I (reluctantly) upgraded to Snow Leopard

Never Done: I upgraded to Snow Leopard (Mac operating system) after spending 6.5 hours at the Mac genius bar and still not entirely resolving my calendar syncing issues

Do I sound bitter? I think I have every right to be, but the truth is, the guys I spent the afternoon - and evening - with were fantastic. They made the practices of Humility: seek wisdom from others and and Equanimity: Rise above events that are inconsequential much easier than they could have been. I had to miss my Mussar group. I had to miss my workout. I had to buy dinner out (but I turned it into a Never Done opportunity by going to the Chelsea Market, which is amazing, vast, and as Mickey put it, like Wonkaland, with all the delicious things to offer.)

Briefly, the deal is that ever since I bought my computer and iPhone, the syncing has given me trouble. Randomly, contacts and calendars will duplicate. I've spent hundreds (not an exaggeration) of hours troubleshooting, cleaning up, and fixing the problem, only to have it happen again. Apple has told me that "some people have this problem" and hasn't been able to solve it. Recently something worse happened -- my entire calendar disappeared. I've been trying to work that out on my own for about a month, and then today I finally went in for help. It turns out that the problem started when Apple created a new iCal, which is not compatible with my operating system -- which is not very old; my computer is a mere toddler, at three. It turns out, the day they launched iCal, it wiped my calendar. And then when I started to re-build it (from memory and old backups) it would not sync with my iPhone. This problem was so deeply hidden that it took four hours and two Mac Genius guys and three MobileMe online chat specialists (the Geniuses were on the chat line with the MobileMe specialists) to conclude that my "old" operating system was just not going to support this new calendar. But damn, were they persistent! And diligent. And good-natured. And communicative.

So if they weren't the problem, what was? I think it's the Apple corporation, who upgraded their calendar to something that is incompatible with the machines of millions of users, and so are forcing millions of people to upgrade their Operating System (as of May 5.) And this doesn't come free. Snow Leopard costs $39 (although my Geniuses gave it to me for "free.") (The quotation marks, in case you missed it, are supposed to indicate that spending 6.5 hours of my time isn't exactly free.)

And yet, somehow, I have brand loyalty to Apple. Maybe it's because their machines are so pretty, and maybe it's because they're so user-friendly to intuitive types like me, but maybe it's because of guys like Chazz, who stayed well past the time the Genius bar was closed, to see me through to resolution (for now.)



(Update: new problem, discovered the following morning: now that I upgraded to Snow Leopard, iTunes doesn't recognize my iPhone. iThink that sucks.)

It took a Jehovah's Witness to remind me I'm a good Jew

Never Done: I answered the door for the Jehovah's Witnesses

I was working at my computer, when I saw two women come up to my front door. I knew who they were, so even though I knew they could see me inside, just like I could see them outside, I just kept typing. They rang the bell, and I kept typing. It's a reflex I have -- I don't answer the door for proselytizers. But then I realized -- this is one of those opportunities I need to take. So I got up from the computer, and I went to the door, and I stood face to face with two women and a pamphlet.

JESUS "TAKES AWAY the SIN of the WORLD"
How does he do so?
Why is this necessary?
How can you benefit?

WE INVITE YOU TO FIND OUT ON
SUNDAY,
APRIL 17, 2011

Me: Hello
Woman: We'd like to invite you to an event to celebrate our Passover. We are inviting everyone. Everyone is welcome.
Me: (internal) Wait, does she know I'm Jewish?
Me: (aloud) Thank you. Why are you inviting me?
Woman: Something about Jesus and why he died. (I zoned out a little there.)
Me: Oh, so you're proselytizing.
Woman: No, we don't proselytize. We just want to invite you to read our Bible.
Me: Why?
Woman: Something about the Book of Job, Satan, and what's so special about their Bible. And again, she mentioned that everyone is welcome, and everyone is invited, and everyone can find something useful in it.
Me: So you're Christians.

At this point, the woman in the back started to shake her head very, very slowly -- as if to tell the woman I was talking with to get out fast. But the woman I was talking with couldn't see her -- I could see her. So then I wondered if maybe she was shaking her head to me -- to tell me not to bother. But we both kept going. She said that yes, they were Christians, and I told her that I am not. And she said, "I know, you're Jewish."

