in where you live as well. My
friend and frolleague Doug Rumble had a burst of creativity in his 60s, working
on the development and implementation of the new large format mass
spectrometers. He traveled the world offering advice, testing, and hanging out
with the younger scientists who would run the labs. He made a leap from
Washington DC to the west, now enjoying mountain hikes and spectacular geology.
</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br />
Another of my frolleagues likes to make her department Chair squirm when he
tries to gauge when she’ll retire. In the United States, unlike some European
countries, you can’t be asked to formally retire. Wise universities and
business often offer incentives to “move on.” Figuring out what’s best for you
is the ticket: do you want to keep your lab or office? Or are you ready to move
on?</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjx-7j4bzDMpyIBfQe0ETwuy8SH5lvzNo8MXZHlnAgGYU20_OXlOiCrKXLkr2CHbBc-CkwZYLkMmUztysMkWY9WS9fG352QKEqIzk8J3dlbaso8ezIehUhsAJVyDpmXoMYGN7dvL_JVcuKV5hi4nrug7GzmJ7RxDYmrNVW8_f-I3tpXh8zhmPPdCAfRoQ=s1280" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjx-7j4bzDMpyIBfQe0ETwuy8SH5lvzNo8MXZHlnAgGYU20_OXlOiCrKXLkr2CHbBc-CkwZYLkMmUztysMkWY9WS9fG352QKEqIzk8J3dlbaso8ezIehUhsAJVyDpmXoMYGN7dvL_JVcuKV5hi4nrug7GzmJ7RxDYmrNVW8_f-I3tpXh8zhmPPdCAfRoQ=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Old Friends: Jean Roggenkamp, me, Todd Miller, 2021<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Surprise but
Inevitable</b>: Some folks will not make it to their 60s: 15% of my high school
class from 1970 passed away before or during their 60s. We often feel we are
invincible, but as we approach our 60s that feeling often changes and
disappears. I became more vulnerable and humble. Being slugged with a terminal
illness certainly colored the majority of my 60s, but it’s not a time to give
up and binge watch television. No matter your life, health or work status,
continuing to do what you love is more important now than ever. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The decade of your 60s will zoom by faster than your earlier
years, but I suspect not as fast as your 70s, but they aren’t boring or static
by any means. Saddle up for an interesting ride.</p>
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{page:WordSection1;}</style></p>Isotope Queenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00346511476816956274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349128715082229990.post-79160734774198897722021-10-20T17:57:00.007-07:002021-12-13T13:26:52.747-08:00Evaluation and Review--A scientist's life<p>
</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEimCi5hKbVV5tbkX5PRJOHE0VGQlNSeoLWU1bNlqXfxJ8ufU4GW5cJVpsZPQ-EfMiWrDTTMKJ4KV1XITd5bJ4Gx3TAB_BOPg1YcQlJ3V0w6n2t8jrYEJMDP6YSV8m_yAvCn-6DfpHmMxUb6L8l1WrE6imnoGgvKRXIteiTMopTu3mM1UjwtGjlo9aKLNA=s5728" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3824" data-original-width="5728" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEimCi5hKbVV5tbkX5PRJOHE0VGQlNSeoLWU1bNlqXfxJ8ufU4GW5cJVpsZPQ-EfMiWrDTTMKJ4KV1XITd5bJ4Gx3TAB_BOPg1YcQlJ3V0w6n2t8jrYEJMDP6YSV8m_yAvCn-6DfpHmMxUb6L8l1WrE6imnoGgvKRXIteiTMopTu3mM1UjwtGjlo9aKLNA=w400-h268" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">L-R: Tom, Doug Rumble, Marilyn, Joe Boyd, 1990<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> </i></b><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">A White Dude from the ‘50s</i></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Tom Hoering walked to the Geophysical Lab on Upton Street
every morning, arriving on campus by about 8:00 am. In winter he sported a
long, beige trench coat and a woolen pork pie hat, gloves, and if it was snowy
or icy, an old-fashioned pair of black galoshes that slipped over his shoes.
Typically he wore a white shirt, an older, slightly rumpled tie, and a pair of
trousers, usually khakis from LL Beans. In spring, he donned a sport coat and
wore it throughout the day, unless he was glassblowing or using chemical solvents.
In summer, he lost the tie, wearing a thinner, short-sleeved shirt.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">He worked throughout the morning, started by spending an
hour or so writing on a typewriter perched to the left of his old oak desk.
Then, he’d saunter into his lab, turn on instruments, gather his “tools” for
the day and make measurements. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">If Tom’s phone rang, he’d shout, “A ringing telephone is a
request, not a demand!” and keep working.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">By noon, he’d meet up with his colleagues, Felix Chayes and
Hat Yoder, then the threesome would walk down to Connecticut Avenue to eat
lunch at the Hot Shoppes. Some days, he’d have a martini lunch, afterwards putting
his feet up on his desk and taking a snooze for 30 minutes or so. He’d head
back into the lab where he often remained until his day ended at 5:30 pm.
Sometimes, but not often, he’d pack up a leather brief case with some papers to
take home. In the evening, he enjoyed cracking open a new issue of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Geochimica et Cosmochima Acta</i> with its
orange and white cover and reading about the latest scientific discoveries in
geochemistry. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEju8Xhy0XDebfcJi5oqd2713fp3nlntxN3bPsLO-SYEXOQIrUIWQo0mtUYErj3X2EA_qm2mbu5iaqHW0q34Fzfcl9BzKS2q6H1j0zpy7W0RcxJyZotYa5AbvvwOl8RE6ZUIYcSs-fKY-OpwxT-VRvv76eMRIZUk7oGoCs3TpO1wUPpKJbFiHCs6ORt2BQ=s2048" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2001" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEju8Xhy0XDebfcJi5oqd2713fp3nlntxN3bPsLO-SYEXOQIrUIWQo0mtUYErj3X2EA_qm2mbu5iaqHW0q34Fzfcl9BzKS2q6H1j0zpy7W0RcxJyZotYa5AbvvwOl8RE6ZUIYcSs-fKY-OpwxT-VRvv76eMRIZUk7oGoCs3TpO1wUPpKJbFiHCs6ORt2BQ=s320" width="313" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tom fishing on the R/V Longhorn, 1974<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">On Saturdays, he strolled into the Lab around 9:00 am,
usually in more worn out khakis, older shoes, and an open front shirt. He’d tap
some memos out on his typewriter, check out his lab, walk around the building
to make sure no water was leaking, or any other not-to-unusual things were
happening in the Lab. By lunchtime, he’d head back home.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Yearly, Tom worked seriously on one or two projects
typically culminating in a Carnegie Annual Report article in June. Often, he
published his work only in this informal, yet widely read, medium. If he was
into something “hot,” he’d work on it until he was truly satisfied, then would
write a proper peer-reviewed manuscript. He usually mentored one postdoc at a
time, as well as counsel a parade of scientists both young and old who wanted
his advice. Tom loved giving advice and cared deeply about the people in his
scientific sphere.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">On the home front, Tom’s wife Martha took care of their two
children, the house, did the shopping and cooking, washed his clothes and took his
suits to the dry cleaners. He had very few home life things he needed to take care
of in his early years. [This situation changed drastically when Tom was in his
late fifties. Then, he took on the health care of Martha, learned to cook and
garden.] </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Tom was truly a White Dude of the 1950s. Over his career, he
published about 60 papers in journals along with another 60 or so in the
Carnegie’s Annual Report of the Director of the Geophysical Laboratory—not many
by today’s standards. He wrote letters of recommendation, probably reviewed 6
papers and a few grants per year, gave a seminar or two, and went to one
national meeting annually. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiZIJlt3wOb3WNKvClZkj7b5aLMRBM9mHxr-gs-u3_cjRBIjoLo3_8u3Y3yZ684o7SoXqEQV87UyuyQczOnjzm8OccM6PDGsrhHJHe_iqcvTDHXe7DMn99rGxm6O15iu_e614PADyV_uM_WnNdbcQJMmP4uQakEHRyfOPiq-FKzdW_hd9GsEotI3m3zTA=s2048" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1582" data-original-width="2048" height="247" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiZIJlt3wOb3WNKvClZkj7b5aLMRBM9mHxr-gs-u3_cjRBIjoLo3_8u3Y3yZ684o7SoXqEQV87UyuyQczOnjzm8OccM6PDGsrhHJHe_iqcvTDHXe7DMn99rGxm6O15iu_e614PADyV_uM_WnNdbcQJMmP4uQakEHRyfOPiq-FKzdW_hd9GsEotI3m3zTA=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Treibs award ceremony, 1987<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">But he was enormously successful and influential, because
the work that he did do was creative and thorough. The standards he set for
himself—analytical rigor and novel hypotheses—he looked for in others. He
didn’t “count” papers or demand outreach or service. He viewed an early career
scientist with an eye to figure out whether that person came up with original
ideas that could be tested. He looked for analytical prowess. He recognized a
good speaker and a good writer. He also recognized bull shitters, slackers, and
fakes. Knowing this, he attracted competent people. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj6VaXbbiJ7czMGJuM1eNjxn9RsZggCdRVWPfQdCMH3LpHod73MVFaK8uV8jckCHDWAbH--2J-PJhpFU3UCUeWxxusZQCAYfyzNE9PvUrG9BtOf4B4CrajuwiOp-O1iF33ILlU5SyUh42xq63S4xI-PJPyCVg2O0QYgVHhY1bA6vHlXZgBEa5iNMKOFDg=s309" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="194" data-original-width="309" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj6VaXbbiJ7czMGJuM1eNjxn9RsZggCdRVWPfQdCMH3LpHod73MVFaK8uV8jckCHDWAbH--2J-PJhpFU3UCUeWxxusZQCAYfyzNE9PvUrG9BtOf4B4CrajuwiOp-O1iF33ILlU5SyUh42xq63S4xI-PJPyCVg2O0QYgVHhY1bA6vHlXZgBEa5iNMKOFDg=w400-h251" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kate Freeman's Speech for Tom's Treibs Medal Ceremony, 1987<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Tom’s counterpoint on the west coast was Sam Epstein,
professor at Caltech. Sam’s influence in geochemistry is equally influential,
if not a tad greater, as Tom Hoering’s. Epstein published about 130 papers in
his career, often with one of his bright grad students as coauthor. The two men
resembled each other in appearance with curly grey hair, short stature, and
slightly formal manner. Both knew their stuff in the lab, could recognize
talent, and were very creative people. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhKjNdL8hTzthv_w8AAi9nahPZlOgV14QxOWrAb_pDMrtZKkmZQMqrwTWVrwx38YqpsW--rWqB0TvRGj9DlCLFKs96gbr20NGKCNBkURUkIxEjWkdryBfTK1UQ1vwX-bxMR5WyCJzXCwAxKQhKFjp3v1BpjIDNR3lMDy-tJCZ8mpWt7grI4NuveuWkpXw=s999" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="999" data-original-width="999" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhKjNdL8hTzthv_w8AAi9nahPZlOgV14QxOWrAb_pDMrtZKkmZQMqrwTWVrwx38YqpsW--rWqB0TvRGj9DlCLFKs96gbr20NGKCNBkURUkIxEjWkdryBfTK1UQ1vwX-bxMR5WyCJzXCwAxKQhKFjp3v1BpjIDNR3lMDy-tJCZ8mpWt7grI4NuveuWkpXw=w200-h200" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sam Epstein, Caltech<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> <p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Today it is popular
for some entering the early stages of a scientific career to think that White
Dudes from the ‘50s made up the criteria for which people are judged today.</b>
I don’t think this is necessarily so.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Communication until the mid-1980s happened by snail
mail—letters pounded out on a typewriter or written by hand. Telephone calls
were expensive. Personal computers were uncommon. Secretaries typed your
manuscripts. Graphics were done by hand or sent out to a professional drafts
person. To travel, people used travel agents and held paper tickets. To read
the literature, you needed to physically go into the Library, take a book off
the shelf, and then Xerox the paper you’d want to read later. <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Life was slower, much less complicated.</b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">How are scientists evaluated today—1950s ethics or something more
relevant?</i></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">For the past two years, I served on AGU’s Macelwane awards
committee, reading and evaluating 60+ nominees each year, then having to choose
only 5 to get the award. These nominees, all within 10 years of earning their
PhDs, have remarkable records of accomplishment! Many of them have published 60
to 90 papers, have brought in millions in grant funding, established new
programs, often before becoming full professors. This simply phenomenal rate of
accomplishment isn’t based on White Dudes from the ‘50s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I’m often asked to provide an assessment of a professor for
tenure and promotion. Some universities provide a candidate’s written statement
20-25 pages long, not including a separate CV. University “bean counting” makes
them list every talk, seminar, paper review, and student evaluation so that
people like me can write an assessment. The sheer amount of tasks that early
career earth scientists must undertake to be “successful” is numbing. Based on
feedback from colleagues at this point in time, it can also lead to burnout.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Where did the metrics
for scientist’s reviews come from? How often are we evaluated and reviewed in
our careers? How often do we evaluate and review others?</i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Here’s an estimate.</b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I published about 200+ papers in my career. For each paper,
an editor judged it 3 times, and three reviewers read and commented on it twice
for a total of 9 evaluations/paper and 1,800 evaluations for the body of work.
For the people who actually read the papers, maybe 10 formed an opinion, adding
another 2,000 “reviews” to the mix.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhRfh7ABErp0OhpDt8ePeWDdZr9_q1f4saIZPXqW1zkyEKuLDy_YMPvxKip-UVRXeG6LfWe8VbpCFSi4Mn0G3VSiGRvrOd9hDB7L6juCGpBc_Nf21Ar09jk8LIcm_LOvdfsLVMJJiCZrH3mhyZyTi615xtNbXacIWdBs_x9lv8X9hs2S_3GPJ4dDQFPpQ=s447" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="447" data-original-width="377" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhRfh7ABErp0OhpDt8ePeWDdZr9_q1f4saIZPXqW1zkyEKuLDy_YMPvxKip-UVRXeG6LfWe8VbpCFSi4Mn0G3VSiGRvrOd9hDB7L6juCGpBc_Nf21Ar09jk8LIcm_LOvdfsLVMJJiCZrH3mhyZyTi615xtNbXacIWdBs_x9lv8X9hs2S_3GPJ4dDQFPpQ=w338-h400" width="338" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Informality years ago...<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I submitted maybe 60+ grant proposals during my career. At
NSF, for example, a program officer evaluated it three times, three outside
peers provided reviews, as well as 8 panel members: 840 reviews in total.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I gave about 2 seminars per year and 2 talks or posters at
conferences to audiences of about 50 people each time. Say 10 of them formed an
opinion—in 45 years, that’s 1620 informal reviews!</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I came late to classroom teaching--600 students total in 8
years: another 600 evaluations.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In the collaborations along the way, I worked on over 200
projects with at least 3 colleagues that commented on all aspects of the work
multiple times: 1,800 evaluations of approaches, methods, and data. Add to that
coauthor reviews of manuscripts: another 600 reviews and edits. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">That’s 9260 evaluations, conservatively, about 4 per week
for 45 years. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Here’s an estimate of
how many scientists I have reviewed or evaluated.</b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I probably review 6 manuscripts per year: often twice: 405
reviews.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Thirty some postdocs and 40 some grad students were
evaluated informally probably three times a year for 3 years each: 630
evaluations.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In classroom teaching, 600 students took 3 exams and wrote
one paper: 2,400 evaluations.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I review maybe 5 grant proposals per year (for 30 years):
150 reviews.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I attended about 30 seminars per year and probably listened
to, and paid attention to, about 25 talks per year for 45 years: 1825 informal
evaluations.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Tenure and promotion reviews are much less frequent, maybe
three per year for 20 years: 60 detailed assessments.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgAS30uHtLFbIILXIe8FUDFQPV-Eie3JSV2GCsdYlQPy2-ZbPnZwrLJvojnZox-L1oYK9Fayfu8aPrpGZH3jvw8zzwa2exEG7jQrPfk6KeyQ6-kG-sSdV6PDt-WOlopZKtBl_uiRXbo1ixHcbhUf6gRxIKsyHstdL5_Fj5i-3fXi6hgA9sOIzyezrcLbw=s545" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="522" data-original-width="545" height="383" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgAS30uHtLFbIILXIe8FUDFQPV-Eie3JSV2GCsdYlQPy2-ZbPnZwrLJvojnZox-L1oYK9Fayfu8aPrpGZH3jvw8zzwa2exEG7jQrPfk6KeyQ6-kG-sSdV6PDt-WOlopZKtBl_uiRXbo1ixHcbhUf6gRxIKsyHstdL5_Fj5i-3fXi6hgA9sOIzyezrcLbw=w400-h383" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Editing manuscripts I coauthor takes time and I work on them
until they seem as good as we can make them. 200 manuscripts edited 4 times
each: 800 reviews.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">At the University of California, I reviewed faculty “files”
for merit and promotion increases, usually 7 per year for 7 years: 49
university assessments.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">6319 formal and informal assessments, reviews, and
evaluations. For 40 years, that’s about 3 per week, for 50 weeks every year.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Yin and Yang of it all is clear. People judge you; you judge them. </i></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Scientists expect they’ll be reviewed, but most of us don’t
like it, particularly if the reviews of ourselves are negative. Here’s what
I’ve learned.</p><p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgU-QxnnBzQ4m22MVPXz0p8sTXnD31aVP6w9uDRlRqA1AqN9f_UQ44GDIJQeSdxIHdgNEuPEZyGn9uMz4mt0HOikZO6SuL6A_Yn_-HNJkf49wq4CpmO-1bYBU6Wl6EuUp4Iwz32O6ya6Qmw2MoA1ICbo45Ukek1ZZeCMDTzSRPAAt0OrEfGKiZXIEJkBA=s678" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="95" data-original-width="678" height="56" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgU-QxnnBzQ4m22MVPXz0p8sTXnD31aVP6w9uDRlRqA1AqN9f_UQ44GDIJQeSdxIHdgNEuPEZyGn9uMz4mt0HOikZO6SuL6A_Yn_-HNJkf49wq4CpmO-1bYBU6Wl6EuUp4Iwz32O6ya6Qmw2MoA1ICbo45Ukek1ZZeCMDTzSRPAAt0OrEfGKiZXIEJkBA=w400-h56" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No one likes a review that starts like this--ever.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table> <br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">1. Be thankful for any editorial improvements that your
colleagues and anonymous reviewers make on your manuscripts. In general, if
someone tells you your sentence is unclear, it probably is. Accept their help.
I advise against “let’s submit it now and let the reviewers make it better.”
Always submit your best work.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">2. Grants are panned for different reasons—not enough funds,
greater scrutiny when money is involved, and protecting turf. When your
proposal is nixed, reflect. Could it have been clearer? Is it your best idea?
It’s easy to think your greatest critics are the people who have given negative
reviews. Based on my time at NSF, I learned that who you thought panned you,
wasn’t usually the case. Re-submit at least once, if not twice, if this is one
of your best ideas.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">3. When you give a talk or seminar, practice in front of
colleagues and your supervisor during your early years. Give yourself enough
time to revise your presentation. For more seasoned folks, prepare in advance,
not just the day of your talk! Make the presentation shorter, not longer. Your
audience will be pleased that you don’t talk longer than your allotted time. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">4. Poll students mid-semester to find out how you can
improve as a teacher. Make an effort to see what helps them succeed, while
having to keep your own ego unbruised. When you do get student evaluations,
take a breath. Many of my own evaluations and those of my colleagues contain
criticism about accents, clothing, appearance, style, and computer skills. What
irked me the most was when students wrote that I was “unprepared.” Keep a talk
about your most intriguing research in your “pocket” when that might happen. I
have found students love to be able to sit back and be entertained by something
as cool as your personal research. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">5. For that big tenure review, I’ve seen two different
responses by folks at this stressful time: cool and prepared vs. nervous and
worried. Some people are by nature nervous and worried. If you are one, plan
early and start making personal connections with people who might be asked to
write an assessment of you. Is this outright schmoozing? You bet. More likely
you’ll make a valuable scientific connection that might serve you both for
years. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Steady progress is best…a paper a year may not seem like a
lot, but by six years, you’ll have six papers. Additional manuscripts from
colleagues and your students should supplement your own first author
contributions. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">While it’s good to get your self “out there,” too much
outreach, too many talks, too much service can be exhausting and actually
dilute what is most important: are you independent and can you “drive your own
bus”? </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Cool and prepared folks have kept a steady but not
overwhelming pace. They publish some of their postdoc work to keep the stream
of science coming while establishing their labs, find grad students and begin
teaching. Personally, speaking up for your self and others, contributing to
faculty discussions, and being a positive person helps. Having a healthy
work-life balance is, in my opinion, somehow helpful in the process.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Back to the question of where did the extreme review mantra come from? </i></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I think it’s exacerbated by the fast pace of the internet,
email, and even social media. Your citations are no longer difficult to track,
but can be easily accessed via Google Scholar. Now, people can see what you’ve
been publishing instantly and how well its been received. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Students no longer fill out evaluations by hand in class,
but can do so at home online. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">When people give a popular talk or publish a good paper, it
can instantly be sent out to the world on social media. [I do this as well.] </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">There are simply more early-career scientists these days—and
greater competition for coveted jobs. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Finally, I’ll add that it might be that Older White Dudes of
the ‘70s and ‘80s may be the department chairs, deans, and directors who are
judging your work. The phrase “Back in my day…” is all too prevalent sometimes.
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Back in my day, the world was simpler.</b>
Today it is more multi-faceted and complex. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Now, many universities have added accomplishments in
diversity, equity, and inclusion as another aspect of academic evaluations.
These added criteria are important, but I’ve noticed that we don’t yet have
metrics for properly evaluating them—in either BIPOC scientists or Older White
Dudes. Eventually, we’d all like to reach fairness and respect for everyone. In
my work as College Equity Advisor at UC Riverside, I’ve seen departments that
“get it,” while others are struggling to make this work for them. COVID has
injected another layer into the mix with work stoppages for parents, early
career job seekers, and those with health concerns. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I know this is a controversial topic and indeed a tricky
time. I hope that we’ll come out the other side enlightened and committed to
fair, thoughtful, and even helpful, reviews.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
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{page:WordSection1;}</style></p><br /><br />Isotope Queenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00346511476816956274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349128715082229990.post-25053998545774490902021-10-12T15:47:00.005-07:002021-10-12T16:03:35.737-07:00Moorestown High School Class of 1970: Memories of some who didn't make it<p> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhYkqle9xtyXneX3HDsn3X9BO2GCndQWwKIkj6LCOdFPW-DBvcjxt54tV7HIJRm4H36f6bo08MGZHkLlSQsPA8ucUZfgsFs_n-5uKc2O67qhyNl_qedesVkROHKzOtpOm-xqi_GsJFHz1AwNb3RfOWUDDqKF4IbDdLU2MttnTL1a2264nkboK50FVFZ6A=s2016" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhYkqle9xtyXneX3HDsn3X9BO2GCndQWwKIkj6LCOdFPW-DBvcjxt54tV7HIJRm4H36f6bo08MGZHkLlSQsPA8ucUZfgsFs_n-5uKc2O67qhyNl_qedesVkROHKzOtpOm-xqi_GsJFHz1AwNb3RfOWUDDqKF4IbDdLU2MttnTL1a2264nkboK50FVFZ6A=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Class of 1970 Moorestown New Jersey<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />
<p></p><p class="MsoNormal">In eighth grade, he stuck a wad of freshly chewed gum on the
seat of my desk in US History class. I failed to notice it as I took my seat in
front of a classroom of fellow students who silently snickered as I sat down.
When the bell rang at the end of class, I gathered my books, then stood up suddenly
realizing I was tethered to my chair by a long string of gum on the back of my
dress.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The class howled in laughter. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">My face turned red and tears instantaneously sprang from my
eyes. I was the butt of a nasty practical joke. The teacher, Mr. DiBaise, did
not laugh, but glowered threateningly at the class. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Who did this?” he thundered.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Billy Walton, a friend since 6<sup>th</sup> grade, raised
his hand. “I did,” he murmured.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The class grew silent. By this time, I think they recognized
how awful it would be for any of them to have been the laughing stock of the
class. Mr. DiBaise dismissed the class, asked Billy to stay, and went out to
find a female teacher to help clean the gummed dress. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Sorry about that,” Billy said pathetically. I wanted to
slug him. Maybe I did. I don’t recall that moment through the haze of
embarrassment. Billy was given a couple afternoons of detention, minimal impact
for the pain he’d inflicted.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Mrs. Dunn the typing teacher escorted me to the Staff
Women’s restroom where I removed my madras plaid dress, huddled in my slip,
while she scraped off the gum and washed and dried the dress. She gave me a
late pass for my next class. I walked into that class still angry at how
everyone, not just Billy, had laughed at me—not with me. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">By lunchtime, many apologized for laughing, and Billy Walton
had gotten an earful from them as well. Eventually, I forgave him. Gum on my
ass was but one of many of my teenage stories during my years in Moorestown
Junior and Senior High Schools.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Stories like this come to mind as my class, originally with
246 seniors, prepares to gather in early November for the 50+1 year high school
reunion. Given my medical status and level of safety during COVID time, I won’t
be able to attend. <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">But in the past year,
I’ve been thinking, not only about those early years, but about those
classmates who didn’t make it to 50+1 years past high school.</b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Billy Walton was one
of them who didn’t.</b> In high school we became comic foils for each other. In
the senior play, our characters were an old married couple. We dyed our hair
grey with spray paint, and he wore my father’s old maroon bathrobe [I was in
charge of Props for the play.] He would joke that we were a “couple” and one
night at the local teen dance, we tried out how it felt to make out—kissing and
doing what teenagers do. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjnYZyZuLIOXPOXEZHxMxMj7c0NBnfKWAQ5hNGh3phiqzFG22W7Y0DASwJKTjlw-zdKzOFQlLaI0jSR1_aWd2kAaxnZkDfs6xTdyay5KdYp0N_xaViL0blIFmRM1bavmnOAgR5u4DhQHzhLTlFcWdQKGhHNBQtRXz_NotyTHRHmGytVbH2Blx5vqKZrCA=s1920" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="814" data-original-width="1920" height="136" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjnYZyZuLIOXPOXEZHxMxMj7c0NBnfKWAQ5hNGh3phiqzFG22W7Y0DASwJKTjlw-zdKzOFQlLaI0jSR1_aWd2kAaxnZkDfs6xTdyay5KdYp0N_xaViL0blIFmRM1bavmnOAgR5u4DhQHzhLTlFcWdQKGhHNBQtRXz_NotyTHRHmGytVbH2Blx5vqKZrCA=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Billy on right in play Mother Courage starring Debbie Field<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">After a while, he said, “Nope. Didn’t work. Didn’t feel a
thing.” We then discussed at length what that meant for him. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Ultimately, he figured out that he was gay. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We kept in touch as Billy’s new life as a gay man unfolded.
He still called me “Wifey”, but we both knew it was the name of just a friend. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">By the early 1980s, AIDS was making its way from Africa to
America. I learned about it early on as friends of mine were postdocs in Dr.
Robert Gallo’s lab at the National Institutes of Health. AIDS and the virus HIV
were identified by the late 1980s and deaths, particularly among gay men, skyrocketed.
</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgJs5ZK6rbyaR3eeS4C51LcoqxK-Uk7NkyqlD5FfHlQWbWoSK3j4p8kfD_a3WZgpAMOtAxwQInsf6sCe9UXRkHHTCgQKg8bIC5XbmtcjG4OCaTDSRtKeJtMx-CgHpORr_fbveHSZcWQONhWem7lMbfrV2vPDtoIShxn92K18llVWys3H0oDtR2fl-is4w=s322" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="322" data-original-width="300" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgJs5ZK6rbyaR3eeS4C51LcoqxK-Uk7NkyqlD5FfHlQWbWoSK3j4p8kfD_a3WZgpAMOtAxwQInsf6sCe9UXRkHHTCgQKg8bIC5XbmtcjG4OCaTDSRtKeJtMx-CgHpORr_fbveHSZcWQONhWem7lMbfrV2vPDtoIShxn92K18llVWys3H0oDtR2fl-is4w=s320" width="298" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Billy died in 1994,
at the peak of deaths in the United States from this epidemic.</b> When the
AIDS quilt came to the Washington DC Mall, I went and found Billy’s square. Fortunately,
drug treatments followed and many people who were dying alone in hospitals had
a new beginning. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">For those of you not familiar with Moorestown New Jersey, it
was a town with very wealthy people mixed with sections of town where low and
middle income families lived. We were all aware of who lived where. I grew up
firmly in the middle class of Moorestown, next door to Franny Stein [Kasen].
Our families did well, and stress about money was rare in our house. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<div style="border-bottom: solid #4F81BD 1.0pt; border: medium none; mso-border-bottom-themecolor: accent1; mso-element: para-border-div; padding: 0in 0in 4pt;">
<p class="MsoTitle"><span color="windowtext" style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Danny Dwyer was
the 3<sup>rd</sup> child in a large Catholic family that lived in a substantial
new colonial home overlooking prestigious Strawbridge Lake. His older brother
Patrick and his sister Kathy were very popular kids, so Danny “grandfathered”
into the Cool Kids Club of the Class of 1970. Danny, unlike his older siblings,
was short, petite, introspective, and shy. Looking at the Yearbook for 1970,
Danny served as Captain of the wrestling and soccer teams. Seemingly, Danny was
a happy, well-adjusted young man. He was not known to have a girl friend,
however, and was a bit of an enigma.</span></p>
</div>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Danny and I became
secret friends in our senior year.</b> I was a known goofball, iconoclast, wild
card—a person outside the notice of any Cool guy. Both of us were signed up to
attend the Philadelphia Orchestra concerts for students, which took place four
times a year on a weekday night. Somehow—and some way—in the parking lot where
students were boarding the bus for Philly, he and I decided to drive down to
the Jersey shore, one hour away, instead. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjatUlac-LHTF9uvi2cm9YYkbSQVgd8djXyhEo5mXNTLXL6XTex4z-S7pJv4QP_mZc70flWAHCeujnaZVqbifB_F8JTVb_Rf7_GPsDjORyMcjaq10ayCXEVLdbwa24BFj32tTnxyI-KXsdCSypAoKDdfyLYV1JagoLKjAcFcl0K8_DiEojKA9Lo5ItudA=s1981" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1981" data-original-width="1105" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjatUlac-LHTF9uvi2cm9YYkbSQVgd8djXyhEo5mXNTLXL6XTex4z-S7pJv4QP_mZc70flWAHCeujnaZVqbifB_F8JTVb_Rf7_GPsDjORyMcjaq10ayCXEVLdbwa24BFj32tTnxyI-KXsdCSypAoKDdfyLYV1JagoLKjAcFcl0K8_DiEojKA9Lo5ItudA=s320" width="178" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Capt. of wrestling team<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We’d never had a conversation before, but I was intrigued by
his relative notoriety. It was exciting to have small adventures like this. One
of my talents is getting people to talk, reveal their problems, discuss what’s
important. Within minutes of heading east, Danny opened up and talked
constantly until we returned to the high school parking lot hours later.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The day after that first trip, I looked forward to
continuing where we left off. But, when I saw Danny in the hallway where he
stood stoically as a hall monitor, he ignored me, looking straight forward when
I said, “Hi Danny!”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Man, is that ever “high school” behavior. I forgot about
him.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">But then when we met prior to the next concert, we hopped in
the car together and started back up where we’d left off. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">On the third trip, as we ran around the beach on Long Beach
Island, he grabbed me and gave me a kiss. Just the one. Sandpapery, short. But
a display of affection. I smiled and felt good.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">By now, I knew the “drill” back in school. We ignored each
other. I hoped he’d call some day, but he never did. Looking back, Danny Dwyer
was a bottled up guy, who struggled with being his own person—not the popular
guy everyone wanted him to be.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">By the time I took off for Penn State in summer 1970, I left
my nerdy persona behind and became a foxy freshman. I was having a ball meeting
Cool guys on my own, never mind my time as a Nerd in Moorestown.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">That first Thanksgiving as returning college kids, many of
us met up at the local dance hall to see our old friends. There was Danny—now
with long hair, looking shaggy and edgy. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Hey!” I said. “How are you doing?” I assumed he’d left that
high school crap behind him like I had.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Want to buy some pot?” he asked. I frowned. Is that any way
to greet a friend?</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I was offended, no longer willing to let people treat me
like I didn’t have a personality. I shook my head, said no, and walked away.
Danny actually called me a month later at Christmas time, asking me again about
buying drugs. I told him, finally, that I was disappointed. He could do better.
Where was that excited guy who told me his life dreams? He was gone.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Just before New Years Eve in 1975, he committed suicide. <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Looking back, knowing what I know now about
mental health—he was overwhelmingly depressed.</b> The frayed, disheveled guy
in 1971, mentally and physically declined and ended what should have been a
sparkling life.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Our class of 1970 was also dragged into the Vietnam War and
a drug culture that went along with it. Boys, soon to be Men, had to consider
the Draft as soon as they graduated from high school. In my homeroom class, we
had a number of aging “Boys” who were slowly passing through school, flunking
classes on purpose, and (I’m sure) taking pretty serious drugs. Marijuana smoke
wafted out of the restrooms in the mornings. It was well known that heroin was
a drug of choice. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Debbie Field (now the famous jazz singer Rachel Gould) and I
watched as more and more of the guys sat slumped at their desks every morning.
This was tough to see them like this because we’d been in school with these
guys seemingly forever. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The late ‘60s was also the heyday of rock and roll and some
of our friends were cool enough to play in bands. David Fenwick, who I’d known
since 6<sup>th</sup> grade, was one of them. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Our class’s first dance in 6<sup>th</sup> grade was held at
the Junior High gymnasium. Several gals had gone with dates, but I went alone
hoping to snag the attention of some cute guy—and I did. David asked me for my
first dance! Wearing a scratchy grey woolen suit, he looked uncomfortable and
was sweating in the un-air conditioned gym. It was a slow dance: we held each
other at arms length, swaying stiffly with the music. Afterwards, he thanked me
formally—and I, him, and we went back to our segregated huddles of girls and
boys on the fringes of the gym floor. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">By high school, David drifted towards nightlife, lost
weight, and was the drummer in his older brother’s band. He was a far cry from
the awkward gentle fellow in 6<sup>th</sup> grade. I worried about him, as I
worried about everyone ravaged by the scene at that time. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgcNkd6CCC9iMho9M1uWAkn9iXcWFprBZodu-05aOx4gk2qlDDkgPEuZbwmhLPiWVu7Uo0pfZ6oZPJZdpnvQn50b4mZ6Y0ylXKbD7NAiYZHecAB-6WHPX_ejVqBo5aCIFXcge4gZR0BzPGkM3Oggztu8VZUVbtq6kfvrqgdMEnmAAGGTtH6Xqp2GpsRrw=s1919" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1026" data-original-width="1919" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgcNkd6CCC9iMho9M1uWAkn9iXcWFprBZodu-05aOx4gk2qlDDkgPEuZbwmhLPiWVu7Uo0pfZ6oZPJZdpnvQn50b4mZ6Y0ylXKbD7NAiYZHecAB-6WHPX_ejVqBo5aCIFXcge4gZR0BzPGkM3Oggztu8VZUVbtq6kfvrqgdMEnmAAGGTtH6Xqp2GpsRrw=w400-h214" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">L-R: Jim Duffy, Max Brinck, and the late talented David Fenwick<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">By 20 years after
graduation, I was relieved to see that many of those guys from homeroom now looked
vital, had wives and children, and had thrown off those earlier destructive behaviors.</b>
When our class learned that David Fenwick had died in 2019, his obituary informed
us he was still a musician (!) and also a beloved popular high school teacher.
He made it through a difficult time in life and prospered on the other side.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Three favorite
stories of mine—three songs in remembrance of those who died too young.</b> For
Danny Dwyer, the song “Forever Young” comes to mind. For Billy Walton, that
classic by Dionne Warwick and Stevie Wonder “That’s what friends are for”
produced to support AIDS research. For David Fenwick, who made it out of a young
funk, a retrospective “Light My Fire” by the Doors. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br />
Too many of my classmates are gone: 16% felled by heart disease, cancer, and
life. For me, who ponders the longevity of my life almost daily, I’ve been
blessed to make it 50+1 years past the tumultuous time of high school. It’s a
lesson for the rest of us.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">When the class meets in Moorestown and via Zoom, we’ll be
raising a glass to those who didn’t make it. And reminding our selves to live
life to the fullest.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
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{page:WordSection1;}</style></p>Isotope Queenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00346511476816956274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349128715082229990.post-57031660455690859642021-10-02T17:04:00.003-07:002021-10-03T09:49:08.367-07:00Ain't nothing micro about microaggressions<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcVywaw6z6RsZ0xZLpeAPYP5I-bUJ3E1PeWGAhY-C65t3NEpEWCn9gmMCqeTqUbR_ftHMjfbx0U9rtcfTBard-Uj2q5opEjHLbeLwEULHmIv4Hq9lSD3O6MFCOfkAlXcn3vY-8_tg_6sYX/s296/images.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="170" data-original-width="296" height="230" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcVywaw6z6RsZ0xZLpeAPYP5I-bUJ3E1PeWGAhY-C65t3NEpEWCn9gmMCqeTqUbR_ftHMjfbx0U9rtcfTBard-Uj2q5opEjHLbeLwEULHmIv4Hq9lSD3O6MFCOfkAlXcn3vY-8_tg_6sYX/w400-h230/images.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“This is
not a mass spectrometer for a housewife,” he hissed. I stood numbly by, in the
midst of my colleagues, the only woman in the room. I never forgot the
microaggression said to me in 1984, nearly 40 years ago. The German engineer
who uttered the words wasn’t thinking about what impact his words might have.
Clearly, he harbored a bias against women in science—or even the ability of
women to be anything but house fraus. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>People have
been exchanging microaggressions probably since language developed thousands of
years ago, but it was not until 1970 when Black Harvard professor Chester Pierce
coined the term to describe the snubs he received from his largely white
colleagues. Ten years ago, Derald Wing Sue provided a working definition that
people still refer to today: </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 58.5pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Microaggressions are the everyday verbal, nonverbal, and environmental
slights, snubs, or insults, <b>whether intentional or unintentional, </b>that
communicate hostile, derogatory, or negative messages to target persons based
solely upon their marginalized group membership."</i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Because of
heightened awareness about racism in America where white privilege has defined
the way society works, the term microaggression is a topic discussed in many
circles today. In my role as Equity Advisor for UC Riverside’s College of
Natural and Agricultural Sciences, I have spent the past two weeks working on
preparing a workshop on Microaggressions: what they are and how to avoid them. Turns
out that some colleagues don’t recognize when they say things they probably wouldn’t
if they’d paused before the spoke. From what I have learned, some people do
this more than others. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Before
delving further into microaggressions, we need to think about our identities,
both personal ones and ones given to us by society. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>My personal
identities include mother, wife, daughter, sister, friend, scientist,
biogeochemist, isotope geochemist, Senior Olympian, mentor, survivor, person
with ALS, kitchen chef, writer, blogger, teacher, professor, Isotope Queen. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>My social
identity: I am a white, disabled American Senior citizen, upper middle class, hetero
female. </p><p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIjkL0eDnQ4DDHzE_uSSEngF0dHscYmP2jURg-55qikCejWfDRN2mHRnmee0dNKGr_-kOn7KsuFPRzzotQXRtY_w6W2D9Gc3NxELK9nDXO016Yft5RuOq9uEdkKC-dzRq2EvHxe5lLIBpi/s2048/04302019_Marilyn_Fogel_05.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1434" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIjkL0eDnQ4DDHzE_uSSEngF0dHscYmP2jURg-55qikCejWfDRN2mHRnmee0dNKGr_-kOn7KsuFPRzzotQXRtY_w6W2D9Gc3NxELK9nDXO016Yft5RuOq9uEdkKC-dzRq2EvHxe5lLIBpi/s320/04302019_Marilyn_Fogel_05.jpg" width="224" /></a></div><br /> <p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Of these,
being white, American, upper middle class, and hetero come with privileges. UC
Riverside’s Vice Chancellor of Diversity Mariam Lam defines privilege as: </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 45pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“A special right, advantage, or immunity available only to a particular
person or group of people, is complex and constantly subject to change based on
where you are, who you are with, and other circumstances. In other words,
privilege is relative.” </i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I didn’t earn many of the privileges associated with my
social identity, whereas for my personal identity, I made conscious choices for
many of them, especially ones that are associated with being an educated
scientist. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>For each of
your identities, traits that describe us can vary depending on who is assigning
the traits—you or someone outside your identity. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For example, traits associated with being an
isotope geochemist can be positive or negative. On the positive side: smart,
detail oriented, complex thinker. On the other hand, this identity could be
thought of as elitist, nerdy, and irrelevant to societal problems. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 0in;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>When
people feel they are better than others, particularly with respect to societal
identities, that’s when derogatory comments and discriminatory actions can happen.
Some times these are actually macroaggressions—overtly racist. More often
comments are more subtle: people say things that are rude, insensitive, and/or
demean a person’s heritage or identity. <b>Often, these subtle snubs land outside
the level of awareness of the person who said them </b><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">yet</span> clearly convey a hidden insulting message to the recipient.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 0in;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>These
are examples of microaggressions in academia:</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">•<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>Assuming
a person was not born in the U.S. based on appearance – “Where are you from?
Where are you <i>really </i>from?”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">•<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>Assuming
a person speaks a language based on appearance – “Can you go talk to my visitor
from Korea because I don’t think he understands me?”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">•<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>Complimenting
a person for speaking English “so well”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">•<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>Assuming
a young woman is not a professor or grad student</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">•<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>Assuming
a person is heterosexual – “When did you marry your husband?”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">•<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>Speaking
more loudly and more slowly to a person using a wheelchair</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">•<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>A
female scientist/staff is labeled as pushy, bossy, and difficult to get along
with. Her male counterpart is described as forceful and someone who sets high
standards.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">•<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>Using
incorrect pronouns to refer to an individual</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">•<span style="font: 7pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span>Dismissing
concerns about microaggressions when they are raised – “You’re overreacting” “I
think he meant it as a compliment”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 0in;"> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZxKRmWUgMN8Kp_pMP8PRjVazLzJLe6U2rnCgARird-Dmbmr0VtVU6JpyYUh9ap695OVP_eWgPF1G3GUaogRmpUzGtlb1RrtgL7I0BYpf5zVHPa57CK3QGUEnhyphenhyphenPkYTX_CqE7vOd-aKgkj/s400/RPS-RaceMicroagressions-Quotes-400px-0021.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="400" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZxKRmWUgMN8Kp_pMP8PRjVazLzJLe6U2rnCgARird-Dmbmr0VtVU6JpyYUh9ap695OVP_eWgPF1G3GUaogRmpUzGtlb1RrtgL7I0BYpf5zVHPa57CK3QGUEnhyphenhyphenPkYTX_CqE7vOd-aKgkj/s320/RPS-RaceMicroagressions-Quotes-400px-0021.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>One
microaggression that stuck with me for years came from a visiting scientist to
the Carnegie. It was the week before the big American Geophysical Union
conference. Many of us were trying to print posters on our balky, pain in the
ass poster printer, often unsuccessfully. I finally figured out how to get the
process to print a poster with the right margins, colors, photos, and text. I
was explaining the steps to a bunch of others, when the visitor asked if he
could send his poster graphic to me and get it printed for him. The request
clearly showed that he assumed I was an administrative assistant, not a senior
scientist. After all, he was “famous” in his discipline and unfamiliar of mine.
</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I looked at
him quizzically. Others were silent and looked downward. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Finally I
said, “I’m not a secretary.” </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Oh, sorry,”
he said a bit sheepishly. I walked away, and he was told who I was—the Isotope
Queen (just kidding) and that I was a senior scientist for almost 30 years.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Doubtless,
we all have been the subject of microaggressions, particularly those with less
privileged status. What should you do if you are the target of a
microaggression? Should you ignore it? Stew on it and react later? Was this an
intentional slight? If you confront it directly, you run the risk of picking
the wrong battle, possibly overthinking the slight. I think <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">more importantly, you might change the
person’s behavior and restore your self-esteem.</b> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It’s not
easy to confront someone immediately because as we’re insulted we often lose
our words, our feelings are hurt, and we’re angry. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I wish I’d
had a rejoinder to the mass spectrometer engineer who made the derogatory
comment years ago. It would have been helpful to me if my colleagues had
stepped in and told off the rude engineer. The senior supervisors of the
company who stood by and heard their employer’s comments should have put their
foot down and called him out as inappropriate. Instead, there was an awkward
silence. </p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6TO3kjrd3RlOHOIJ7x3Cvc4bvmc1_Fl8wAVLuxzCayqNQcQKDohyYrAQuy3CsVbHmlEEo0qUnDgflF1VNDEUOFbIOkzPU9LqRszxkm9twWy_xPEgnNfLUkeMpOZiq7xN8EZGdtBuJ8cAF/s2048/DSCN1583.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6TO3kjrd3RlOHOIJ7x3Cvc4bvmc1_Fl8wAVLuxzCayqNQcQKDohyYrAQuy3CsVbHmlEEo0qUnDgflF1VNDEUOFbIOkzPU9LqRszxkm9twWy_xPEgnNfLUkeMpOZiq7xN8EZGdtBuJ8cAF/w400-h300/DSCN1583.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ed Hare, Heinz Lowenstam, me, Tom Stafford, Tom Hoering, Andy Gize, 1985<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> <p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>As a bystander, consider stepping in
and helping out. </b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Asking “What
do you mean?” can be a start. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Don’t
laugh. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Is this
relevant?”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Even an
“Ouch!” could help notify the person who made the comment that they’d said
something hurtful.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Eventually,
we all make mistakes and say something that can be considered a
microaggression. Recently, in a meeting of UC Riverside’s Equity Advisors I
referred to professors who refused to step up and fulfill obligations to lead
their departments as “lame.” I was immediately told that “lame” was not a word
we use in this context. I knew better, sure, but I meant “pathetic” not unable
to walk properly. Heck, I was the lame one—why did I use that term? I wasn’t
thinking.</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7OS4_6XWKTrpJlxTmNASc4FPbXSG0i3TM7u3C2bMvOD_BEdvZTlf96R4imH7rJ_pwpw8vgB4qQ4deYwVstmfjSjWhsFRIu9oakUzaRjnvqz7noFmUX2SfKBe85a1ueiZnFsZFzgEyLV-6/s2048/DSC_0450.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1360" data-original-width="2048" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7OS4_6XWKTrpJlxTmNASc4FPbXSG0i3TM7u3C2bMvOD_BEdvZTlf96R4imH7rJ_pwpw8vgB4qQ4deYwVstmfjSjWhsFRIu9oakUzaRjnvqz7noFmUX2SfKBe85a1ueiZnFsZFzgEyLV-6/s320/DSC_0450.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Senior Olympian, shot put gold medal, 2010<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> <p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I was
embarrassed by the call out. I didn’t say much, mumbled a sorry, and said that
I meant pathetic. The call out did change my behavior. I will certainly never
use the term again unless I mean someone, like me, who is unable to walk
properly. <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Self reflect: Accept that
you’ve made a mistake and possibly hurt someone.</b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>People that
pay attention to the people around them can readily be informed, or trained, on
how to deal with microaggressions. The challenge comes in trying to teach those
who block out realizing that they may be offensive. In my experience, it’s
often older, white men with little sense of emotional intelligence who are most
often the perpetrators—and the least likely to self reflect. Making people
aware that they should be accountable for what they say is important. Having
them understand that microaggressions hurt—physically and mentally, stifle
productivity, and sap your energy.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Hold
yourself and others accountable. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Stand
against bias and discrimination.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Because microaggressions ain’t micro.</b></p>
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{margin-bottom:0in;}</style></p>Isotope Queenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00346511476816956274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349128715082229990.post-26755111067058747932021-09-13T16:45:00.003-07:002021-09-13T17:24:03.533-07:00When is it time to quit?<p> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK_MDg9P7J8mHjgJr3a9Y_k8bUWH_UUkraZ2SoSLY2VAXJ4Jd0MjHqkBlzYi_gyadN4txQV4XKEDbnCxWrL693VpIp6aqBCfbfWLEiD22AtiM4u9foZBMP-tkOPAEWpqmiKVZ1uImsE0IL/s2048/IMG_0217.heic" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK_MDg9P7J8mHjgJr3a9Y_k8bUWH_UUkraZ2SoSLY2VAXJ4Jd0MjHqkBlzYi_gyadN4txQV4XKEDbnCxWrL693VpIp6aqBCfbfWLEiD22AtiM4u9foZBMP-tkOPAEWpqmiKVZ1uImsE0IL/w400-h300/IMG_0217.heic" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">UCR lab crew: Jon Nye, Bobby Nakamoto, Kaycee Morra, 2021<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />
<p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Don’t
worry. I’m not writing about the Ultimate Time to Quit, just thoughts about
times when it makes the most sense to move on—or quit--particularly in the life
of a scientist or academic. I’m at the point in my life, at the end of a long
career, when I have to let my research efforts come to a close. Postdoc Kaycee
Morra has moved on to work at Northwestern Univ. with Maggie Osburn and
newly-minted Dr. Bobby Nakamoto will leave for Univ. of New Brunswick to work
with Brian Hayden at the end of September. My lab will go on long-term standby,
similar to its fate during the early days of the pandemic. I’m committed to a
couple of grants, but that work will be done mostly by colleagues at Univ. of
New Mexico and through UC Riverside’s isotope lab that I led for 5+ years. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It’s been a
struggle to engage during COVID times, getting people back into the lab, while
working and living remotely. What is most disappointing to me is that there
will be no one hired to even remotely replace me, even though I have built up a
laboratory with University funds that holds the keys to a prosperous research
career for a stable isotope biogeochemist. Unlike some of the more forward
thinking universities, like Penn State, UC Riverside still has a hiring
moratorium that only responds to fulfilling faculty searches based primarily on
teaching. At the earliest, a biogeochemist with isotope tendencies won’t be
hired for another two years. But it’s time for me to end active research on a
daily basis and move on to other things.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>So what
takes people to the point of quitting? </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>1. A sense
that a bad situation will never be a good situation. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>2. Feeling
that enough is enough. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>3. Hope
that the grass will be greener somewhere else. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>4.
Realization that you’ve moved on and changed. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>5.
Physically no longer able.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I quit the
Girl Scouts (age 12; Reason 4), the Lutheran Church (age 14; Reason 4), and
tried to quit the Band (age 16, but was talked back in; Reason 2). I quit my
first marriage at age 31 (after 9 years; Reason 1). I quit my position as a
Staff Scientist at the Carnegie after 35.5 years (age 60; Reason 3). I quit UC
Merced (age 63; Reasons 2 and 3), retired from UC Riverside (age 67; Reason 5),
and now quitting active research (age 69; Reason 2). </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I quizzed
the isotope geochemists group about when they felt like quitting. Julie Brown
from New Zealand wrote about a time when she was very young and quit. She was a
single mum with a 5-year old and couldn’t handle working, parenting, <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">and</b> going to grad school at the same
time! She did quit the grad school program but went on to raise a beautiful,
smart daughter and work her way up to Senior Instrument analyst in the isotope
mass spectrometer lab at the National Institute of Water and Atmospheric
Research. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">[**Her daughter Lexie Brown was
featured in New Zealand’s 2<sup>nd</sup> season of Bachelorette! <a href="https://www.stuff.co.nz/entertainment/tv-radio/300199524/nzs-2021-bachelorette-is-a-covid-returnee-who-has-never-tried-online-dating">2021
season</a>] </i>Julie’s no ordinary quitter.</p><p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMvWXDKRAqfCeqCfqqBTrToahZHxil6wdQOpWt7Y5BWREYJaL5xLlvl8tUvQg7vWDCfMqbtvT-k9exKBeaQ1xk3ORVYlcjj-QajINM2pfuexh1Egp_94E7Ro-Bw9TGOlMF4l9XhfnnV2K6/s1241/20210909_191248.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1203" data-original-width="1241" height="310" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMvWXDKRAqfCeqCfqqBTrToahZHxil6wdQOpWt7Y5BWREYJaL5xLlvl8tUvQg7vWDCfMqbtvT-k9exKBeaQ1xk3ORVYlcjj-QajINM2pfuexh1Egp_94E7Ro-Bw9TGOlMF4l9XhfnnV2K6/s320/20210909_191248.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Then, I
heard from a few at the postdoc stage who were looking into other options than
a professorship at a college or university. The life of a postdoc used to be a
magical time of freedom from classes and time to dig into new research.
Educated at a premier UC campus, one postdoc had had enough of a stressful
work-life balancing act. Although she’d published some high profile papers,
loved her fieldwork and research, it wasn’t enough of a pull to weather through
the competitive job searching phase. The leak in the STEM pipeline now is
gushing with both women and men, who are looking for a better work-life
balance. I think that the golden job of Professor has been tarnished, and more
early career people are aware that even with a position, work will be difficult.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Although
there has always been stress in finding that permanent position, with COVID,
the job market has dried up for experimental and field based scientists.
Settled now in the southwest, another recent PhD is taking a soft landing
teaching at a Native American college as an instructor, while keeping his “toes
in the water” on soft money part time. Former student of mine, Jon Nye, isn’t
giving up yet, but he’s had to fill in his time with teaching community college
and UC Riverside’s summer classes, along with science policy work. He keeps
hoping he’ll find a good postdoc position where he can use his talents for
analysis, writing, and fieldwork. Without a strong postdoc, landing a permanent
professorship is nearly impossible. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Is the
coveted professorship really such a great career track?</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>In the
nearly 9 years since leaving the Carnegie’s Geophysical Lab at the end of 2012,
I have learned how difficult the life of a university professor is and have
seen first hand, now, the constant struggle many have to work in a continuously
competitive environment where getting grants and publishing papers takes, not
only intellectual competence, but also fortitude and the hide of a rhinoceros.
Professors are required to do things they were never trained to do: teach,
manage budgets, and supervise all sorts of people. They must keep records of
every talk, seminar, conference, recommendation letter, and service activity
for tenure and promotions. The demands don’t shut off at the end of the
business day—most work either nights or early mornings, and some time on the
weekends. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Burn out is
common, especially among the newly tenured. Several colleagues at this stage
have written to me asking how I kept my life-long fascination with science.
They ask did I ever have a time when I thought of changing careers. Fortunately
for me, we didn’t have anything like tenure at the Geophysical Lab. We had no
contract, but sometimes got a yearly letter telling us we’d be employed for
another year. I published 14 papers after 7 years (1979-1986) as a staff
member, landed two NSF grants, and was funded by a private foundation. I guess
I’d have squeaked by with tenure. In the following 10 years, including years as
a mother of youngsters, I published another 44 papers with multiple grants,
clearly showing I was a functioning scientist. I realized then, and now, that <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Carnegie didn’t place that type of pressure
on their scientists.</b> I had a ball. <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Twenty-five
years ago, life was simpler. </b>I continued with 73 papers in the next decade
(1997-2007). Then I reached a point where I stopped to take stock. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I wanted to
take greater charge, be a leader, help others start up and succeed. I wasn’t
chosen for a position as Director of the Geophysical Lab that I coveted. I
tried a stint at NSF—it wasn’t a fit for me. While publishing 109 papers in
that next decade (2008-2017), I grew restless. Work was no longer fun. The
atmosphere at the Lab was toxic and charged. I was ready both personally and
professional to quit. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 31.5pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">[I was never “replaced” at the Geophysical Lab either. Research
Scientist Dionysis Foustoukos <a href="https://sites.google.com/carnegiescience.edu/dionysisifoustoukos/home">(website)</a>,
who has not given up, has held the ol’ lab together…keeping the instruments
alive and working. This month brought yet another challenge with a blown power
supply that was the curse of my time there.]</i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 31.5pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> </i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 31.5pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"></i></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSgEmEN3f7C3EN-bcr4o8sya8bI8yPQ9ljfo_8r9zKXlrOKu9h3FrCSoKeWcotRIf75JiQ_X-Itb5Unea-Ofo_7eR67Eczl5UDkA1e9xxXiLhJ8GDWHrJ565LkGvLQqrsNROH_UTIt2NDx/s2048/unnamed-2.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1151" data-original-width="2048" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSgEmEN3f7C3EN-bcr4o8sya8bI8yPQ9ljfo_8r9zKXlrOKu9h3FrCSoKeWcotRIf75JiQ_X-Itb5Unea-Ofo_7eR67Eczl5UDkA1e9xxXiLhJ8GDWHrJ565LkGvLQqrsNROH_UTIt2NDx/s320/unnamed-2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Old Delta Plus XL being fixed-again 2021<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><br /> </i><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 31.5pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> </i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I leaped to
a professorship at UC Merced. There I really learned about work-life balance.
Professors are only paid for 9 out of the 12 months they work. And, there is no
sick leave or vacation time off. Your time is open ended, usually filled with
meetings and reports and preparing lectures. One day rolls into the next. Deep
breaths happen only at the end of a semester after grades are posted. Then the rat
race starts again. At UC Merced as Chair, 40% of my time was handling
problems—often ones that should have just been fixed. Ugh. I quit, this time
spurred on by the diagnosis of a terminal illness in 2016.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Retirement from UC Riverside followed in 2020,
but I kept up a half-time schedule working on papers, projects, and online
teaching. My frolleague Doug Rumble retired about the same time as me. We keep
in touch, and he had the joy of spending a week recently at UCLA with Ed
Young’s big mass spec, Panorama. The sound of whirring vacuum pumps, the faint
smell of chemicals, and the officious nature of an isotope lab is hard to get
out of your system. But for the most part, the life of retired geoscientist
Doug Rumble is filled with hiking in Arizona’s wild lands. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Isolation
and working from home has taken its toll on many, but time marches on. So many
ups and downs—opening and then closing. Working on a difficult analytical and
writing project this year, a colleague who served as the postdoc advisor for
one of our “project team members” quit the team and wanted to no longer be a
coauthor on the manuscript we’d been working on for over a year. Maybe he felt
overwhelmed by having school-aged children at home; maybe the uncertain,
complex nature of the project interfered with a desire to regain control over
life. I’ll probably never know the real reason, but I do know that quitting on
the job of postdoctoral mentoring is something that shouldn’t be done without a
darn good reason. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>COVID not
withstanding, it’s been a good year for me. I’m ready to take the next step
down. It is a relief not to worry about teaching, getting things going again. I
feel OK, but writing about the change helps me work through my feelings.
Because I have had to give up so much owing to my illness, I don’t have ready
activities to take the place of research. I will need to be more creative on
figuring out what to do with my time. Ideas are welcomed.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP3OOoWVSoZnK5uTsHngIUGvulJBSYtlGVMVbVbbAsG77JPcYlxveSsVr4iVhluQzP7Vd2-hjEsg7pImyiRrg3Ho1CyPwsEgHB358UjOAimhS00fx1nu0fL5IY9fPl9h949kG5EiqHlbw6/s3267/Office+prior+to+move.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="963" data-original-width="3267" height="189" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP3OOoWVSoZnK5uTsHngIUGvulJBSYtlGVMVbVbbAsG77JPcYlxveSsVr4iVhluQzP7Vd2-hjEsg7pImyiRrg3Ho1CyPwsEgHB358UjOAimhS00fx1nu0fL5IY9fPl9h949kG5EiqHlbw6/w640-h189/Office+prior+to+move.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My Geophysical Lab office prior to moving 2012<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
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{page:WordSection1;}</style></p>Isotope Queenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00346511476816956274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349128715082229990.post-77200477711350091272021-09-04T17:17:00.009-07:002021-09-05T16:02:55.338-07:00Remarkable Woman: Janet Ady--Environmental Educator...and Mom<p> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyG3BxGAT16QHfvi1CQ7-ghvaLZ-WQCnKQfcQZZCRWTJRDYmTPtogHa5jRGzYerp-2Wzh0-Tgc0wIAzzzy0oTCoDGwRmHxlUhOg5cmJB_qhH3LFXYz-LNTNl8qVGkQ2UIpsdO9WY4q6mJl/s2048/DSC_0265.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1360" data-original-width="2048" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyG3BxGAT16QHfvi1CQ7-ghvaLZ-WQCnKQfcQZZCRWTJRDYmTPtogHa5jRGzYerp-2Wzh0-Tgc0wIAzzzy0oTCoDGwRmHxlUhOg5cmJB_qhH3LFXYz-LNTNl8qVGkQ2UIpsdO9WY4q6mJl/w400-h266/DSC_0265.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Marilyn and Janet, 2011<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />
<p></p><p class="MsoNormal">“I didn’t decorate for St. Patrick’s Day—yet again,” she
told me with a laugh. Both of us enjoyed the New Yorker’s Bad Mother Cards that
highlighted many of the challenges that mothers face, and often ignore, to keep
their sanity trying to be the Perfect Mom and the Perfect Working Woman at the
same time. Janet Carrier Ady managed to excel at both home and work by dint of
ingenuity, creativity, and plain hard work.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I met Janet in 1987 when she and her husband Piers Ady lived
in Anchorage Alaska. They had a 6-month old daughter, Laurel, and I was four
months pregnant. Chris had worked with both Janet and Piers at the San
Francisco Bay National Wildlife Refuge, when they were all learning the ropes
in environmental work. Chris continued into ecological studies; Janet turned to
environmental education; and Piers opted for the insurance business. A couple
years later (1990), Janet and Piers moved to Maryland getting their feet on the
ground for a month sharing our home in Silver Spring.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">This time, Janet was pregnant and I had a two-year old
daughter Dana, who immediately loved having three-year old Laurel to hang out with.
We all became lifelong friends. Four months later, their son Merrill was born a
few hours after we’d been to their house having a mid-week pizza dinner. About
a year later our son Evan was born, and we became a “matching” family. The Adys
lived two blocks from Holy Cross Hospital where Evan was born, and they came en
masse to see the newborn infant that day. I was strung out on morphine after a
C-section and don’t remember much, but the memory of the four of them sitting
at the foot of my bed is strong.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicn-6IwjT63447OFaa-aKVPRXakJ29w3Z8MBa3FuHNo0__MiNbVbRv7TgdMzqtqtzUiRWxqS0ujiGFB1jB7XZS1Fgi_6mKZWcyPp0upsY0pVtpmp4QYm2Ol_HJQmnuAQb8HVkA7qRdWcZ1/s1784/2017_07_08_14_56_13.pdf000.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1196" data-original-width="1784" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicn-6IwjT63447OFaa-aKVPRXakJ29w3Z8MBa3FuHNo0__MiNbVbRv7TgdMzqtqtzUiRWxqS0ujiGFB1jB7XZS1Fgi_6mKZWcyPp0upsY0pVtpmp4QYm2Ol_HJQmnuAQb8HVkA7qRdWcZ1/s320/2017_07_08_14_56_13.pdf000.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chris and Janet (love those shorts), 1993<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBgbHWFrvY929qha9mSIv9FKQGUirpox2lZ3YP58qv8XWnk6iXy3PrM27APQECHd0BkFjsp3nc-Jh31MMF65YN8UQKMprDSbUnd0m_n1phQKI6LWajMgj6XlOOewdhAedPtcxfaGiLIS1h/s1783/2017_07_08_14_54_21.pdf014.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1189" data-original-width="1783" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBgbHWFrvY929qha9mSIv9FKQGUirpox2lZ3YP58qv8XWnk6iXy3PrM27APQECHd0BkFjsp3nc-Jh31MMF65YN8UQKMprDSbUnd0m_n1phQKI6LWajMgj6XlOOewdhAedPtcxfaGiLIS1h/s320/2017_07_08_14_54_21.pdf014.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Evan's 2nd Birthday (1993): Evan (l) and Merrill (r)<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Birthday parties, holidays, and family visits were shared.
Meanwhile, Janet and I continued to work on establishing ourselves in our
careers. Janet rose up through the ranks of the United States Fish and Wildlife
Service (USFWS) becoming one of the nation’s experts on environmental
education, which was gaining importance in the USFWS as an aspect of public
outreach. Janet was frequently out of town attending conferences in her field.
Their home was often filled with visiting colleagues who had become friends
(called Frolleagues). Our husbands held down the family forts when we traveled,
both of them adept at making do and enjoying life.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Life moved forward for both families, then took a sharp Left
Turn when Janet’s son Merrill was in kindergarten (1996). Both families used
the same pediatricians’ office with its team of doctors, both experienced and new
to medicine. Merrill had been experiencing headaches followed by repeated
doctor visits. Finally a CAT scan was scheduled, and their life turned upside
down. Like many parents in the midst of a family crisis, Janet cancelled work
trips, spent nights at Merrill’s bedside in the hospital, and worked hard
keeping everyone as normal as possible. A benign, but sizeable, brain tumor was
removed starting the family on a roller coaster ride that would last for years.
</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib95mch7jSEtONyJR32Q17DSczzn1qmsEfYs6gwmLi8vbe6doaUwvQnkwd5Sb48DeeYTm0X1M18vt0GR97chNWTNvUOCZC_PaUXSFZ2ntsvWEQ7f_Goo59wEmWsfJ3qpuXSJr-bvILVb4q/s900/bad-mom-cardscollect-the-whole-set-roz-chas.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="623" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib95mch7jSEtONyJR32Q17DSczzn1qmsEfYs6gwmLi8vbe6doaUwvQnkwd5Sb48DeeYTm0X1M18vt0GR97chNWTNvUOCZC_PaUXSFZ2ntsvWEQ7f_Goo59wEmWsfJ3qpuXSJr-bvILVb4q/w445-h640/bad-mom-cardscollect-the-whole-set-roz-chas.jpg" width="445" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Janet was exhausted, but her upbeat, positive attitude kept her
going. Already slender, she lost several pounds, forgetting—yet again—to
decorate for St. Patrick’s Day. Merrill improved, started school again, and
Janet had a gigantic sigh of relief. She’d kept her work up and continued to
advance now becoming a leader of outreach training at the USFWS’s National
Conservation Training Center (NCTC) in Shepardstown West Virginia. The Adys
built a house on substantial acreage in rural Maryland nearby. We saw less of
them, but maintained the connection through our shared challenges. Janet
continued her climb through the ranks and was sought out around the United
States for her vision and strategic planning in environmental education. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd8x6tHa-Z5gF4UpMTuZtG1Bwk-FLbJIqU6FI_Qa_DW09yoO1Dwk46D4rth9qBhKJlUsTnGooACqozqdUyRaNaaEcXdPBD_MWsc4vtipODExypnoBhwSjZDlJTHZ7ubpnSFN0aQkKdc_yo/s2048/DSC00192.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd8x6tHa-Z5gF4UpMTuZtG1Bwk-FLbJIqU6FI_Qa_DW09yoO1Dwk46D4rth9qBhKJlUsTnGooACqozqdUyRaNaaEcXdPBD_MWsc4vtipODExypnoBhwSjZDlJTHZ7ubpnSFN0aQkKdc_yo/s320/DSC00192.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Piers Ady and Chris, 2011<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> <p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">One year she admitted she hung up a few green decorations
for St. Patrick’s Day, but by this time the family was too busy to notice her
efforts. When we got together, Janet and I exchanged our professional bona fides,
but turned then to domestic accomplishments—new recipes, knitting, sewing, and
gardening. We joked about entertaining in the Olden Days of the 1950s, when women
often remained at home, wore aprons and cooked for their families. She was
excited that the NCTC was finally going to open for training. The staff she had
hired was ready, courses were planned—it was going to be great.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Then she was forced to experience another sudden Left Turn. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">How many of us women have sailed along in our careers
thinking we’d done everything to secure our place in the work environment, only
to have that notion shattered? </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">By this time, women weren’t rare in government, but women in
managerial roles were still less common than men. A new, less experienced man
took a position senior to Janet and decided he wanted one of his appointees in
her job. Janet was gutted. There is a whole story here, which Janet might tell
someday. As a friend, I listened, saw her distress, and watched as the
super-competent woman I knew took a nosedive. She was shifted sidewise—that
employment maneuver usually designed for people who are failing at their
positions.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In common parlance, WTF? </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Like many of the women I write about—she persisted.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">As an “advisor” now, with no one to really advise, Janet,
still working for USFWS, entered a PhD program mostly online at Prescott
College, taking advantage of her reduced responsibility load at NCTC. With
time, she focused her energy on feeling better, being healthy, enjoying life
and family. With a PhD in hand, she was scooped up by the Bureau of Land
Management (BLM) and became a Division Chief in charge of all sorts of
environmental training efforts that BLM conducts. It was her encore career,
similar in many ways to mine at the University of California. She bought a
condo in downtown DC and spent several years being a part of the vibrant life
near shops, museums, and the baseball stadium. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">She was highlighted during women’s history month in 2019 (<a href="https://mypubliclands.tumblr.com/post/183547507857/womens-history-month-janet-ady-janet-ady-is-the">Janet's
award</a>). Golden years passed until the Trump Administration cut BLM off at
the knees and moved their offices to Santa Fe. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqytHmcqiVRPfWe1OFlB7aDo7R_JTpsLbXyEBGIHGA3hIFbj9S0qr4aApWnaJ2qWNNwDO9LjrtyBqYnBh3xgSfLqjtF2dS0JZi4TqiEL5SaOoYgXE68yCMla0d3KfeBXAmBuC5PaVgwg9r/s960/tumblr_pokuwrh3NL1rcc3hoo2_1280.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="960" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqytHmcqiVRPfWe1OFlB7aDo7R_JTpsLbXyEBGIHGA3hIFbj9S0qr4aApWnaJ2qWNNwDO9LjrtyBqYnBh3xgSfLqjtF2dS0JZi4TqiEL5SaOoYgXE68yCMla0d3KfeBXAmBuC5PaVgwg9r/s320/tumblr_pokuwrh3NL1rcc3hoo2_1280.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Piers (l), Janet in center, Laurel (r)<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">This time, she was ready. She retired. Her feet were made to
walk in the gooey mud all hard chargers step into after whirlwind careers end. COVID
struck, travel halted, and Janet made peace at her home in the countryside,
gardening, knitting, zooming, and networking. When her mother passed away
recently, Janet had the mental and physical robustness to be at her bedside and
weather through the next steps of a generation’s passing. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Connecting this week in California, her hair’s reverted to
its natural color—grey in front, party in the back. She’s meeting those friends
and Frolleagues she cultivated over her lifetime and is again secure in who she
is and what she’s worth. A life lived well and still going strong. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh449gMhJ02TECs7dgrcMubTeubGY-jcLs_FWp_0n1TvHWNAfc4rE0iARGl18ygBTbN93bMLIysLQ2tdxPxZfxh7E4y3xR_PD97iD4CuaM2ylUbBYK5WcoM6ws8ZRjh-AlOk7waCbRrJGM6/s2016/IMG_5575.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh449gMhJ02TECs7dgrcMubTeubGY-jcLs_FWp_0n1TvHWNAfc4rE0iARGl18ygBTbN93bMLIysLQ2tdxPxZfxh7E4y3xR_PD97iD4CuaM2ylUbBYK5WcoM6ws8ZRjh-AlOk7waCbRrJGM6/s320/IMG_5575.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Janet, Marilyn, Piers, 2021<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Who knows? Maybe I’ll send her some green lights for St.
Patrick’s Day and some leprechaun cutouts. Decorating for St. Patrick’s Day
could be fun!</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
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{page:WordSection1;}</style></p>Isotope Queenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00346511476816956274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349128715082229990.post-81024138870958678362021-08-27T16:37:00.006-07:002021-08-27T17:06:54.072-07:00Giving Back…after Taking?<p> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZUoXdj_sJ6rxldXsQYhUInN6mqGSay4PqQfMgowsWVgdBrOvC4zaIX-sMtO3UEg1EvUa5SOEOmDP8LgQTsvhLIfpQ_2B5Dipf0_d2xz8eFwboOTGCqYFbF1LveC4veEjIxX2OQIP7L0kc/s2048/IMG_0430.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1530" data-original-width="2048" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZUoXdj_sJ6rxldXsQYhUInN6mqGSay4PqQfMgowsWVgdBrOvC4zaIX-sMtO3UEg1EvUa5SOEOmDP8LgQTsvhLIfpQ_2B5Dipf0_d2xz8eFwboOTGCqYFbF1LveC4veEjIxX2OQIP7L0kc/w400-h299/IMG_0430.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Volunteering with Carnegie folks at Special Olympics DC 2012<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />
<p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">When you reach retirement age, as I have, people encourage
you to “give back” to the community—essentially working for free or donating
money to support causes not directly related to your personal benefit. But what
does “giving back” imply to some of us? Does it mean that we’ve spent our lives
taking, feathering our own nests, and not considering others?</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Maybe. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">What have I done to “give back” prior to continuing to
work as a scientist, now without a formal salary? </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">This past weekend, I discussed “Giving Back” and what it means with
long-term friends, Paul and Linda from San Francisco, who both attended Harvard
College in the 1970s. They expressed distain for those classmates of theirs who
spent their lives as hedge fund managers, real estate moguls, or other careers
where personal aggrandizement was the primary goal. Paul spent his career
working on creating low-income housing; Linda taught elementary school in the
Mission district to kids from diverse backgrounds. Their lives centered on
“Giving”—but not necessarily “Giving Back.” The discussion sent me to think
about my contributions to others.</span></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhad9gp-UVaP_Cj3RqWqlymAHKXfI1MzqO90-GvhoZThxfHCtZ-DjNiZq1jiLkZQvh6fWNLTkF52nHQoQ02lSS4jVrjr2clwJcKXPawqLeUygEUdWbKjOCajt78N_OnthEzeuShE8nFukR/s2048/IMG_0955.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhad9gp-UVaP_Cj3RqWqlymAHKXfI1MzqO90-GvhoZThxfHCtZ-DjNiZq1jiLkZQvh6fWNLTkF52nHQoQ02lSS4jVrjr2clwJcKXPawqLeUygEUdWbKjOCajt78N_OnthEzeuShE8nFukR/w320-h240/IMG_0955.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Linda Dallin (r) with my mom, 2019<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBU_wFkS0aG8hSd7zEig3yE8rrmDbuiFZBAk8Pf4BFvTAGCLDhgsh-UuWub7qRZHuWcJDKpS9rIzb7FpzzKi6JEzxOhyphenhyphenmywHxfl-RiVx_W8POwuZtHpOG-byZRhEsBeRK_o3vj19igf5FT/s2048/IMG_0919.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBU_wFkS0aG8hSd7zEig3yE8rrmDbuiFZBAk8Pf4BFvTAGCLDhgsh-UuWub7qRZHuWcJDKpS9rIzb7FpzzKi6JEzxOhyphenhyphenmywHxfl-RiVx_W8POwuZtHpOG-byZRhEsBeRK_o3vj19igf5FT/w240-h320/IMG_0919.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Paul Sussman, a story teller, 2019<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I’ll start with the easy stuff. It’s easy to donate money
and even small amounts count in this regard. Starting as a young child, I saved
my pennies to give to the Lutheran Church in the collection basket in Sunday
School every week. When I eventually left my Christian upbringing behind, I
started giving small donations ($20) to Penn State and other organizations that
seemed to do good work (e.g. UNICEF). At this level, “giving back” is minimal.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In high school in the late 1960s, it was the height of the
Vietnam War, protests, and young people questioned the materialistic practices
of those folks Over 30. In my senior year (1969-1970) our class organized a day
free of classes—“Give a Damn Day”—in which we met in small groups in the gym
doing sensitivity training and thinking about how to make the world a better
place. I attended the 1<sup>st</sup> Earth Day that year, starting on a journey
to somehow make the earth a better place.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I chose becoming a scientist learning about the natural
world, attempting to discover how things worked, to someday make a difference.
My career didn’t hold up to my original goal to improve the world, but I did
manage to “give” a bit along the way.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">With time, and when I had children and a husband, “giving
back” meant putting my needs second (or third) sometimes to make sure they had
what they needed to succeed in life and be happy. I expanded this to take care
of my parents as they aged and my sister and her family. “Giving back” to
family is a no-brainer. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">On reflection again, still pretty boilerplate stuff.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As a research scientist, I wasn’t in it for
the money—never earned a bonus, but kept a secure paycheck. I don’t think that
is “taking.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">For years, working at Carnegie’s Geophysical Lab, we were
“protected” from service work! We often lorded it over our colleagues who were
made to sit on committees, engage in tasks that didn’t plump up their research
portfolios. Near the end of my time at the Lab, the director insisted we serve
on committees where we did all of the work, and he took all of the credit and
made his own choices. By this time, I had my head enough out of the sand to
want to do something more important with my time in the spirit of “giving
back.” </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw-xagPTtN6JjNzeYNA3Gw5O6UHQ5l5nb6AtaQw-olmgAbbphYwhli_22AGpxYzOCTAoHbPTYjKxomIPZ-ZHNmVjcSGSbZB61R7g63ePrJciTEAgYCohdHGud2Iz72fOfvlOL-u_G4-Fas/s2048/DSC_0764.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1360" data-original-width="2048" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw-xagPTtN6JjNzeYNA3Gw5O6UHQ5l5nb6AtaQw-olmgAbbphYwhli_22AGpxYzOCTAoHbPTYjKxomIPZ-ZHNmVjcSGSbZB61R7g63ePrJciTEAgYCohdHGud2Iz72fOfvlOL-u_G4-Fas/s320/DSC_0764.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Teaching students ecology UC Merced, 2015<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I left to start a position at a “start up” university in the
rough, agricultural region of California’s Central Valley at the University of
California Merced. I spent time building, organizing, listening, coordinating,
and teaching to move the school forward. It was often frustrating and difficult
work, not always successful. I was “Giving Back” the time I had been given by
the Carnegie to do whatever I wanted—whenever I wanted. When my ALS diagnosis
unfolded, I needed a softer, easier place to “give back” and went to sister
school UC Riverside.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Mentoring people was my primary mode of “Giving Back.”
Without realizing it for years, I had been mentored by my professors, postdoc
advisor, and directors, perhaps not in the sense that people receive mentoring
today in highly stylized and organized settings. Giving career advice is
something I enjoy doing, so it doesn’t really feel like work, and it’s
certainly not a sacrifice to mentor.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvu-oIatq0e2DfjZ__SFEuOMF4mQVVgIBeTbdZi6kPpbvQjKxW9jp_perxw6StaEgj3Z9ucIaniZpennfih6dsqLcHkA5aMEYSW8_m3z3tIiR19MYN9avmL2_SpzxFS9angU7y2e76JSYQ/s640/photo+1.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="478" data-original-width="640" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvu-oIatq0e2DfjZ__SFEuOMF4mQVVgIBeTbdZi6kPpbvQjKxW9jp_perxw6StaEgj3Z9ucIaniZpennfih6dsqLcHkA5aMEYSW8_m3z3tIiR19MYN9avmL2_SpzxFS9angU7y2e76JSYQ/s320/photo+1.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Taking UCR students to Salton Sea, 2018<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> <p></p><p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Teaching was another way to “Give Back.” In the 8.5 years at
UC, I was treated with plumb teaching chores. Easy hours, engaging subjects,
and good students. My hat is off instead to elementary school teachers,
professors at community colleges, and special ed teachers. Those folks have the
real hard work. But anyone who is a teacher has experienced first hand “Giving
Back.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Has the balance between giving and taking been evened out? </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Maybe.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">At this point in time, my family, especially Chris, is now
“giving back” to me taking care of all my physical needs and providing
emotional support. Fortunately for us, though, we have the financial stability
to help encourage others and try to do as much as we can. I plunk along working
on projects to Save the Salton Sea (<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><a href="http://saltonseataskforce.ucr.edu/"><span style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%; color: #1155cc; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 12pt;">saltonseataskforce.ucr.edu</span></a>),
</span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">to keep
colleagues moving forward to a more inclusive workplace, and to support folks
as they start and solidify their careers. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">On a good day, the balance seems pretty healthy. When I consider the
enormous challenges people have today, it doesn’t seem enough.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"></span></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-5XPGJ6DjATwN1joBlPvgHDSJKnA-y_T2mnfVj_Z_9jOewZMDH1j5xuatkkSk6qlksXj5qzWdimxIi7kcZgBYlpMljW5a10m70szsVf-aRMmGCO0RJ4VPe4xAD3vQa4H3i0M3wuTqBzOZ/s2048/IMG_4720.jpeg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-5XPGJ6DjATwN1joBlPvgHDSJKnA-y_T2mnfVj_Z_9jOewZMDH1j5xuatkkSk6qlksXj5qzWdimxIi7kcZgBYlpMljW5a10m70szsVf-aRMmGCO0RJ4VPe4xAD3vQa4H3i0M3wuTqBzOZ/s320/IMG_4720.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Evan taking care of his mother<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> <p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">Given the political polarization in the world today, doing what a single
person can do to help the world be a better place could rest in your hands. We
can listen—and maybe not judge. We can reflect on our own well-being and open
our hearts to others not like us. Neither of these cost money. They aren’t necessarily
easy. But doing so, you’ll be “Giving Back” to a world that needs you.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
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{page:WordSection1;}</style></p>Isotope Queenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00346511476816956274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349128715082229990.post-57321328143196627012021-08-04T13:12:00.014-07:002021-08-04T17:57:23.002-07:00Carnegie's Rabbit Rescue (2004)<p> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmhAa8YWOXdwRJFJ3b8Tjq7idZMZro39pdwMKthh-sfRMGYiliacsymn6pMU4H8YnkxZhV8p8UPm7KBQxxlWSJ4Y7nLORCaulEhEZPwhNUTCgY1jYxD_BxRMVZnyoQhdf1u_cLJhNloZ2m/s2048/IMG_0035.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmhAa8YWOXdwRJFJ3b8Tjq7idZMZro39pdwMKthh-sfRMGYiliacsymn6pMU4H8YnkxZhV8p8UPm7KBQxxlWSJ4Y7nLORCaulEhEZPwhNUTCgY1jYxD_BxRMVZnyoQhdf1u_cLJhNloZ2m/w400-h300/IMG_0035.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Marilyn and Jen Eigenbrode on roof top, Research Building<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p class="MsoNormal">One morning in spring 2004, baby, domestic bunnies were found in a cardboard box on Carnegie’s campus on Broad Branch Road (BBR) in upper northwest
Washington DC. Common wild animals—like deer and raccoons--from nearby Rock
Creek Park often passed through the campus. Neighbors also walked their dogs on
campus, but this was the first time such cute animals were left on our
“doorstep”. As lab safety officer and general responsible adult, a group of
postdocs and staff came to my office to report the news. They had four white and black-spotted rabbits and brought them
inside where they left them up on the Penthouse floor of the Research Building.
Andrew Steele’s postdoc Jake Maule and postdoc Jen Eigenbrode were in charge of the small group, who wanted
to hold on to the bunnies until homes could be found for them. </p><p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqpL7HRNTBFriwPFFGizh1i6bJO7GEgaYOzQQZwGHnHVDovAKzi_wa4KYIlzGuuBZYjpcG_8Isj0Tp0-5NmhfJ_JQvNAJHw0WrJtda0q7F5BSsPoEIuoYKLoQQ4KKBnndEmOOBE7kUPvFc/s2048/AMASE060908_JE+071.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqpL7HRNTBFriwPFFGizh1i6bJO7GEgaYOzQQZwGHnHVDovAKzi_wa4KYIlzGuuBZYjpcG_8Isj0Tp0-5NmhfJ_JQvNAJHw0WrJtda0q7F5BSsPoEIuoYKLoQQ4KKBnndEmOOBE7kUPvFc/s320/AMASE060908_JE+071.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jake Maule, Svalbard 2005<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> <p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">At that time, the BBR campus, which holds both the
Geophysical Lab (GL) and DTM departments, was controlled authoritatively by
DTM’s Director Sean Solomon and the BBR campus Facilities Manager Roy Dingus. Geophysical
Lab’s Director Wes Huntress was often traveling. Sean is a detail person—smart
as a whip, but somewhat of a control freak. Roy tried to rule his crew and the
rest of the folks on campus with an iron fist by releasing edicts telling folks
what they could or could not do. Steele [Steelie], staff member George Cody, Jake and I felt neither
would support having baby bunnies on campus—not even very cute ones. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">As a senior staff member I needed to obey the “rules” and
act like an adult, but at times, I joined the postdoc crowd bending those rules
slightly to have a bit of fun. Steelie, George, and I agreed to support the Rabbit
Rescue effort as much as we could.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">How could rabbits be kept in the building without alerting
Sean and Roy? The Lab’s Penthouse floor is a jumbled mess of old instruments,
forgotten rock samples, file cabinets with outdated references, along with the
building’s fume hood motors and other important services. Staff member George
Cody was “in charge” of the GL staff portion of the Penthouse for many years.
George, a packrat himself, held a yearly survey of the lot and asked each of us
if we’d like to hold on to the unused “valuables” up there. Sometimes, to make
him happy, I’d agree to getting rid of an aging gas chromatograph or something
similar. Maintenance staff passed through the Penthouse daily. We didn’t know
what they’d think about sharing the space with some baby bunnies. If they knew<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"> </b>about them and Roy found out, they
could be in trouble. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWg_jOJJOZ4Bn3UeNLbMKEJjDL__QQkISdUHSltekRGnlqYAvW3pR8avi_zZOjiOBHoqz6JkMvTC5Zq7MYmrG7zNAN1Xz0VkUxTD-N3nGp58ZQipNqFU1CbF4Mhsvv4qQw340w3dT4FyqW/s400/Codyweb.tif" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="400" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWg_jOJJOZ4Bn3UeNLbMKEJjDL__QQkISdUHSltekRGnlqYAvW3pR8avi_zZOjiOBHoqz6JkMvTC5Zq7MYmrG7zNAN1Xz0VkUxTD-N3nGp58ZQipNqFU1CbF4Mhsvv4qQw340w3dT4FyqW/s320/Codyweb.tif" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">George Cody, 2004<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Jake had a plan—he’d keep the rabbits inside of a gymnasium
that was on the rooftop just outside of the main Penthouse area. The Lab’s gym
was created by concerned postdocs and meagerly funded by the Directors. There was
a used tread mill, some floor mats, a set of free weights, and one rickety
weight rig in the small, un-air-conditioned space. Two fans could be turned on
and the door propped open if need be. Maintenance staff never went in.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Jake and Jen brought in straw for bedding and
established a schedule of bringing in food. After a couple weeks they built a little
pen outside the gym on the open roof top so the bunnies could hop around more
and get some fresh air during the day. Many of the scientific staff knew about
the Rabbit Rescue and a couple of the maintenance guys as well. Adoptions were
being worked on and having pet bunnies on campus seemed to make people happy.
Things went well until…they didn’t.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">
</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="background: white; color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">On
the day that Carnegie planned a huge gala event to celebrate the selection of
the Messenger Mission, Sean Solomon's signature achievement, someone reported
that there was a bunny rabbit conspicuously in the gutter just above the
main entrance of the research building. </span><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></p>
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{page:WordSectio</style></p><p class="MsoNormal"><style> </style>Tents covered the campus knoll
and tables were being set for a gala dinner with Trustees, retirees, and
honored guests that evening. Director Solomon nervously bustled around campus
making sure all was in order. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Rabbit Rescue had an emergency that required real teamwork. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Soon a small crowd gathered watching the little bunny peering over
the edge. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjONSw2YUJTD-Ab6CiqWSc0pf3ffBEP0fo1fAvmA3NePB9Qpd-hWRyp3zTKIBnJ6g8p_p-Q9MSpaqXk9s3Uiv_2eNMRp2xOLd_ll2QsAzdj-Y1ZvbSJmRmmibV5qTHk8UkwD9AkFTdWHch8/s2048/IMG_0019.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjONSw2YUJTD-Ab6CiqWSc0pf3ffBEP0fo1fAvmA3NePB9Qpd-hWRyp3zTKIBnJ6g8p_p-Q9MSpaqXk9s3Uiv_2eNMRp2xOLd_ll2QsAzdj-Y1ZvbSJmRmmibV5qTHk8UkwD9AkFTdWHch8/w400-h300/IMG_0019.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Research Building, rabbits were in gutter over front door<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> <p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We needed to work fast. Two of the maintenance staff were
contacted—one of them knew all about the bunnies, the other probably did as
well. Solomon’s assistant, Jan Dunlap, was alerted. She watched her boss and
was tasked with stalling him if he started out the door towards the Research
Building. Steelie and I ran inside and cornered George, a rock-climbing
enthusiast, asking him to climb up and grab the bunnies. He agreed. </p><p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline !important; float: none; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline !important; float: none; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">When we got an “all clear” that Sean and Roy were nowhere
near, the ladder went up, George ascended. </p><p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">
</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">George
recalls: </span><i><span style="background: white; color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span>"We
realized that Sean would be seriously freaked out that a bunny was totally
obvious, 25 feet off the ground in a gutter above the research building. </span><span><span>Maintenance
staff held the bottom of the ladder stably as I carefully made my way up to the
gutter. When I got there the bunny skittered away down the gutter.
There was no way to coax the bunny to me. So I carefully climbed down and
Jen Eigenbrode gave me lettuce and carrots. I then climbed back up and
coaxed the bunny with food to within reaching distance and nabbed it!"</span></span></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="background: white; color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span><span> </span></span></span></i></p>
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<p class="MsoNormal">“Ugh!” he shouted as the rabbit peed on him. He
handed it down safely to Jen. The crowd had swelled to
more than twenty people and we cheered George as he descended. The ladder was swiftly hustled away, and not 10 minutes
later Sean emerged from his office in the Abelson Building to survey the knoll.
Crisis averted.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikG_T-KZTfzlafznXnkfcrlHdEdHcuAbVzkbKcI_QNWalTi6vV8VbOC0OQc-vjsJdjKJlAnTQOJv4JZb8Nh6miUb2D-ACj5uTyld_EKfuc-J-4M6canplgjnSN70YVmi745CByKIVvAsJJ/s576/abelside.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="432" data-original-width="576" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikG_T-KZTfzlafznXnkfcrlHdEdHcuAbVzkbKcI_QNWalTi6vV8VbOC0OQc-vjsJdjKJlAnTQOJv4JZb8Nh6miUb2D-ACj5uTyld_EKfuc-J-4M6canplgjnSN70YVmi745CByKIVvAsJJ/s320/abelside.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Abelson Building, Directors office here<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It was time for the rescue operation to end! Steelie and his
family adopted two of the bunnies, naming them Perky and Pinky. The others
found homes. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">This is but one story about the every day happenings on a
campus with 150 or so people devoted to discovery-based scientific research. I don't know if Sean or Roy learned about those bunnies living under their noses.
Hopefully now, they’ll chuckle at a story with heroes and cute baby animals.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
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{page:WordSection1;}</style></p><br /><br />Isotope Queenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00346511476816956274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349128715082229990.post-62129284431580492932021-07-31T14:05:00.003-07:002021-07-31T14:10:52.677-07:00Free Links to all three Isotope Queen Books<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZwVc5EkK9XDLr0osYZuhR5MBPe4DGWV7MvssSvn9v_QGNdBuxmLJcp8SRHZ-EH12zSTZ5J63JkR_ppgy8wZs2hMXj9c8PPc3PB3t5mANlqeeYtfAKwZtXWtWnLcgepXcFK04NfqDXvaIu/s325/Screen+Shot+2021-07-24+at+4.35.42+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="325" data-original-width="221" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZwVc5EkK9XDLr0osYZuhR5MBPe4DGWV7MvssSvn9v_QGNdBuxmLJcp8SRHZ-EH12zSTZ5J63JkR_ppgy8wZs2hMXj9c8PPc3PB3t5mANlqeeYtfAKwZtXWtWnLcgepXcFK04NfqDXvaIu/s320/Screen+Shot+2021-07-24+at+4.35.42+PM.png" width="218" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn5nxwhiu_HmSvqSHmTEyh45xVtQ_GRZWVUDvdVy7J0h2wJP0udqFPPBDhsmDgHahgsAOf-Tk8303E_-ysVKChnMz73LuQlTszVez6PwdS_h9WO1cllLgEHWw6r0z2qtHJHk5WYZvrdGjh/s786/IMG_2057.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="786" height="204" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn5nxwhiu_HmSvqSHmTEyh45xVtQ_GRZWVUDvdVy7J0h2wJP0udqFPPBDhsmDgHahgsAOf-Tk8303E_-ysVKChnMz73LuQlTszVez6PwdS_h9WO1cllLgEHWw6r0z2qtHJHk5WYZvrdGjh/s320/IMG_2057.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p> </p><p>July 31 through August 2:
</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: "inherit","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">Remarkable
women in the life of the Isotope Queen:</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: "inherit","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">(<a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B09B6G7HDD?notRedirectToSDP=1&ref_=dbs_mng_calw_3&storeType=ebooks&fbclid=IwAR3bRqXT5Ycm1vBte6fYtv3ziLLO7RngKAagWD0AaecKBkQD6DoJg5Wnw6Q">IQ
Women</a>)</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: "inherit","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: "inherit","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">Science
from the Isotope Queen:</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: "inherit","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">(<a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B08TRTSYZN?notRedirectToSDP=1&ref_=dbs_mng_calw_0&storeType=ebooks">IQ
Science</a>)</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: "inherit","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: "inherit","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">Advice
from the Isotope Queen:</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%;"><span style="color: #050505; font-family: "inherit","serif"; font-size: 11.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">(<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Advice-Isotope-Queen-Building-meaningful-ebook/dp/B08RJ7W8NJ">IQ
Advice</a>)</span></p>
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{page:WordSection1;}</style></p>Isotope Queenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00346511476816956274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349128715082229990.post-59760850008640126192021-07-19T08:04:00.000-07:002021-07-19T08:42:05.486-07:00Adapt and Overcome! Jeanette Westbrook<p> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNuCZAnhCJrL5QMAIBjtMAaUyvme2PNj2DdjxDxBl6TIfkoc5oLI5SfoZoj2HjcFqKtzAtTKSMHqxgyLYf7LGyhwV-oLsBV5anbp21plLHaXdWTkSB1I-27GtEC664FsOZ0xLx9jydoTr8/s2048/DSC_0821.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1360" data-original-width="2048" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNuCZAnhCJrL5QMAIBjtMAaUyvme2PNj2DdjxDxBl6TIfkoc5oLI5SfoZoj2HjcFqKtzAtTKSMHqxgyLYf7LGyhwV-oLsBV5anbp21plLHaXdWTkSB1I-27GtEC664FsOZ0xLx9jydoTr8/w400-h265/DSC_0821.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jon Nye, Jeanette, Bobby Nakamoto, 2018 <br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />
</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Jeanette
Westbrook stood out when we interviewed her in late 2016 for the position as
administrative assistant for the EDGE Institute and for my personal assistant
to help with ALS challenges. She doesn’t have a background in science, but
served in the US Navy straight out of high school. I was intrigued by her
military service. She used the GI Bill to finance a B.A. degree in Administration
when she mustered out, while mothering her two young children. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>During the
interview, we asked how she would deal with a problem situation. Her answer,
“Adapt and overcome,” a slogan popular in the Navy. She also highlighted her
ability to organize and carry out big events and design centerpieces for the
tables to make things special. Both abilities turned out to be major plusses
when she accepted the position. I had never thought designing a table
centerpiece would be important. Turns out I was wrong.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>At the time
of the interview, I was still walking with a walker and sitting on regular
chairs. Jeanette had no idea when she interviewed that she was signing up to
assist me with my disability, in addition to her work with the Institute.
Fortunately for me, she took the job after it was explained and we set off on a
voyage that ended up with us being supportive friends, not just boss and
worker.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The funding
from UC Riverside for her job took some finagling on my part. Prior to signing
a contract as a new faculty member, I was promised an assistant for my physical
disability. When I arrived on campus, however, that promise evaporated. Folks
didn’t seem to think I needed the help, and that if I was assigned an
assistant, other people might ask for one as well. As a disabled person, you
hear a lot of that talk. “To be fair, if I do this for you, I’ll need to do
this for everyone.” I argued for several months before sense was talked into
people who could make this request happen for me. As the years progressed,
Jeanette joined me whenever issues like this arose. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Within her
first year, two big things happened: we started the EDGE Institute with a bang!
A banquet was held (with centerpieces) and every week we tried something new. I
taught three classes that year, and Jeanette saw that I was on time, and in
place for each one. On the flip side, her personal life hit several extremely
rough patches. Things happened to her that shouldn’t happen to anyone, much
less a person as responsible and kind as Jeanette. Near the end of 2017, her
5-year old daughter had spent nearly two months in the hospital, with Jeanette
at her side most of the time. That Christmas I served as “Santa” ordering some
gifts for the kids. By then Jeanette was a single mom, and had moved in with
her mother and step dad, sharing a 2-bedroom townhouse. </p><p class="MsoNormal"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-zkay9LfLbM1c0OcWmUjC7V48GT_zC5dLhD8_NGHXaiSNC7Zpn3KSB0QxGTcLm_zk6KgDFGpWkgjIs6i5kgtfe_P-4ye7fGvGJeBFwuDPrds8S1tbvdjp1zUOX6RfqIayp5t5JGotc6fP/s2048/DSC_0511.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1360" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-zkay9LfLbM1c0OcWmUjC7V48GT_zC5dLhD8_NGHXaiSNC7Zpn3KSB0QxGTcLm_zk6KgDFGpWkgjIs6i5kgtfe_P-4ye7fGvGJeBFwuDPrds8S1tbvdjp1zUOX6RfqIayp5t5JGotc6fP/s320/DSC_0511.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Note the centerpieces<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Fortunately,
we adapted and overcame. Jeanette came to campus when I was teaching and worked
remotely on other days. She used sick leave, vacation time, and other pots of
leave to keep her fully employed. UC’s health benefits are extraordinary and
inexpensive for staff. Without the job, she’d have no insurance, having to sign
up for Medical. Rory continued to improve and returned to school, relieving a
burden on Jeanette. Her son Brett needed extra care with all the attention on
his little sister. It wasn’t an easy time, but Jeanette persisted. Her children
are the most important parts of her life. She made all the right choices in
handling their care. I insisted she was not only a “good mom”, but maybe even
the “Best Mom.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKVJrWWMJ2_x6sdetpaR1_r8ZnWK4UbcopIBT7Zvp19R39X3Ypowj5otbc0_KTqPqV-OIgjaPhPvpek1XE7T8ZJKrnB-9rHCMmkG0CzeE1PWZYpjF5xB-jQNpH78xIBB1Aud1fQQ9FUJlq/s4912/ORG_DSC03850.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="4912" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKVJrWWMJ2_x6sdetpaR1_r8ZnWK4UbcopIBT7Zvp19R39X3Ypowj5otbc0_KTqPqV-OIgjaPhPvpek1XE7T8ZJKrnB-9rHCMmkG0CzeE1PWZYpjF5xB-jQNpH78xIBB1Aud1fQQ9FUJlq/s320/ORG_DSC03850.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Salton Sea, 2019<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Meanwhile,
my physical abilities were declining. By the time I left Riverside in March
2020, Jeanette was helping me out way more than an administrative assistant
should. We had a set routine for my using the restroom. Years of lobbying had
resulted in push button door openers and no-touch faucets and paper towel
dispensers. Before I brought in the Fogel Chair, an elevated toilet seat,
Jeanette needed to assist me up from the “Throne” a couple of times when I was
unable to stand on my own. She took it like a Queen, never making me feel
small. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>In
addition, she pushed my wheelchair all over campus—from the Geology building to
the administration building on the other end of campus and to the Senate
building on a faraway hill. Together we lobbied for accessible entries, parking
spaces, and working elevators. I taught 11 classes on campus in person—and
Jeanette saw I arrived on time, set up my computer and the projector in classrooms
that were not handicap accessible. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">We became a team—I looked out for her and
she looked out for me.</b> Along the way, we had Monday Morning Mother
chats—she talking about her mom, a firm, stern woman from Oaxaca Mexico and me
with my mom, who was decreasing in her mental status. The stories we swapped
weren’t easy ones, especially for Jeanette. We often ended these conversations
reminding ourselves that our mothers did love us, but sometimes didn’t show it
as we would have liked. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I became
Jeanette’s Work Mom, helping her navigate a bureaucracy that wasn’t always
friendly. She managed the drudgery work--finances, ordering, travel, and
purchasing. A lot of good things for UCR were accomplished. She figured out
when to be strong and to take a stand. Learned to be formal and polite, and not
always “friends” with colleagues. Wrote many memos and emails. Contacted
caterers, Deans, facilities guys, and distinguished faculty. Jeanette was proud
of her diverse work and with time, excelled at everything she did. </p><p class="MsoNormal"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdRK-u8FMpEqnnU35QJvI1W9brCzujLJk1EQzV0tmzKkajCPOq9DygdtubyWkltEfGGNYUO0TNxTrRADAWPX7DAtIGMTtwWupcB4Uv5ziFO91vdxiQwrp_ic3VJgFUp3vbqAMoEDeFVr4q/s2048/IMG_0954.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdRK-u8FMpEqnnU35QJvI1W9brCzujLJk1EQzV0tmzKkajCPOq9DygdtubyWkltEfGGNYUO0TNxTrRADAWPX7DAtIGMTtwWupcB4Uv5ziFO91vdxiQwrp_ic3VJgFUp3vbqAMoEDeFVr4q/s320/IMG_0954.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jeanette and Kaycee Morra, 2019<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJTQ5oca4hA3Kzim2AmbEOZHPAn1aE_IMH1PMYukSdvszdUFTRAEr5oE-7Bb8iat1KzkEpOyWw6I_JehJgShg8nivYkx9dhoGWay1k-7nEVCeJur3d6k-fPj4qAgBigOxQATL6ZvtKR4MJ/s2048/IMG_1002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJTQ5oca4hA3Kzim2AmbEOZHPAn1aE_IMH1PMYukSdvszdUFTRAEr5oE-7Bb8iat1KzkEpOyWw6I_JehJgShg8nivYkx9dhoGWay1k-7nEVCeJur3d6k-fPj4qAgBigOxQATL6ZvtKR4MJ/s320/IMG_1002.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With son Brett, dancing, Mariposa, 2019<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We held
many, many events for EDGE—puppy parties, donut receptions, field trips, big
banquets, Mexican feasts, and seminars. Together, we locked the keys in Chris’s
car when we were way down at the Salton Sea. In December 2019, Jeanette
accompanied me to AGU’s Fall Meeting in San Francisco, hauling me around the
city to sessions, posters, and dinners. For our last big event on campus, we
arranged flowers together in my office. It was a special time. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>At the end
of my 4<sup>th</sup> year at UCR when I retired, Jeanette shifted to a more
traditional job in purchasing on campus. We had a great run. I miss her
tremendously, and certainly not for her business skills, but for her positive
attitude and can-do spirit. Four years later, daughter Rory is doing fine, but
it’s been a challenge for Jeanette the whole time. Her son Brett is a pre-teen
now; Jeanette’s “ex” is helping out more, and things are stable.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmejp4C30M681DQSO2Q6w-Hv7AAi5zyhQtZx1H6Smp4Vhr8A3PKsdk9i4j_Fh7mUo5N0o9WITVgYGlBGgAechu1714v1X9PEnijFZPGYyrfJZfqmZxkjXNDiO38qUFXrLmtot7lc162Knp/s2048/20191213_123634.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1450" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmejp4C30M681DQSO2Q6w-Hv7AAi5zyhQtZx1H6Smp4Vhr8A3PKsdk9i4j_Fh7mUo5N0o9WITVgYGlBGgAechu1714v1X9PEnijFZPGYyrfJZfqmZxkjXNDiO38qUFXrLmtot7lc162Knp/s320/20191213_123634.jpeg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">AGU 2019<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>During our
time working together, Jeanette made friends with my son Evan and daughter
Dana, who remain in Southern California. Dana can chat with Jeanette’s mom in
Spanish; Jeanette has tried out camping with Evan and Dana, taking her kids
along for hikes. When the pandemic threats lift for Rory and for me, we’ll get
together again, I am sure. Until then, Jeanette Westbrook remains as another
remarkable women in my life.</p>
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{page:WordSection1;}</style></p>Isotope Queenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00346511476816956274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349128715082229990.post-84806173270616753662021-07-12T15:29:00.005-07:002021-07-12T15:32:27.657-07:00Book 3 Draft: "Remarkable Women and a Life in Science of the Isotope Queen"<p> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMXN4nBSEHqqosaKwpS_o1Bbc-AKPfeTCDGKC-irD8Dndh-LQFS50d68Zrm4KUEvq9HrMf4jz9SqXLAl7An7CiUk6H6AIvF5GuJ-pySQc32NYTKmtjoQPYfOJfaSWSlGCQ-gypKRTEmNb2/s2048/IMG_0015.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMXN4nBSEHqqosaKwpS_o1Bbc-AKPfeTCDGKC-irD8Dndh-LQFS50d68Zrm4KUEvq9HrMf4jz9SqXLAl7An7CiUk6H6AIvF5GuJ-pySQc32NYTKmtjoQPYfOJfaSWSlGCQ-gypKRTEmNb2/w400-h300/IMG_0015.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Isotope Lab, Carnegie, 2007<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />
<p></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">What others are
saying about the Isotope Queen’s Blogs</span></b></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><a href="https://isotopequeen.blogspot.com/">https://isotopequeen.blogspot.com/</a></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“I
always look forward to your next edition of your wonderful blogs. Your insight
and superb writing always makes me think of something relevant in my career.
Fortunately my health is good, but I have experienced many of the scenarios you
so aptly describe relating to the inequalities of women in science. As a Career
Development professional, I have coached many women in options to consider as
the last 30+ years have been incredibly difficult for women to be successful in
their scientific professional paths of their dreams. Some women chose to change
career paths by identifying more "equality" in the academic route;
others have found different career paths that use their scientific education.
Thanks for your words of wisdom. I try to pass it on the next generation of
scientists to consider the obstacles you encountered and try to figure out a
way to shine!”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“As
always, your blog is encouraging and uplifting. My life feels impossibly
overwhelming and it’s hard to imagine a future in which things feel any better.
I come to read your blog to be recharged once again. “</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> </span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“You
are the strongest person I know, and you haven't let ALS get you down. You keep
looking to the future, and hold on to how you can continue to make a difference
in the world. I want to be you when I grow up!”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I'm so grateful you take the time to write
these blogs and share the kindness, love, and support you advocate for and
actively build in your family and academic communities. I am glad people can
see what it's like to be not only a good academic, but person as a whole,
through your writings and stories. It is such a joy to hear such a kind voice
in what often is a swirl of negativity in ego driven-science. Your voice is a
delightful light, and I'm thankful you share it. Cheers & many well-wishes
from a PhD student from afar.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“This
was a wonderful reminder for how to greet every day. Wishing you all the best.
Your posts have been a beautiful guide through how to find real success with
people, in work, and in living mindfully.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“I
have yet to build a lab, but I took notes for when I do finally have a
collection of students.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“I
needed to read this today. Thank you so much. I look forward to your blog posts
very much. I think I relate a lot to your 30 year old self.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“It was a joy to read about one of my heroes
from another of my heroes. Sue hired me as a technician at the Univ. of
Arkansas and still took the time to teach me to appreciate science even though
I was majoring in German at that time. Sue sets a standard, no pun intended,
that few can match.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Your
blog made me chuckle and refresh all my cruise memories. Indeed, research
expeditions have been one of the most exciting aspects of my career (and life).”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Thank
you for taking the time to jot down lessons learned for the rest of us. This
and your other blog posts are so valuable.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Wow,
lots of great advice in there. I also love the McDonald's talk! Not because I
want to go around firing people, but these kinds of conversations can be so
stressful - that that approach makes the point so simply and without drama.” </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Love the "McDonalds" talk. Tucking
that idea in my back pocket for when I need it... Thanks for all the great
advice!”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“This
is very encouraging essay for young woman researchers and students in Japan. I
introduced this essay with my Japanese twitter. I hope many Japanese young
woman scientists realize that to be woman is not always disadvantage to be
scientists.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Terrific
essay! I’m going to spend the next day or two trying to imagine a scenario that
would result in someone calling you a M-#*~@=€. “</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Such
an incredible experience I had as a PhD student. Learned so much!! The science,
the fun, and the support was amazing! Thank you Marilyn from inviting me to
many discussions, meetings, field trips, to your lab and home!!! Such a
productive time, and still lots of data to publish.... Thank you for remembering
and sharing so many good memories!”</span><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">Draft Preface</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> </span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Through the Earth Science Women’s Network (ESWN) I
learn about women’s struggles and challenges they face today. Frequently, they
chronicle trying to negotiate the minefield of getting hired and promoted in a
world where men still have the greatest sway. Childcare continues to be an
issue, as well as maternity leave—or lack thereof. As has been the case around
the world, the group is concerned with diversity, equity and inclusion work,
something I have devoted some of my time to this past year. Several of the
chapters in this book give my personal journey as equity advisor at UC
Riverside.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Two years into writing a weekly blog about life, in
particular life as a woman scientist, I decided to pull together the work that
I have done on issues important to women. When I publish a blog, I post
announcements to groups on Facebook as well as send an email to the stable
isotope geochemistry listserve. The isotope geochemistry group is my most
devoted readership, followed by a subset of women who are part of ESWN. I had
tried about a year ago to have ESWN sponsor the publication of the Isotope
Queen memoir, but the group didn’t have the necessary bandwidth to do so. I
went ahead and self-published two versions of the memoir—one highlighting
advice and the other chronicling my science adventures. As of this writing the
two books in either eBook or paper form have reached over 600 readers. For an
arcane topic such as stable isotope biogeochemistry, I call this a success.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>There are several books about women scientists who
made it (for example, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Door in the
Dream</i>), but not many about those of us who work day-by-day advancing our
lives, often seemingly taking very small steps. I highlight the lives of
several women who have enhanced my life—both scientifically and personally. <span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>2020-2021 has also been impacted by the COVID-19
pandemic, which has disproportionately affected women, and has prompted me to
write about how the pandemic has affected me. As a physically disabled person,
having to switch to remote learning was a bonus for me. I was able to carry out
my work as a “retired” professor via Zoom, an experience that would have
probably not worked out for me otherwise. As the restrictions from the pandemic
lift, I wonder how connected I will able to be. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I hope this collection of blog essays will serve as
a fun and informative read for women of all ages—as well as men who want to
know more.</span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwsWcLj1k1HMBNS-Y5fNgr7Mz0wcI9q47HiaRzOoFR1Ryhae9pGoPd2pWvpxYhmMklQCNFiFBYdbgvmi18J46F17yhENN8J8jvI0usGA1Hjh1Ku96eOIGQce2bPZcH9-ne_-wY-Y4b1JnB/s1644/AMASE061508_JE+021.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1644" data-original-width="1235" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwsWcLj1k1HMBNS-Y5fNgr7Mz0wcI9q47HiaRzOoFR1Ryhae9pGoPd2pWvpxYhmMklQCNFiFBYdbgvmi18J46F17yhENN8J8jvI0usGA1Hjh1Ku96eOIGQce2bPZcH9-ne_-wY-Y4b1JnB/s320/AMASE061508_JE+021.jpeg" /></a></b></div><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMkSaBt5CqfqP2stEYiP0TA1gc8bEYQs-DO7F0W-8Eq23Z1b5Spw9RoV7L6IsT3UFyisHAqHEtWsK1GSlvuciEqN_J8hFDebZpuggv58DLdgYDzmnll2FJr7JclcZ3qiDxFTojHcy0i8kD/s760/when_james_away__.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="760" data-original-width="684" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMkSaBt5CqfqP2stEYiP0TA1gc8bEYQs-DO7F0W-8Eq23Z1b5Spw9RoV7L6IsT3UFyisHAqHEtWsK1GSlvuciEqN_J8hFDebZpuggv58DLdgYDzmnll2FJr7JclcZ3qiDxFTojHcy0i8kD/s320/when_james_away__.jpg" /></a></div><br /> </b><p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> </span></b></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">Table of Contents</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">Preface</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 200%;">Setting the Stage: Discovering
science as a child</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Favorite Times: Going down the shore with Grandmom
Hencinski</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Favorite Times: 6<sup>th</sup> grade (1963-1964),
the last year as a “kid”</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Favorite Times: Junior Prom 1969</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 200%;">Advice for 20somethings</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Favorite Times: Starting as a
Young Scientist at Penn State</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Standing out as a woman scientist</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><b><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Branching
out as a Postdoc at the Geophysical Lab</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 2pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span></b><b><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Early
Years as a Female Geoscientist</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%; color: #222222; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">People: </span></b><b><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;">Building Emotional Intelligence and Stamina</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 2pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><b><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>People:
</span></b><b><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;">Meeting
Chris Swarth and Building a Family</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>People: Lifelong Friend Franny Stein Kasen</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Before the #Metoo era</span></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><b><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;">Advice to my 30something self</span></b></p>
<p align="left" class="MsoTitle" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>People:
Marjorie Imlay: Secretary and Assistant to the Director 1955-2008</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Favorite
Times: Motherhood and what you’ll learn</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> </span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Mentoring</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Favorite Times: Jug Bay Wetlands Sanctuary </span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 200%;">Advice for 40 somethings</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>People:
Noreen Tuross</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>People:
Beverly Johnson and Roxane Bowden</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Scientific
Fieldwork: Is it for you?</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> </span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Cruising
for Science</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> </span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>People:
Carmen Aguilar</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> </span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 200%;">Advice for folks in
their 50s</span></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"></span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Science (or Work) Mother</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-size: 10pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">People: Sue
Ziegler</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> </span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><b><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: Cambria; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>People:
Babes of Science: Liane Benning and Pamela Conrad</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>People: Valery Terwilliger--Can we really afford to
lose this top scientist?</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 200%;">Personal Reflections: Religion
and Science</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>People:
Lisa Kourtis, a Remarkable “Ordinary” Woman</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> </span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Although
I am a Liberal, I am also a Patriot</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> </span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Favorite
Times: Thanksgiving</span></b></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> </span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Favorite
Times: Your Natal Home</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> </span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">People: Kate Freeman</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> </span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">People: Anat Shahar</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> </span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">Creating and Maintaining
a Lab Group</span></b></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;"> </span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Ideal
Lab size</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> </span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>How
big is too big?</span></b></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> </span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Navigating
Promotions, Reviews, and Tenure</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> </span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
art of science supervision</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> </span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Troubleshooting
an Isotope Laboratory</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> </span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>People:
Carolin Frank</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> </span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Teaching
the students I have—not the students I thought I would have</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12pt; margin-bottom: 2pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><b><span style="font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"> </span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Harnessing
your potential</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12pt; margin-bottom: 2pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><b><span style="font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"> </span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12pt; margin-bottom: 2pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>People:
Half measures never work—Maxine Singer</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12pt; margin-bottom: 2pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><b><span style="font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"> </span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 12pt; margin-bottom: 2pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none;"><b><span style="font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Hitting the glass ceiling—then breaking it</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> </span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">Ending a long career</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> </span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">People: My mother Florence Fogel at 93</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> </span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 200%;">People: Frolleagues</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">Post Career Work: </span></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">Diversity, Equity and Inclusion 2020</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> </span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>A
sense of belonging—what keeps a scientist engaged?</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> </span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Is
“Science” neutral and objective? —A woman’s perspective</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> </span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">Challenging Time: The COVID-19 pandemic</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> </span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 200%;">Years of ALS
(2016-2021) and Counting</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">A good situation is a bad situation. A bad situation
is a good situation.</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
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{page:WordSection1;}</style></p>Isotope Queenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00346511476816956274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349128715082229990.post-14083631142805246132021-07-08T17:47:00.007-07:002021-07-09T11:57:29.677-07:00Motherhood, Life, and Science<p> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0PQKAZ_0HiUsoFhbXskkosI7EEHAbMsch93mwmxtpjKukBtogC6mNks0Sn-mmWt6IHCN9qEfOT1_fiEau5-T60Z1sNbCh4ektJlGMp__H0BQkuZAnGmES7P8GChJYYmav3DQD66BjdjvX/s1782/2017_07_08_14_36_51.pdf006.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1193" data-original-width="1782" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0PQKAZ_0HiUsoFhbXskkosI7EEHAbMsch93mwmxtpjKukBtogC6mNks0Sn-mmWt6IHCN9qEfOT1_fiEau5-T60Z1sNbCh4ektJlGMp__H0BQkuZAnGmES7P8GChJYYmav3DQD66BjdjvX/w400-h268/2017_07_08_14_36_51.pdf006.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dana, Evan, Mom, coast of Maine, 1992<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />
<p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Becoming a mother is a life-changing experience.</p><p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal">Every woman who has given birth has a “birth” story. My
friend Franny summarizes the birth experience with the phrase, “Isn’t
childbirth fun?” Many of these stories tell of the extreme physical nature
associated with delivering a healthy baby. Some describe medical emergencies
from giving birth in the car on the way to the hospital to losing significant
quantities of blood after birth. In my case, I would have died had it not been
for life-saving surgery. The birth itself, however, is but a brief start to a
lifetime of motherhood. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Those early weeks of a new baby’s life go quickly—a mixture
of physical endurance and simple bliss. Babes adjust to new surroundings,
drinking milk, crying, and sleeping. Moms adjust to changing hormones, leaky
breasts, and punctuated sleep. By the first few months, babes and moms are
usually in sync with a routine that covers 24 hours, some predictability, and
more direct communication. A mother’s transformation has begun. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtiH0fU8li5B5mPTqoOG-0rb0szT54LIJ4rR2GcGHTG6Bifes_UuX3jKv1shxmJH18pe8FPt4fjpA1QA3xZVZpwZpg4fH_ZhLvrX0yjR_pzHaERKZ0EHT3GmIn-n-9q9qorfR7UPz5eV9a/s1457/20200528_553.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1032" data-original-width="1457" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtiH0fU8li5B5mPTqoOG-0rb0szT54LIJ4rR2GcGHTG6Bifes_UuX3jKv1shxmJH18pe8FPt4fjpA1QA3xZVZpwZpg4fH_ZhLvrX0yjR_pzHaERKZ0EHT3GmIn-n-9q9qorfR7UPz5eV9a/s320/20200528_553.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Baby Dana, 2 weeks old, 1988<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Sadly in the United States, after a few months, moms usually
have to return to work. Babes are cared for by others and the conflicts in a
mother’s mind unfold. In my mother’s era (1950s) when I was a babe, moms
usually did not work “outside of the home” meaning they worked full time
24/7/365 taking care of small children, a home, and a partner. In my day
(1990s), moms stayed in the workforce and hired nannies or took their babes to
family daycare, in a person’s home with only a few kids. If you hired a nanny,
you set the rules; if your babe went to family daycare, there were few rules.
Although expensive, daycare was more affordable then.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">How has motherhood shaped my life? </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Raising young children was the hardest work I’ve ever attempted—but
the most rewarding. <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Motherhood shaped me
for a life of taking care of others, taking primary responsibility for what I
did and how I lived</b>. Being a mom forced me to look outside of myself and
think about the welfare of others, more than I had done before. I had to put my
needs second on many occasions. Motherhood made me “younger”, dance freely for
no reason, and laugh at silly jokes. I developed the sense of humor of a high
school kid. I learned to not take myself too seriously. I learned how to shop
for food efficiently, buy clothes for kids quickly, and be a great Santa Claus.
I learned how to rustle up a nutritious dinner from whatever was in the fridge.
I became expert at thinking on the fly. I tried to let kids learn from their
mistakes—hard to do, but necessary. I learned to compromise with my husband
about the care of the kids, and we made a good team.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3QFUBJDUOX96proUlbC63lf7HXDRcEYarmkK-zQFMylH-tD8IG9UqNgJ33xeX5JdLEF6GQXjWGVph_XVO19h1r81WmJiJW7Qu8YzejuKYuFBX0mB5lUK-2Tyu4uZRFnic6wlrQZMV1aVI/s1510/2017_07_08_13_57_53.pdf000.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1046" data-original-width="1510" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3QFUBJDUOX96proUlbC63lf7HXDRcEYarmkK-zQFMylH-tD8IG9UqNgJ33xeX5JdLEF6GQXjWGVph_XVO19h1r81WmJiJW7Qu8YzejuKYuFBX0mB5lUK-2Tyu4uZRFnic6wlrQZMV1aVI/s320/2017_07_08_13_57_53.pdf000.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My mom, me, Brother Fred, 1953<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Today, two big changes have shifted how and when moms return
to work. One hugely positive change is the ability for dads to take a significant amount of time off for paternity leave. [In the 1990s, my husband was given 2 weeks of paternity leave.] My friend Seth took off half a semester
when each of his daughters was born. He developed a routine: bike rides in the
mornings, grocery shopping trips, and nap times, when he answered emails,
worked on manuscripts, and mentored students. His babies got to know him,
although they still went to their mom when life was rough. Equal time for both
sexes (or the other partner) serves to strengthen the roles of both parents for
anticipating their child’s needs and care.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Most babes, now, enter a childcare center with classrooms,
age stratification, and a lot of rules. Microbes are passed freely from one
babe to the next, so illnesses with mild fever or runny nose can strike at any
time—usually when mom has to give an important seminar or presentation. With a
nanny, unless your babe was seriously ill, you went to work. My colleague Sandy
was constantly set off kilter by the University daycare system dealing with
mysterious rashes and frequent shutdowns. Then there is the cost—often barely
sustainable for young working parents, especially single moms.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3SCxZShvVZB7PPObh2M-Lm36vA4-pELWUbp3l0wNksIh6jotL2DvKA4i87Z7zWjR_yiXC94hJMfiutR1r-fe23fSJywTaLj30u1WiH-0jn-kFkxTYVWUA58k-UPp8UBdMKzCkoH4s7oQg/s1460/20200528_540.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1031" data-original-width="1460" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3SCxZShvVZB7PPObh2M-Lm36vA4-pELWUbp3l0wNksIh6jotL2DvKA4i87Z7zWjR_yiXC94hJMfiutR1r-fe23fSJywTaLj30u1WiH-0jn-kFkxTYVWUA58k-UPp8UBdMKzCkoH4s7oQg/s320/20200528_540.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">me, Evan, Nanny Susan Agugua, 1991<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">How has being a mom shaped my career as a scientist? </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Being a mom made me focus while I was at work and
prioritize. I learned that too much time working did not translate into greater
productivity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I learned to get things
done and completed so I could be a mom at home in peace. Being a parent made me
take more time to listen and to encourage younger scientists to have their own
ideas. I learned when to step in when I saw that a nudge or push was needed to
help the progress of a student or postdoc. I encouraged a social, fun
atmosphere in the lab and field, like I did at home. I noticed, more than my
colleagues, when something was “off” with someone. I encouraged young parents
to take time to grow their families. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">I learned how to master a mass
spectrometer as well as I could bake a cake or change a diaper. I used
automated methods to get more data!</b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It’s probably a good five to six years before life returns
to “normal” after a couple of babes are born and raised. The question then is
does this time negatively impact a mom’s career in a significant way? Parents
with young children give up remote or long-term fieldwork, frequent conference
travel, after work social gatherings, and weekend work. In academia, one is often
judged by her amount of work that couldn’t be done without putting in 50+ hours
at the bench or the computer. <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Looking
back, those early years caused a slowdown, but based on a much longer timeframe
of 30-40 years of work, I had plenty of time to make up for those years. </b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivOZlrB3J9svyB07r1X2nn6JK_oBsAQQLBunpbcsh_2iA5xANPb5hKQrjaW2DZX0V4exBRW5rFe-eHc46jaWREGVEUQ15GAG1qk_eA5QlgdXYP8ZXQaLjPoo5CBN0-dlp38ztu84yB2D1e/s1786/2017_07_08_14_51_09.pdf000.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1176" data-original-width="1786" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivOZlrB3J9svyB07r1X2nn6JK_oBsAQQLBunpbcsh_2iA5xANPb5hKQrjaW2DZX0V4exBRW5rFe-eHc46jaWREGVEUQ15GAG1qk_eA5QlgdXYP8ZXQaLjPoo5CBN0-dlp38ztu84yB2D1e/s320/2017_07_08_14_51_09.pdf000.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Vacation in California, 1993<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The shutdown from the pandemic intensified problems for moms
and dads as the loss of daycare turned productive parents into schoolteachers
and back to daycare moms and dads. While those of us with no children or grown
children worked on our sourdough bread recipes, parents with youngsters slogged
through days often with minimal support. Women were more severely impacted than
men (<a href="https://www.nap.edu/read/26061/chapter/1">NASEM Covid report on
women</a>). Ying Lin, academic coordinator in the UC Riverside isotope lab, has
three young children, who were 5 years old or younger when she first started
her position in 2017. She’s managed to get through all the barriers to working
a smooth day by her hard work to get the kids to school and medical
appointments while keeping the lab humming. During the pandemic, she had to
keep positive, work on spreadsheets at home, all the while managing on-line
learning for her kids.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">During the early years of motherhood, internal conflicts
arise because you are still judged by the same metrics as men or women without
young children. Giving sufficient time off and allowing for extra time to
achieve tenure is a start at making moms more competitive. Even these measures
don’t always achieve parity and equity. There will still be those senior managers
and full professors who keep thinking, “In my day, we didn’t have any help like
this,” and will unintentionally ding moms with youngsters.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Getting back to basics: babies are remarkable and the facts
that they emerge with ten fingers and ten toes, laugh mirthfully, and love us
are what makes it all worth it. Women who have children are often more
resourceful, responsible, and empathetic. They are often super organized and
creative. Both parents may be more balanced with their work and home lives. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyohA7akIJQPmkrmbBqYPB8i-17VKMnpJvvqP6xv-S5xhS22teqxB0jNo0Xdld3uvx-Ws4ZSVM5mGPAFftR9bwPDjMThAGnTRJL7Uead84cPQllWXcmMSAkXFY9Dm-B_DeKrUuvejeyywO/s2048/IMG_3013.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyohA7akIJQPmkrmbBqYPB8i-17VKMnpJvvqP6xv-S5xhS22teqxB0jNo0Xdld3uvx-Ws4ZSVM5mGPAFftR9bwPDjMThAGnTRJL7Uead84cPQllWXcmMSAkXFY9Dm-B_DeKrUuvejeyywO/s320/IMG_3013.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Silly times, Cape May, NJ, 2013<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">By the time those babes turn into kids, life smooths out. A
family opens up doors parents never thought they’d open. My friends Mat and
Diane took up playing musical instruments along with their kids. Mat’s violin
skills are rudimentary at best, but he and his daughter can play duets with
each other. In my family, we had great adventures taking the kids into the
field on trips to Australia, Belize, and Hawaii. Now as an adult, those babes
are taking care of me. Younger men in academia today are as likely to be
engaged dads rather than those leaving childrearing to moms. I hope that
together this generation will make building a family in the largest sense more
conducive to cooperative teamwork.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Not all women are mothers—and may not want to be or not be
able to be. Does this create a divide among women, particularly in the work
environment? When I was a young mom, all of my male colleagues had children.
Now, with more women as colleagues, I know a full range of science women from
those with no kids to step kids to more than two kids. Today, I don’t see a
divide between women with or without kids, but am very aware of a divide
between moms who work and moms who stay at home once kids are born. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Having the ability to make a choice for motherhood (and
continuing to work or not) or not having children is a private, individual
decision.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Having made the choice years
ago to work and to parent, it worked for my family and me. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyLXRtKQQ8TVUZqdyuT7fC02V60zEHKQcNiGxzVxRyJj9Jnd1BzK-wPkcYDyzqEXNs-3bkxzvXgnXciIEPgIhTh-iRuEwLfv64RQaGGFo8cQjjpLBvAaxO0CYZD2JasTBakA1nvuVbTmUb/s2048/DSC_0101.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1360" data-original-width="2048" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyLXRtKQQ8TVUZqdyuT7fC02V60zEHKQcNiGxzVxRyJj9Jnd1BzK-wPkcYDyzqEXNs-3bkxzvXgnXciIEPgIhTh-iRuEwLfv64RQaGGFo8cQjjpLBvAaxO0CYZD2JasTBakA1nvuVbTmUb/w400-h265/DSC_0101.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dana and Evan--now caregivers, 2017<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
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{page:WordSection1;}</style></p>Isotope Queenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00346511476816956274noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349128715082229990.post-56245397080456342912021-07-01T16:15:00.004-07:002021-10-12T16:04:07.177-07:00Going down the shore--the Jersey Shore<p> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj73YMKO7iHBwEguQrTJShbLhoto3QssgMzr-LGTbWJNWNKXC9P8VAfpn5_5b4eyyMfbRoi_5Alv4zJiqi_9Oz0owsBwaWsyqt34fljoKXYNiGvNFCRoB5lvV_mT7QnqbzDomGnTxInXKTV/s554/wildwood.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="397" data-original-width="554" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj73YMKO7iHBwEguQrTJShbLhoto3QssgMzr-LGTbWJNWNKXC9P8VAfpn5_5b4eyyMfbRoi_5Alv4zJiqi_9Oz0owsBwaWsyqt34fljoKXYNiGvNFCRoB5lvV_mT7QnqbzDomGnTxInXKTV/w400-h286/wildwood.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Brother Fred, mom Florence, me, Wildwood 1962<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />
<p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Growing up in suburban New Jersey back in the ‘50s and ‘60s,
it was hot and sticky in summer—before air conditioning and hanging out in the
mall. A trip to the shore brought cool mornings, comfortable evenings, and hot
afternoons swimming in the Atlantic Ocean. <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Spending
some time, any time, on the Jersey shore was an adventure for a kid.</b> All of
us growing up there can probably recall our own special way of “going down the
shore.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Together my Polish grandmother and I would board the train
or a Greyhound bus on a sultry summer morning in Camden for the voyage to
Atlantic City. As we got closer to the shore, she would enthusiastically say, “Take
a deep breath and smell the salt air!” when the first whiff of rotten egg from
the salt marshes wafted into our nostrils. When we reached the terminal, we’d
grab our grips, her word for small suitcases, and walk to the Fredonia Hotel on
Tennessee Avenue.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Shrink down!” she would whisper as we would approach the
front desk. My grandmother, Helen Hencinski, was a regular there in the 1950s
and early sixties. The Fredonia gave reduced rates to children under eight, and
Grandmom Hencinski wanted to save as much money as she could to maximize our
fun. Sam Metz, the manager back then, was probably on to Grandmom’s charade,
but he played along with it because he loved her business and her company.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLBprjYq6bEll1eSKQ99SuwY0azThQEWsNvwlEAC53OtwctkKd5yttzGCSs4aT0DFjWe39zCYkaQvFTFEhaG6mpsagzF31tMhOENkVWrlPgq2x5RMyRNrFxMsEGFCcpNtjbV3B0WrMY6ic/s574/gmom+me.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="447" data-original-width="574" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLBprjYq6bEll1eSKQ99SuwY0azThQEWsNvwlEAC53OtwctkKd5yttzGCSs4aT0DFjWe39zCYkaQvFTFEhaG6mpsagzF31tMhOENkVWrlPgq2x5RMyRNrFxMsEGFCcpNtjbV3B0WrMY6ic/s320/gmom+me.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grandmom Hencinski and me, 1953<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">With Grandmom, you knew you’d be heading down to the beach
with a towel tucked under your arm around 11am. She’d bring down ripe Jersey
tomatoes for that first day’s lunch along with a packet of salt, a juicy fresh
peach, and maybe a hard-boiled egg. Afternoons were spent swimming with a crowd
of people clustered near the lifeguard stand. As a youngster, I spent most of
my time in fairly shallow water, jumping over waves, getting sacked by the
bigger ones that thumped loudly on the shore break. Often, she had to call me
out of the water to “rest.” When I got a bit older, I took long walks along the
beach looking for shells and daydreaming about what life would be like as a
teenager.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">By 4pm, we’d pack up our beach bag and towels and head back
to the Fredonia. On the first floor, there was an outdoor shower for washing
the sand off your feet and out of your bathing suit. We’d then trundle up to
the second floor lobby, past the main desk (with me shrinking down), and up to
our little room. My parents footed the bill for these trips, so we always had a
room with a bathroom, two twin beds, and windows that opened up to let a breeze
come in. We’d both shower then get dressed up for an evening on the Boardwalk!</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj29HYKmtb9eyuIJ7Fnx1c18909R6Adwhfz7-ayQvVeA8JK61CYY6t-f5nT9SpEU-K_id0NyXJeYTAxcrIpHK7-rRFwEaRMD3r3NVOcBGK6vPGsMG6yxRm5jzdhDPrti5bOzyb1n4N10LXv/s499/gmom+ac.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="383" data-original-width="499" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj29HYKmtb9eyuIJ7Fnx1c18909R6Adwhfz7-ayQvVeA8JK61CYY6t-f5nT9SpEU-K_id0NyXJeYTAxcrIpHK7-rRFwEaRMD3r3NVOcBGK6vPGsMG6yxRm5jzdhDPrti5bOzyb1n4N10LXv/s320/gmom+ac.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grandmom at A. C. (on the left) 1950<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAmP8FHr1kf8AjB63RU3Smrh2tHQiI3dR-WgncFrZ6J6JtVn9ZrtBKfQYLHqEj3yM1aMA2aYl5UPkGZAyagBvmctNEvJUGtFoDjUgiezjJe2Klwacb9YBtP10F0HR9SgYcoONEKkDQJo30/s408/ac+moon.jpeg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="283" data-original-width="408" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAmP8FHr1kf8AjB63RU3Smrh2tHQiI3dR-WgncFrZ6J6JtVn9ZrtBKfQYLHqEj3yM1aMA2aYl5UPkGZAyagBvmctNEvJUGtFoDjUgiezjJe2Klwacb9YBtP10F0HR9SgYcoONEKkDQJo30/s320/ac+moon.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mooning old ladies<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Grandmom Hencinski, on the plump side, was robust with dyed
reddish brown curly hair, glasses, and a fashion sense that included flowered
dresses with big necklaces and brooches. She had one gold tooth in the front
and a smile that won over any room she entered. Before heading out, she’d drape
a white cardigan sweater over her arm, grab her pocketbook, and say, “Let’s
go!” Before leaving the hotel, we spent a half hour on the Fredonia’s second
story screened porch where the geriatric crowd spent their time on rocking
chairs, gossiping and swapping stories.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">At 5:30, we’d head out. Our first stop was the downstairs taproom
at the Fredonia. The two of us would walk in and promptly the bartender would
shout, </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">“Mrs. Hencinski! Good
to see ‘ya.” </b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We’d sit at the bar, me drinking a coke and she ordering a
“short” beer. Until I was much older, I thought a short beer was a large
pint-sized glass, but learned later that Grandmom was treated to a much larger
beer than she’d ordered because all bartenders loved her. After polishing off that
first beer, we often stopped at another establishment with the same joyous
reception before heading onto the Boards. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The boardwalks of the Jersey shore are legendary. There is
nothing formal or fancy about them. They exude fun, junk food, and pleasure. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Smells overwhelm you—roasted peanuts, hot pizza, sizzling
Taylor pork roll, and of course the ocean. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">They are noisy—not just the waves pounding the shore, but
people talking, laughing. Popguns were shot at carnival games where bells rang
and people shouted when they won or lost. Barkers stood outside of businesses
enticing people to come in. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">You see people of all ages, all styles, and all races. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We’d then choose a place to eat. Pizza was my preferred meal,
but sometimes we ate clams or burgers. Restaurants were always over crowded and
loud. Service was typically slow as college-aged waiters and waitresses
scurried to take your order. Grandmom Hencinski would often fill her pocketbook
up with sugar packets, jelly samplers, and pats of butter on little cardboard
squares. She’d wrap up any leftovers in napkins, making sure she had a healthy
supply for the next day’s lunch on the beach. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">And sometimes, if the check didn’t come to the table fast
enough, she’d say, “Why don’t you go outside for some fresh air?” She’d come
sailing out a few minutes later, grab my arm and hustle me off. It wasn’t until
I compared notes with my brother Fred that we realized she was “walking the
check”—meaning skipping out on paying the bill. When we got older, we’d not
leave the restaurant until the bill was paid, safely keeping our grandmother
out of prison.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsjcN2KllvNEQgCs7mAQZUIe3UYj-_JyXjYKwIxaeML4wGN7zXnvhLxHsAhdAPA95CQrgBAxBGaL7EXjhPDfbOedd-I4jwZ0r1vZB9tDTrgb_JwZ250YCIv6jrLdJ1JYcbyNwcQ_M26aRD/s1599/d1b292b67b00a16ee68cc5bf849d02ab.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1599" data-original-width="1012" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsjcN2KllvNEQgCs7mAQZUIe3UYj-_JyXjYKwIxaeML4wGN7zXnvhLxHsAhdAPA95CQrgBAxBGaL7EXjhPDfbOedd-I4jwZ0r1vZB9tDTrgb_JwZ250YCIv6jrLdJ1JYcbyNwcQ_M26aRD/s320/d1b292b67b00a16ee68cc5bf849d02ab.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hotel in Atlantic City<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><p></p><div style="text-align: right;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSaXuaYJAZT8Q28o9BVjBhwtt0Xfv6a5kdRdAVhtjlc73YFm2viS1IgkOkkMbYewRZ20gGIh0s-eeA_DKcdEDuzWGFUSozZhafX9fPeHXnURtU2qH0sPIL3BFxlhd0vcGVJFffsWxMGSSV/s600/card00948_fr.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="384" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSaXuaYJAZT8Q28o9BVjBhwtt0Xfv6a5kdRdAVhtjlc73YFm2viS1IgkOkkMbYewRZ20gGIh0s-eeA_DKcdEDuzWGFUSozZhafX9fPeHXnURtU2qH0sPIL3BFxlhd0vcGVJFffsWxMGSSV/s320/card00948_fr.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>The tap room and entrance to the Fredonia Hotel<p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">After dinner, you’d walk. In Atlantic City, the boardwalk
had motorized and hand-pushed carts for people to ride. We’d be treated to a ride
once during the trip, feeling like Rich People while passing by those poor
people on foot. The guys running the carts would bellow, “Watch the chair!”—a
phrase that was part of the Boardwalk’s melody.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Atlantic City had its piers, including the iconic Steel Pier
and the Million Dollar Pier that held amusements and rides. Once during
each of our trips, I was treated with going on the Rides—bumper cars, roller coaster,
Ferris wheel, and the haunted house ride. Grandmom Hencinski also loved to play
just about every carnival game she encountered. I remember her picking up
softballs and chucking them at the targets—without, once again—paying for them!
The barkers would yell, “Lady, lady, you can’t do that!” It never stopped her.
On occasion, she’d plunk down a quarter to play legitimately and usually won a
prize. I had a roomful of stuffed animals that she’d won from carnival games on
the Boardwalk.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">By 9:30 pm, we’d head back to the Fredonia, tired, laughing,
taking in the last excitement of the day. These trips lasted only a few days,
before getting back on the train or bus to Camden, and home to suburban, quiet
Moorestown. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">As we both got older, we were joined by my mother and
brother. We then stayed at Debbie’s Motel in Wildwood, thought to be a step up
from the Fredonia Hotel in more urban Atlantic City. Before Grandmom passed
away when I was 13 years old, we’d shifted to renting a small house on Long
Beach Island, where there was no boardwalk. There, on rainy afternoons as a
pre-teen, she taught us how to play pinochle (and how to pass cards with our
toes under the table) and cautioned me to stay away from “Wolves”, teenage boys
who were up to no good.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br />
Grandmom Hencinski was larger than life. I hope I inherited a few of her
renegade traits. Those trips with her are precious memories. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Everyone who grew up in New Jersey has a shore memory
special to him or her. Take a trip down your personal Memory Lane and enjoy
where it takes you. If it’s the Jersey shore, I know what yuze is talkin’
about.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
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{page:WordSection1;}</style></p>Isotope Queenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00346511476816956274noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349128715082229990.post-90015543468501161642021-06-19T16:46:00.005-07:002021-06-29T09:35:08.532-07:00A Bad situation is a good situation...<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgC7WQ4ro54HK4RrD28ARg3raKHcSVjhzhMJmnjpo53rp_Ke6CTPbiY1LzfL32jAeSn4ezTHD-jvJq5ldK9A5n0b3rBOq0URg68FpqpyU77hIyqUxjviptFNylc_Ctf-scaCRrr2U31q5h/s2048/49193726242_051e8d905e_o.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1609" data-original-width="2048" height="314" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgC7WQ4ro54HK4RrD28ARg3raKHcSVjhzhMJmnjpo53rp_Ke6CTPbiY1LzfL32jAeSn4ezTHD-jvJq5ldK9A5n0b3rBOq0URg68FpqpyU77hIyqUxjviptFNylc_Ctf-scaCRrr2U31q5h/w400-h314/49193726242_051e8d905e_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dana, Chris, and Evan--my loving family<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />
<p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">I can’t be fixed.</b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I have no broken bones, no cancer-riddled organ. My breaks
are down at the tiny cellular level where nerve tendrils should be energizing
muscle cells. Thousands of these connections have already failed. More are
giving up the ghost daily. With this state, how am I to be happy and feel a
sense of well-being?</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Fortunately for me, the well being part is being covered in
spades. Chris, my husband, takes care of 100s of small requests and
manipulations every day. He’s expert at the choreographic “dance” that takes
place every time I need to move around in life—something that most people never
consider. Friends check in all the time—usually asking about me and how I’m
doing. Caregiver Joni assists me in my desire to still be able to make good food.
She styles my hair like a pro, making me look like not much is wrong. Dana and
Evan, my adult children, plan their days off to help out relieving Chris from
some of those small, but never-ending chores he does for me daily.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">But what about happiness? How happy can a person be who can
no longer walk across the room, plant a tomato start, or scramble an egg? Where
does happiness come from? Is it important for well-being?</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-Bz7KFGmH45AzBo2_B8mlKlL3q6J1EhdD6ljkq6p9zYNyU5_SJFYnxo0FGESl93s3AMQG4ICEeZsh4mkHntUaoiL3pCBNjCVR6_8ghf5gBunHawV8OtlQ2yWpJ1qb9LSbaTKhbi_jhwpo/s640/IMG_4887.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-Bz7KFGmH45AzBo2_B8mlKlL3q6J1EhdD6ljkq6p9zYNyU5_SJFYnxo0FGESl93s3AMQG4ICEeZsh4mkHntUaoiL3pCBNjCVR6_8ghf5gBunHawV8OtlQ2yWpJ1qb9LSbaTKhbi_jhwpo/s320/IMG_4887.jpeg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Marilyn and Mat-happy 2021<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Like many folks, I often rely on outside experiences to make
me happy. I’m happy when we have visitors and we laugh. I’m happy when people
read my blogs. I’m happy when I’m solving problems—saving the Salton Sea,
teaching students about the importance of diversity and equity, or nudging a
student towards completing their degree. Give me a problem, I like to roll it
around in my head, sleep on it, and come up with a few ideas to fix it. I have
to face this…</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">I am a fixer. It’s
not easy for a fixer to not be able to fix herself.</b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Diving slightly deeper. Chris and I love each other. I love
my family and they love me. My friends love me as well. Not only are physical
needs cared for—I never feel abandoned, discarded, or not valued. I am so
grateful for them. I am so grateful for all that they do for me—to make me feel
well and yes, happy.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUbiSaJv9Q7mNes7fr_UYZHsWwOBMIiShJtEI6WNAzkLiv4iIN06fhJ2xYKPQNhhk-0KFOvC57vyqqSyas2qCOjFpzT120x3p3Ur7HUGNL48uVSz9cbuJ3FWLB10o43xT-L5mKl-3_hf00/s720/Slide1.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="720" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUbiSaJv9Q7mNes7fr_UYZHsWwOBMIiShJtEI6WNAzkLiv4iIN06fhJ2xYKPQNhhk-0KFOvC57vyqqSyas2qCOjFpzT120x3p3Ur7HUGNL48uVSz9cbuJ3FWLB10o43xT-L5mKl-3_hf00/s320/Slide1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Happiness is all around me. I need to let it in. I need to
open up and let my happiness flow out. There’s that inner shell we all have
that needs to be cracked open. When you don’t feel well, sometimes that’s
harder than it should be. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Since the visit of Mat Wooller, Zen master, I’ve been
pondering and talking about this:</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">A good situation is a
bad situation. A bad situation is a good situation.</b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">My bad situation with ALS has made me rethink and redo my
life. I would have ended my career at 70 without much change. Instead, I am
learning about the challenges of the disabled, fighting for justice in
academia, writing this blog that reaches way more people than the papers on
isotopes that I’ve published. As I diminish physically, I’ve been given the
time to grow mentally. I need to embrace this gift of time even more.<br />
<br />
I think I understand people better. I try to be kind. [I’m not always
successful at this…] </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span class="hgkelc"><span style="mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Research suggests that an act of <b>kindness</b> spreads
out through <b>3</b> social steps. That means that when you help a person, that
person then helps other people, and these people, in turn help other people. I
call it the '<b>3</b>-<b>Degree</b> Ripple Rule'. It's Pay it Forward in real
life.” Dr. David Hamilton (<a href="https://drdavidhamilton.com/the-3-degree-ripple-rule/">3-degree ripple
rule</a>)</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">For folks in the
hard-knocks school of scientific academia, kindness is not a trait that is
thought to help achieve career success.</b> Now, I’ll no longer reject any
science manuscript—but ask for major revisions instead. I’ll stick with my
practice of not giving an unsatisfactory tenure assessment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m done with dismissing employees who don’t
work out. I will continue to stand up to support those who need it—and not give
in to science bullies. I have the standing and capacity as Isotope Queen to do
this. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9QSwP9OMgifzbs0cYH5Dz117-rh6a1UUW5uBE94buuR8h8ICE3nIsVOhw0hyphenhyphen5KTn8wfa9kXJMbbio99h8DO4ssAkC_7Seg93M653Z1LcQy9tLEJA1asp3KXMgbWucLklZZoAUsSosB3Iv/s1392/IMG_1623.jpeg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="952" data-original-width="1392" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9QSwP9OMgifzbs0cYH5Dz117-rh6a1UUW5uBE94buuR8h8ICE3nIsVOhw0hyphenhyphen5KTn8wfa9kXJMbbio99h8DO4ssAkC_7Seg93M653Z1LcQy9tLEJA1asp3KXMgbWucLklZZoAUsSosB3Iv/s320/IMG_1623.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wooller/O'Briens and Fogel/Swarths, 2017<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">So, it may be that my bad situation isn’t as bad as it might
appear. How is your situation?—when you stop and think about it? Could you
crack open that inner shell? Let more kindness and happiness flow? </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I’m going to try harder to be grateful and kind more often.
As I think about how my days go, those miniscule broken nerves get in my way
without my control. Spending time pondering how my bad situation could have
turned good will be a daily practice. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Thanks to all of my blog readers for writing to say the blog's
words are meaningful and helpful to you. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Do me a favor when you read this—do one act of kindness
today. And tomorrow as well.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
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{page:WordSection1;}</style></p>Isotope Queenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00346511476816956274noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349128715082229990.post-42785930259511272402021-06-13T15:34:00.006-07:002021-07-05T17:30:13.962-07:00Colleagues that become Friends<p><br /></p>
<p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%; color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"></span></i></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-5V1v5qV8tYNN5NI0JepVWeSbOF80HiedZlqx30vfRE8yie2BvpZOFL-ytR7GBRRd6Mpx_t8Lr9SQ07hxPLqROAwGaeBdEwMXRa5NWKwopny_oVu4VoEYuFC4xC8MFIXdWzvHv15m83YO/s543/IMG_4966.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="388" data-original-width="543" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-5V1v5qV8tYNN5NI0JepVWeSbOF80HiedZlqx30vfRE8yie2BvpZOFL-ytR7GBRRd6Mpx_t8Lr9SQ07hxPLqROAwGaeBdEwMXRa5NWKwopny_oVu4VoEYuFC4xC8MFIXdWzvHv15m83YO/w400-h286/IMG_4966.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mat Wooller and Marilyn, Artists, Mariposa, CA 2021<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%; color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br /><span> </span><span> </span>“Marilyn,</span></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"></span></i><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%; margin-left: 0.5in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">My experience has been beer first,
friends and family connections next, and let collaborations evolve.</span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%; margin-left: 0.5in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">
Jim” </span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%; margin-left: 0.5in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">James Ehleringer, Univ. of Utah</span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%; margin-left: 0.5in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"> </span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">Last week, Mat Wooller, a former postdoctoral
fellow and current friend, traveled all the way from cool Fairbanks, Alaska, to
spend a week in hot Mariposa, California. I was eagerly anticipating his visit
as restrictions began to lift from the pandemic and we’d been vaccinated. Our
last time together was in summer 2017, when my family traveled to Alaska and
our families enjoyed fun times together going on walks, canoeing, sharing meals.
Mat and his wife Diane O’Brien are prime examples of people who started out as
colleagues and ended up as friends. Not only do we have many funny science
stories to share, but also we share in the day-to-day triumphs and challenges
of being human in a world where kindness and respect can be elusive. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 9pt;"><b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">Friend: </span></b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">one attached to another by affection or esteem
She's my best friend. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 9pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">b <b>: </b><a href="https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/acquaintance"><span style="color: blue;">acquaintance</span></a> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 9pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">2a <b>: </b>one that is not hostile Is he a friend
or an enemy? </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 9pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">b <b>: </b>one that is of the same nation, party,
or group showbiz friends </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 9pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">3 <b>: </b>one that <a href="https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/favor#h2"><span style="color: blue;">favors</span></a> or promotes something (such as a charity) The
friends of the library will host a fund-raiser. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 9pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">4 <b>: </b>a favored companion </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 9pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 9pt;"><b><span style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Colleague: </span></b><span class="dttext"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">an
associate or coworker typically in a profession or in a civil or ecclesiastical
office and often of similar rank or status </span></span><b><span style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">: </span></b><span class="dttext"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">a fellow worker or professional. </span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">First
recorded in 1515–25; from Middle French collegue, from Latin collēga, equivalent
to col- “with, together” + -lēga, derivative of legere “to choose, gather.”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 9pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 9pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">Those who begin as a
colleague but end up a friend—let’s call them “Frolleagues”.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 9pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 9pt;"><b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">Frolleague:</span></b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"> a person who began as a
colleague and through shared experiences and conversation became a friend.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3NM62rOzw6HGfwsW8SvBJSkT_gPk1uy5CrTSQRnxgxQeDsDNLgNUex1kh1Jw8ngJgVqj9QNP-Okhs3dDeMq1SrFJCZY56vCabFpUXkEri1tgLzZr6WW46XOzNNLSBBeppPns9RZOn6u4x/s2048/DSC00069.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3NM62rOzw6HGfwsW8SvBJSkT_gPk1uy5CrTSQRnxgxQeDsDNLgNUex1kh1Jw8ngJgVqj9QNP-Okhs3dDeMq1SrFJCZY56vCabFpUXkEri1tgLzZr6WW46XOzNNLSBBeppPns9RZOn6u4x/s320/DSC00069.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wooller and me, Alaska, 2009<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaEPhWHfEtDun6k8GR1UwllwHf2d34JkY76DCaUq6S9X-6l0hcyjt_iX37RKBAUwPWj4RctTNBENC-WfmcKIi9p3xg_SuP_BOwHoRaMS-kfdrrPMD_1D_YXg8OYE7nJ3KRtXaWWhx73P6V/s2048/3.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1542" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaEPhWHfEtDun6k8GR1UwllwHf2d34JkY76DCaUq6S9X-6l0hcyjt_iX37RKBAUwPWj4RctTNBENC-WfmcKIi9p3xg_SuP_BOwHoRaMS-kfdrrPMD_1D_YXg8OYE7nJ3KRtXaWWhx73P6V/s320/3.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Extreme dining, Belize 2005<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> <p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">As I travel along the journey of living with
ALS, friends and Frolleagues have become more important to me than ever before. It’s
not enough to be born, grow old, suffer, then die—and never has been good
enough. Reaching out and sharing life with all of its joys and challenges makes
my journey more meaningful. Friends make it, not only tolerable, but actually
fun.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">When I asked the stable isotope community of
scientists to send me stories about their friendly colleagues—no one answered!
Usually, this group is eager to contribute stories about their lives. I realized
I needed to probe further by writing directly to people I knew had forged
special bonds going from colleague to friend. Some basic—and important—themes
evolved.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"> </span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVF3rjYs1WdSl9UJLS0NV6wIRXV6WEUg5AnYsIdka50gKfN02rL4aKGKu45ZU_BNEmJiN12QM6kFLnkJNfRNvXfY8Fx07c4lCNZrQcSlur9IjOoAVYQpmOgdUQdLbW9lVUug2fPIA8U4LW/s6000/DSC06258.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="6000" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVF3rjYs1WdSl9UJLS0NV6wIRXV6WEUg5AnYsIdka50gKfN02rL4aKGKu45ZU_BNEmJiN12QM6kFLnkJNfRNvXfY8Fx07c4lCNZrQcSlur9IjOoAVYQpmOgdUQdLbW9lVUug2fPIA8U4LW/w320-h213/DSC06258.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Marilyn and Sue Ziegler, DC, 2016<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">Sharon Billings (Univ. of Kansas) and Sue
Ziegler (Memorial Univ. link) came immediately to mind. <b>Sue and Sharon
shared early career life</b> at the Univ. of Arkansas, where they worked as
stable isotope biogeoscientists while becoming parents. The bonding over
babies, meals, family trips has lasted and bolstered their lives and careers.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%; margin-left: 31.5pt; text-indent: 4.5pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">Sharon:
We [Sue Ziegler and I] have shared the joys and sorrows encountered when
designing and implementing tracer experiments in the lab and field, and natural
abundance studies using field samples. We’ve shared horribly embarrassing
stories of how we’ve messed up in the lab, mistakenly said the opposite of what
we knew to be true in front of senior stable isotope-oriented colleagues
because of nerves, navigated the treacherous waters of starting careers as
women in a male-dominated field, and counseled each other on how to deal with
sticky situations in strong, confident ways without being jerks. We have stayed
up much of the night painstakingly preparing isotopically labeled pine needles
for inclusion in decomposition studies. We have probably caused a
redistribution of <sup>13</sup>C and <sup>15</sup>N on the planet by purchasing
many jars of 99.99% <sup>13</sup>C-glucose and <sup>15</sup>N-nitrate--all
while knowing deep in our hearts that any topic worth study must be part of an
iso-topic!</span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%; margin-left: 31.5pt; text-indent: 4.5pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"> </span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%; margin-left: 31.5pt; text-indent: 4.5pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">Sue: There is something quite special
with frolleagues and I feel so very fortunate to have you two [Sharon and me]
as such in my life!! The adventures Sharon so nicely described are typically
laced with an amazing giddiness that comes with deep-seated mutual interest in
the work, work that can seem like play really. I recall some moments
during a first visit to some of the NLBELT (Newfoundland-Labrador) field sites
when we just couldn’t stop smiling and laughing. It was an amazing sense of
pleasure - like we felt we couldn’t be any more fortunate! We were exploring
new sites and setting up field experiments to address question we enjoyed
thinking about. You both have enabled me to have so much joy in this work we
do!! </span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">Food</span></b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"> is often the cornerstone of budding
friendships. At Carnegie, I participated in the daily Lunch Club and
Friday Beer Hour. In DC and at UC Merced and Riverside, Chris and I often
hosted large gatherings of colleagues that revolved around potluck dinners,
BBQs, picnics, or restaurants. In the early days, food preparations weren’t as
important as just getting together outside of the lab. Add some beer and wine,
pass the whiskey bottle, and you’ve got folks who loosen up, talk about their
lives and families, and open up to knowing others.</span></p>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPIdSVVQvMRym28Pr70Lcdas34HfzcuIrrzuQDkXJtcIB5mAF8JrXfQTp7N5xEm55wsDXkQuqeG-DszhjVCZw9kbaAKwfZrG95g2NyPxjLlxiZWOTVJf6qUhA_cSsoGPTvY9aToCTwLCd4/s2048/IMG_0987.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPIdSVVQvMRym28Pr70Lcdas34HfzcuIrrzuQDkXJtcIB5mAF8JrXfQTp7N5xEm55wsDXkQuqeG-DszhjVCZw9kbaAKwfZrG95g2NyPxjLlxiZWOTVJf6qUhA_cSsoGPTvY9aToCTwLCd4/s320/IMG_0987.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Paul Koch, Matt McCarthy, Seth, 2019<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">Paul Koch (The Dean of
Science @ UC Santa Cruz) has built a lab culture that is revered by his
students and others. </span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">“A positive sign is that the lab
served as an attractor. We have pretty much always had groupies/adopted
members."</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%; margin-left: 0.5in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">Justin Yeakel (UC Merced): When I think
back to Santa Cruz days, backyard BBQs always seemed to be happening, and
talk would range across all sorts of topics, usually non-science related
for the first half of the evening, but as the fire burned low, the plates
stacked in the sink, and a bottle of scotch passed around, the talk would veer
towards giant squids, coyotes, sharks, and mole rats. </span></i></p><p> </p><p> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%; margin-left: 0.5in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">When I first arrived in Santa Cruz in
2004, I was really amazed that everyone in the lab spent time together outside
of the lab. I think one of the first big get-togethers was at Sora's house - I
remember her parents being there as well as Katie Snell's family. It was a big
picnic, and having just moved across the country for the first time, it felt a
lot like family picnics from home. These grad students were so impressive to me
with all of their cool projects covering such a wide range of critters,
landscapes, and time periods. It became a pretty easy decision early on to
follow that path after 2 years of being the Koch Lab Monkey. I was also drawn
to Paul's willingness to allow his students to follow their own interests and
ideas. Being able to be part of that group during that period of time was one
of the most exciting and formative periods of my life, and I'm thankful that
I've been able to stay close to so many friends and colleagues that I met
during that time!”</span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"> </span></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnpjJh-i_cm-JQr6SrjZoYxHF-ISQZ2dcoBU0Ge8Ne7HstgqO_RJOteptZ_loXPglfM0JL4xsr0vLps-IeeSD0w9uTF9XAXhEsMGyIdRyBk0h0KpvYqdKw3dGo2vXb8L888lvuxYrgV8N9/s1600/DSCN1199.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnpjJh-i_cm-JQr6SrjZoYxHF-ISQZ2dcoBU0Ge8Ne7HstgqO_RJOteptZ_loXPglfM0JL4xsr0vLps-IeeSD0w9uTF9XAXhEsMGyIdRyBk0h0KpvYqdKw3dGo2vXb8L888lvuxYrgV8N9/s320/DSCN1199.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Justin and Paul, 2004<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibeU04W0UQITt4Av1WLmiz67Oj7IHw0dwGzipd2UqrbuwrIDKNHMQwwEU3VfQps5LLydr4z1JJ2sl4xDAzvqJLtvG_Mbm1EsSXPzPm6IGdvws-sCkdge74EN1kntII0wcUF0dy7xLIR1qj/s1600/DSCN0624.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibeU04W0UQITt4Av1WLmiz67Oj7IHw0dwGzipd2UqrbuwrIDKNHMQwwEU3VfQps5LLydr4z1JJ2sl4xDAzvqJLtvG_Mbm1EsSXPzPm6IGdvws-sCkdge74EN1kntII0wcUF0dy7xLIR1qj/s320/DSCN0624.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Seth as youngster, 2004<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%; margin-left: 0.5in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">Seth
Newsome (Univ. New Mexico): Once in a while the Koch Lab took the show on the
road and would hike our goods (and kegs) into the Sierra Nevada forest in the
middle of winter to spend a weekend at a cabin. I share one story about a trip
to the Dartmouth alumni cabin near Tahoe one winter. Justin and I made a huge
pot of inexpensive chili to feed the 20 people that ended up crashing in the
~1200 ft2 cabin that night. Justin mistakenly switched the amount of chili
powder and cayenne in the recipe so we ended up with a very spicy, very large,
nearly inedible pot of chili for the crowd. This was great going down with
copious amounts of beer, but it didn't lie well with our collective
gastrointestinal tracts such that when we woke up, we had to open up all the
doors and windows on a very cold winter morning to air the place out prior to
breakfast. </span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"> </span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">Getting to know the whole family is an important step</span></b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">. We have always invited the spouses and kids to our social gatherings.
Sometimes, it takes awhile for them to get used to the camaraderie of the lab
people, but family members have a greater understanding of the people involved
in their partners work life. I believe this has a positive impact on work-life
balance.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"> </span></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkyqZK4YDz9h6W030GIozn2H_B8mubUrDPx1EjhFIuxYW5olqQsdVPWhTsNWg5FKSf16wiGZ-f_xEmfaeF-yx5kT1iyu-DPZhWXDvHbuIMIbgyUQZce_8FDYrns6ZNz07KSXS26AdZozgH/s1152/Y2K+Party.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="872" data-original-width="1152" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkyqZK4YDz9h6W030GIozn2H_B8mubUrDPx1EjhFIuxYW5olqQsdVPWhTsNWg5FKSf16wiGZ-f_xEmfaeF-yx5kT1iyu-DPZhWXDvHbuIMIbgyUQZce_8FDYrns6ZNz07KSXS26AdZozgH/s320/Y2K+Party.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Y2K with Cody, Filley, Tuross, George families<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ-4XrVaLw7MFHXycuaa7fg1F6Vv9i0SB7DwRvzx0CteE39ku9ABGh7A6CabUwDtu0QD7AksS5bMdlPdlc6FRF55Fb_LkbThyVkmZ-BUMjQXL726B4yWllLFAE6e58A_u_AygiYA6Qh3TO/s1280/DSC02379.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ-4XrVaLw7MFHXycuaa7fg1F6Vv9i0SB7DwRvzx0CteE39ku9ABGh7A6CabUwDtu0QD7AksS5bMdlPdlc6FRF55Fb_LkbThyVkmZ-BUMjQXL726B4yWllLFAE6e58A_u_AygiYA6Qh3TO/s320/DSC02379.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">with Shuhei Ono and son, 2005<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg092StXvloD-mlv3sPJjTtot5jHs_1mfTrX3iYMX6SLfVKMYUjXdcuMAvJEY4Yb7sDpJ_ST3F6hv1TFQEkJftpvzVWKkPX3eOrSap-qNZzs176XB77Nq9_XZa4Xd3Z-B0XYUCuCqRSHBk/s760/026_24A.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="508" data-original-width="760" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg092StXvloD-mlv3sPJjTtot5jHs_1mfTrX3iYMX6SLfVKMYUjXdcuMAvJEY4Yb7sDpJ_ST3F6hv1TFQEkJftpvzVWKkPX3eOrSap-qNZzs176XB77Nq9_XZa4Xd3Z-B0XYUCuCqRSHBk/s320/026_24A.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sampling party, 2002<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%;"><b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">Talking about non-science topics is necessary.</span></b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"> Sharing books, movies, TV shows, travel adventures, hikes, and
restaurant suggestions opens up windows into who a person is outside of their
identity as a colleague. Often, politics and religion are topics that are
debated, particularly when you get a glimmer of how a person leans (e.g., Left
vs. Right). It would be impossible to become a real “friend” without knowing
what makes that person tick in a more rounded way.</span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"> </span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%; margin-left: 45pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"> </span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%; margin-left: 45pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">Sora
Kim (UC Merced): “Maybe foundational to wanting to eat food and listen to music
together was that we didn’t always talk about work with results, manuscript
progress, etc. Those things made it into conversation, but we also talked about
a lot of other things, too. Paul was willing to share his time and energy to
hang out more casually. This is something I struggle with as a PI with two
young kids, especially with the restrictions related to the pandemic. One
memory I have from grad school is a time after Paul bought us a nice stainless
steel carafe coffee maker. He found a website called <a href="http://babynames.com/"><span style="color: #1155cc;">babynames.com</span></a>
and we would spend 10-15 minutes in the morning just looking up the trends of
baby names through time. Totally not stable isotope related, but a way to spend
some time and laughs together.</span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%; margin-left: 45pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"></span></i></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1yv2WVllFEJP6jOA-NeKoZS1qYyUfY4YL9PiEL8jrMoqLBDWb1dQbEQL-4Z1_xLF8Z-izdVhJiLxkR0gRgnm2yjYVvQh1-4MkiYrZ8fVpG2YobjmFYTrhPmPhijJaxg0LSttDVXI6ApuT/s1600/DSCN1196.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1yv2WVllFEJP6jOA-NeKoZS1qYyUfY4YL9PiEL8jrMoqLBDWb1dQbEQL-4Z1_xLF8Z-izdVhJiLxkR0gRgnm2yjYVvQh1-4MkiYrZ8fVpG2YobjmFYTrhPmPhijJaxg0LSttDVXI6ApuT/s320/DSCN1196.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sora Kim, 2005<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"></span></i></div><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></i><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%; margin-left: 0.5in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">Seth
Newsome: I shared an apartment with several members of the Koch lab (Mark
Clementz, Gabe Bowen, Justin Yeakel) so living together certainly helps forge
friendships. But more than that I would say casual and consistent socializing
was something that the Koch lab was quite fond of (and probably still is). Our
socializing revolved around food, which we took very seriously. For one, it was
sometimes hard to procure enough sustenance living in Santa Cruz on a TAship
wage, so we often pooled our resources and had parties highlighted by Justin’s
enormous pan pizzas, delicious and endless amounts of Korean food handcrafted
by Sora Kim, or big pots of pasta served up by yours truly. </span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%; margin-left: 45pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"> </span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">Listening and accepting often follow. </span></b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">Anyone’s life can feel
isolated; for scientists who keep their heads down and their eyes focused on
details, it can feel especially so. We are constantly judged by our peers for
our data, our publications, our methodologies, our ideas, our teaching, and our
grants. Barely a week goes by without some form of rejection or conflict. Having
colleagues to work things out can save a career. Establishing trust takes
time—but it’s vital.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%; margin-left: 45pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">Sora
Kim: “I often tell people that their grad adviser and group are the most
crucial elements to their success. There are high points (i.e., results,
publishing, graduating) but there are a lot more low and rocky points. I think
what is important in the Koch “family” is that we have deep enough
relationships and trust that we can weather these low points and even turn to
one another for support. I feel very fortunate that my connections to the Koch
lab extend so far in time. “</span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">Laughter often seals the deal</span></b><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">—frolleagues are born!
Allowing yourself to kick back, be in the moment, and celebrate the positive
can be powerful. The phrase “what happens in XXX, stays in XXX” often signals a
good time.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%; color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">Brian Popp (Univ. of Hawaii): “Walking to the river at the Organic
Geochemistry Gordon conference after Matt McCarthy poured the bottle of wine
over your head and jumping into the river with varying bathing costumes.”</span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%;"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-fDvmTHgJc9GKCLngkATLzlcoo8VrKdXulb-R1kfJIjV9LHMt6nMPaU5wGjpIHD7LzCBHwpHnC_16s0kJMjJoSc3HCePfPXmMITFiNLuMFKXRG-0yyO1RIePSSzfkume-nZ_rUZ676AjS/s6000/DSC06202.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="6000" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-fDvmTHgJc9GKCLngkATLzlcoo8VrKdXulb-R1kfJIjV9LHMt6nMPaU5wGjpIHD7LzCBHwpHnC_16s0kJMjJoSc3HCePfPXmMITFiNLuMFKXRG-0yyO1RIePSSzfkume-nZ_rUZ676AjS/s320/DSC06202.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">with Jolly Chuck Douthitt, Carnegie, 2016<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_cF-H0ZN_tM0IVINH3AMjebyqYXIjFOjHx8a7Ad-LRG1H-8jWksgxq3S__yTZq4Us3GfdPBouFhpLWg10vxYMPe_zga1csdqzmk9drJ3hdK1u7C5A06Lr1BC3w7nPxuXpX2kuN_j57B7l/s2048/DSC06269.jpeg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_cF-H0ZN_tM0IVINH3AMjebyqYXIjFOjHx8a7Ad-LRG1H-8jWksgxq3S__yTZq4Us3GfdPBouFhpLWg10vxYMPe_zga1csdqzmk9drJ3hdK1u7C5A06Lr1BC3w7nPxuXpX2kuN_j57B7l/s320/DSC06269.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Frolleague map<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br />
</span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"> </span></b><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"> </span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"> </span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"> </span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"> </span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">Continuing to keep in touch and reach out to new people</span></b><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"> along the way serves to keep things
fresh. The Geochem Girls (me, Hilairy Hartnett, Kate Freeman, Liz Sikes, and
Liz Canuel) meet at big meetings that can be isolating and impersonal. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%; margin-left: 0.5in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"> </span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%; margin-left: 40.5pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">Kate Freeman (Penn State):
I have attended AGU for many, many years, but found myself increasingly
isolated and lacking a peer group. This was compounded by the explosive growth
in size of the meeting, which prevented finding friendly companions by chance
as the dinner hour approached. I had started to schedule dinners with Liz
Canuel. We have known each other from our mutual connections to Stuart Wakeham
and sometimes we have shared a room at the Organic Geochemistry Gordon Research
Conferences. At some point we linked up with Liz Sikes, who was more of an
acquaintance but whose science I have followed since her early work on
alkenones. I first got to know the delightful Hilairy Hartnett at a NASA
proposal review panel some years ago, although I had long taught her work in my
classes, and learned later that she was a close friend of Liz Sikes. I recall
we agreed with enthusiasm that Marilyn had to join us for a dinner, which led
to the memorable Farm meal.</span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%; margin-left: 40.5pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">Our annual meals have completely
transformed my AGU experience for the better!”</span></i></p>
<p style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%; margin-left: 0.5in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"></span></i></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgcc0yYExkO0Nb9owDoJPvUdeBlLh9Tai5YFJlKI7euLVgpdaSrS5L7uYd9xBXkGVYl9qVQ10K0ucI9q0yksgq9UG9s8MN1n955pbx9PvAJCwy3qst8wCWAn174D40hZq6ClQqaNvb5oY0/s2048/20191213_102256.jpeg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1580" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgcc0yYExkO0Nb9owDoJPvUdeBlLh9Tai5YFJlKI7euLVgpdaSrS5L7uYd9xBXkGVYl9qVQ10K0ucI9q0yksgq9UG9s8MN1n955pbx9PvAJCwy3qst8wCWAn174D40hZq6ClQqaNvb5oY0/s320/20191213_102256.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">AGU 2019<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /> </span></i><p></p><p style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%; margin-left: 0.5in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Hilairy Hartnett (Arizona State Univ.): The fall of 2015, dinner
was planned for a great restaurant that Liz Sikes and I had tried out the year
before (I remember a small place with interesting upholstered chairs). Liz always
has a reservation for four so it was no problem to spirit you away from the
Biogeosciences section meeting. The difficulty was in convincing you that you
could leave the meeting you were chairing! Dinner was lovely and as I recall
it, the three of you asked me very pointed questions about my research, my
career status, and my (then notional) plans for promotion. Desert was single
malt scotch.”</span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%; color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">Liz Sikes (Rutgers): “One thing I can add to the memory of the dinner
with Kate, Marilyn, & Hilairy, that started with the Uber ride to the restaurant
(I had barely heard of Uber and there we were with Marilyn rocking it!!)--is
that I was struggling with my promotion to full professor at the time.
Marilyn and Kate, the higher ranked professors at the table, volunteered to
look at my statement so I sent it. My favorite line from Marilyn's
assessment was "Where's the beef?" She really tore into what was a
rather boring statement-- and after that my case flew through with flying
colors. The friendship was cemented.”</span></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"> </span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">Liz Canuel (VIMS): </span></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%; color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">Female friendships
are incredibly important to me and dinners at meetings as well as our
“quarantini” get togethers during the pandemic have been a tremendous joy.</span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%; color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"></span></i></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVXJRnNv5QOUX0OV2PMftY3D4l3OWypjs7Lfng___y-xnlwwXstUEav28mo414pdTiylQWnhX_a9m75P6jOZtYzJJkjfOntucoHefkTjP7p6rjq735nxYW3K4vAUCvUQqu17ED-YDjbHP1/s640/IMG_4960.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVXJRnNv5QOUX0OV2PMftY3D4l3OWypjs7Lfng___y-xnlwwXstUEav28mo414pdTiylQWnhX_a9m75P6jOZtYzJJkjfOntucoHefkTjP7p6rjq735nxYW3K4vAUCvUQqu17ED-YDjbHP1/s320/IMG_4960.jpeg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yosemite with Chris and Mat, 2021<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%; color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br /> </span></i><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">I often sum all of these “Frolleague”
characteristics up with the line—“Don’t work with assholes.” Yes, that’s a bit
vulgar, but everyone knows what it means. Sometimes, we get drawn into
situations or collaborations with people who won’t go that extra step, take
themselves too seriously, and don’t respect our human condition. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">Are Frolleagues better than mentors? Maybe so.
The casual nature of a friendly relationship has, for me, a greater power to
fortify and help than any mentorship I have received. I’ll guess it’s the
feelings of trust, respect, and acceptance that friends provide, which can
transform the human condition to purpose and resilience.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">Make new Frolleagues, but keep the Old. One is
silver and the other gold.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white none repeat scroll 0% 0%;"><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span></p>
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{page:WordSection1;}</style></p><br /><br />Isotope Queenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00346511476816956274noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1349128715082229990.post-11534148580921611622021-05-22T14:26:00.004-07:002021-05-22T14:42:31.638-07:00A sense of belonging—what keeps a scientist engaged?<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv0750-tej8np2NxJUo_vIzZUemnA4CBwlgIl7R7n40iOM4Ez13Xq_QEpOrqaMmo1tlVatUvMMlTorzx64RY43sFwU-k_M4K2Wv3yc6xhZebqNGpQySqNQTpyi0uaVXnUt-ncw9qfziHP0/s2048/DSCN1624.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv0750-tej8np2NxJUo_vIzZUemnA4CBwlgIl7R7n40iOM4Ez13Xq_QEpOrqaMmo1tlVatUvMMlTorzx64RY43sFwU-k_M4K2Wv3yc6xhZebqNGpQySqNQTpyi0uaVXnUt-ncw9qfziHP0/w400-h300/DSCN1624.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dave Velinsky, Noreen Tuross, Marilyn, busy office, 1989<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">With a taste of research as an undergraduate student at Penn
State University, I knew what I wanted to do with my career—become a scientist
delving into how life had unfolded on earth and study its complexities now and
in the past. I identified at this age (20 years old) as a scientist, not a
stable isotope geochemist—that came later. As I neared graduation in August
1973, I was ready to take on a job as a scientist with a B.S. degree in
biology. My first offer was to begin as a plant physiologist working for the Campbell’s
Soup Company in Camden, New Jersey. I was offered the position at $5,000 per
year. But I’d been bitten by the research bug. Prof. Peter Given, an organic
geochemist at Penn State, opened up that science door for me <a href="https://www.blogger.com/blog/post/edit/1349128715082229990/4267299896171273690">(Penn
State)</a>. I turned down the Campbell’s Soup offer and pursued grad school
instead.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNsF6zZv2QrUFhBp5Fvh3uJqE_Enrmp0gVdWuSqZZTU8QN0sxIbEIXFeio7aBAj8zGPPL-BPCM16cjyDKlH2U6dlWWmqlFoXf3-oYM97jRDrLXRlPUJubdv8imd4b20ceIcc5OrIsXCpFO/s1011/Scan+2020-6-21+11.34.16.jpeg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1011" data-original-width="699" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNsF6zZv2QrUFhBp5Fvh3uJqE_Enrmp0gVdWuSqZZTU8QN0sxIbEIXFeio7aBAj8zGPPL-BPCM16cjyDKlH2U6dlWWmqlFoXf3-oYM97jRDrLXRlPUJubdv8imd4b20ceIcc5OrIsXCpFO/s320/Scan+2020-6-21+11.34.16.jpeg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Marilyn and Nat Peters, 1973<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I jumped in with both feet. I did a little project on iron
binding compounds in the estuaries and mud flats of South Texas. I developed
greater lab skills. I wrote my first scientific paper. I was engaged in the
work. After I completed nine graduate classes, passed my German foreign
language exam, and took the candidacy exam for my PhD, I had reached the
competence level appropriate for a grad student <a href="https://isotopequeen.blogspot.com/2019/12/graduate-school-in-wild-southwest.html">(Grad
student years).</a></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I belonged to the profession of science. I was a
scientist—now even a biogeochemist.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">But there was something missing. Although I “belonged” to
this small group of people who identify as such, I lacked the personal
interactions with colleagues or my major professors that provide the social
strings to belonging. I was a quiet student [I was known as The Phantom], one woman in a lab of all men, and
an outlier in South Texas, since I hailed from New Jersey, which most Texans
thought was a city or town part of an unknown state. I spoke to Chase Van
Baalen, my closest major professor, maybe every other week. Pat Parker, then
the Director of the Lab, was too busy. Bob Tabita, my microbiologist mentor,
was based in Austin, far away from Port Aransas, where the Marine Science
Institute was based. We interacted every 2-3 months. My fellow students were
either born again Christians or Yahoo Texans. I was neither.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS-KOiOXrTZ6DXHbx3KufzJkTgTfBzMekEI5MRuVUivYHYuxFWcs_jZ1cGjyKmqFEpwa-sQgzEKZgIFgw8TKj19jkgSvRiAjcXpAYdgh9VUSl36-SP4o8i6blcLE6p5IbkLGIgemAwuhM8/s2048/IMG_3310.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS-KOiOXrTZ6DXHbx3KufzJkTgTfBzMekEI5MRuVUivYHYuxFWcs_jZ1cGjyKmqFEpwa-sQgzEKZgIFgw8TKj19jkgSvRiAjcXpAYdgh9VUSl36-SP4o8i6blcLE6p5IbkLGIgemAwuhM8/s320/IMG_3310.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Seth Newsome, Anne J., Chris, post-vaccine<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The reflections on “belonging” were sparked this past week,
in the class I am teaching with 22 grad students via Zoom at UC Riverside. We
read and discussed a paper (Rainey et al. cited below) that brought all of this
to a sharp focus for me. The topic for the week was Women in Science, something
I’m familiar with to say the least. Rainey et al.’s paper identified four
aspects that solidified <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">a person’s sense
of belonging in science: identity, competence, interest, and personal
interactions</b>. In discussion with some of students, I was surprised to learn
that although they had the interest and the personal connections, they did not
identify, yet, as being a scientist. Some questioned their competence. The
isolation of the pandemic hasn’t helped. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">That sense of belonging for me now is all about people and
personal interactions—and has been for some time. As my formal career as a
scientist, a stable isotope geochemist, winds down, people have made the
journey special.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I’ve been thinking this week about how I got to this sense
of belonging. When I first arrived at the Geophysical Lab as a postdoc, I was
even more a fish out of water than I was in Texas. I was a biologist with a
degree in botany in the midst of high temperature/pressure petrologists. During
those early years, I continued to grow in terms of identity—now a stable
isotope biogeochemist—and competence, as well as a widening interest in what I
wanted to study. <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">It took a good five
years for me to make those personal connections <a href="https://isotopequeen.blogspot.com/2019/08/landing-staff-position.html">(New
staff member).</a></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I began my own lab group—Steve Macko was a first partner. We
exchanged ideas daily, hourly. Then, Luis Cifuentes, David Velinsky, Noreen
Tuross, and Paul Koch followed. My office was the center of a growing group of
young biogeochemical stars. I had a silver bowl always filled with peanuts in
their shells. People from the Lab drifted in for a quick snack, littered the
floor with peanut husks, and shared their day. Tom Hoering and Doug Rumble,
fellow staff members, became friends. The administrative and custodial folks
dropped by for casual conversation, and some advice. Visitors from around the
United States came to use my lab. I made connections with outside
colleagues—Jon Sharp (Univ. of Delaware), Brad Tebo (Scripps), Hans Paerl
(Univ. of North Carolina), and Ron Benner (Univ. of Georgia). </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUWAC0Tz7Sj7a9T-kXTJZYhTxmDw1vRquFEEIbB-e_OpBQ-fF0UqvZ1FLSVfETXcsAS6GQdm7kZ9APrPT6IIN6DNuvBpWom7vjyD2rvvxinh9ZPCO-9HZNotD7Sc8sPs6uMpLn8PpL9RO5/s2048/ORG_DSC03811.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1546" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUWAC0Tz7Sj7a9T-kXTJZYhTxmDw1vRquFEEIbB-e_OpBQ-fF0UqvZ1FLSVfETXcsAS6GQdm7kZ9APrPT6IIN6DNuvBpWom7vjyD2rvvxinh9ZPCO-9HZNotD7Sc8sPs6uMpLn8PpL9RO5/s320/ORG_DSC03811.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Will Porter and Associate Prof. Hoori Ajami, Salton Sea <br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Today, even with the pandemic and my inability to travel
far, I am connected to several networks of people. The listserve Isogeochem offers the chance to reach into the labs of more than 3,500 scientists.
As Equity Advisor for UC Riverside’s College of Natural and Agricultural
Sciences, I work with another 100 folkx of all sorts working to promote
fairness and inclusion. I also engage weekly with the Salton Sea Task Force, a
group of about 20, that I started in 2019 to study the environmental, medical,
and energy problems surrounding Southern California’s largest inland lake.
Further, I’m still working with students, postdocs, and collaborators finishing
up projects that keep us all engaged—butterfly physiology, bacterial isotopes,
diet experiments, wildlife isotope ecology, food webs, and new methods for
measuring isotopes within molecules. Once a month since the pandemic began, the
Geochem Girls (Kate Freeman, Hilairy Hartnett, Liz Sikes, and Liz Canuel) zoom
on Saturday evenings with cocktails to hash out what we’re thinking about.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3veHHpCC8CnDVW4qZhPR4zvS1Qo6HKqcZvp07b799rQKl1GKg03I5vfuuxkbIETTEpoTZVQcaMruhSRXM-9ww5P_znrOfkrCSNgA9fPOEUB-EBIXZSQ0P6YXl4Qpa-kuHWuUxp6XgW3YU/s1024/IMG_2057.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="1024" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3veHHpCC8CnDVW4qZhPR4zvS1Qo6HKqcZvp07b799rQKl1GKg03I5vfuuxkbIETTEpoTZVQcaMruhSRXM-9ww5P_znrOfkrCSNgA9fPOEUB-EBIXZSQ0P6YXl4Qpa-kuHWuUxp6XgW3YU/s320/IMG_2057.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hilairy, Liz S., Marilyn, Kate: GeochemGirls<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Now, the Moderna vaccine has opened up in person visits!
Chris and I are starting to host dinner parties with neighbors, welcome family,
and look forward to welcoming those special science colleagues that have become
dear friends.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">As the world readjusts to seeing people in person, it is
important, especially for those establishing their careers to make those
personal interactions, jump back into active research, and yeah, don’t be
hesitant to identify a special part of you as a scientist. You are the future.
We need you!</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Race and gender
differences in how sense of belonging influences decisions to major in STEM, </i>Katherine
Rainey, Melissa Dancy, Roslyn Mickelson, Elizabeth Stearns & Stephanie
Moller.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://stemeducationjournal.springeropen.com/articles/10.1186/s40594-018-0115-6"><span style="color: #1155cc;">https://stemeducationjournal.springeropen.com/articles/10.1186/s40594-018-0115-6</span></a></p>
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{page:WordSection1;}</style></p>Isotope Queenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00346511476816956274noreply@blogger.com0