My head was spinning. How did she know? What was going on? Do they know who everyone is? Is this always what it's like when you open the door for them? And then she pointed to the paper menorah that's been hanging in the window since Khanike.

And the woman in the back is shaking her head. And I'm wondering what it must be like for people when it's Prince at their door instead of anonymous Brooklyn women. And the woman in front is talking about how Jews are waiting for the Messiah, but Jesus talked with everyone, and they are like Jesus, talking with everyone. At this point, I sort of lost the point of why we were talking. Was I just there to have an argument with her? Was there a way to make a connection?

So I said, I'm all for talking with everyone. I just don't believe that it's respectful to try to convert people. And she said, "Jesus was a Jew. Can we agree on that?" And I said that yes, I could agree to that. (I refrained from mentioning that he is likely a literary invention.) And I asked them what kind of Christians they are, and they said they are Jehovah's Witnesses, which they had actually not yet said, even though I was pretty sure that's who they were. I told them I have some good friends who are Jehovah's Witnesses, and that I respect them for their strong moral code. Bot the women smiled, as if to say, "Yes! We have a strong moral code!" And then, because I apparently can't leave things alone, added, "But I still oppose proselytizing."

And that's when the women realized she really wasn't going to reach me, and while the woman in back told me to have a nice day, the woman in front asked me for the pamphlet back. Asked me for the pamphlet back? Seriously? I told her I wanted to keep it, that I had plans for it.

The whole conversation took somewhere between 5 and 10 minutes, but I don't think we really communicated anything substantive to one another. Maybe the only substantive thing that happened was that I noticed that the whole point of putting a menorah in the window -- even if it's 4 months after Khanike, as opposed to the mantle or the kitchen table, is precisely so that people on the street will know that you are Jewish. So, in a way, it took the Jehovah's Witnesses coming to the door to remind me of one way that I am a good Jew.

I mastered Zen while playing in a pile of wood chips

Never Done: I spent an hour playing in a pile of wood chips

I can't honestly vow that I haven't spent an hour in a pile of wood chips before, but if I have, I was probably the age Tabitha is now (18 months) which turns out to be the age at which playing with wood chips is hilarious. Hilarious, I am telling you. It is especially hilarious when you take two fists full of wood chips and then drop them at the same time. Hahahahaha!!!! It is even funnier when you save out one little chip and then drop it a second later. HAHAHAHAHAHA!!!! And when you're doing that and then a flock of hyperactive robins swoop past you and scare a squirrel who scatters away, well that isn't so much as hilarious as shocking. (Motionless, startled stare.) But you know what's great for getting over shock? Dropping wood chips!

You know what else is interesting about playing in a wood chip pile with a toddler? People beam at you. They say hi, they ask how old the toddler is, they walk past with benevolent smiles. If they are under 5 years old, they get on the wood pile too, and if they are above 6, they stand nearby and watch, yearning for the days when they also got to while away their hours in wood piles. And if you are the toddler in the mechanized wood pile creche that everyone is watching, the thing that is really amazing is that you ignore all these people, because none of them even comes close to being as interesting as picking up and dropping the wood chips.

Talk about Be Here Now. The closest mide (middah) that mirrors the zen principle of be Here Now is, I think, Diligence: Always find something to do. I am very good at finding things to do, but what I need to work on is being completely focused on what it is that I am doing. Nothing like hanging out with a toddler to remind me what that looks like.

I sat on my South Slope stoop

Never Done: I sat on my South Slope stoop

It was beautiful out, and I had some down time in the afternoon, and rather than fill it up with something active or productive or directed, I decided to just sit on the stoop and see what would happen. The stoop was actually a pretty big selling point in taking the apartment, because every time I came by to see it before taking it, the tenant and/or the landlord were hanging out on it, and I liked the vibe.

So I took a book out with me, and sat down on the stoop, and within maybe 30 seconds my neighbor Jimmy came by. We gabbed for a while, and then a neighbor I didn't know came by with her new pit bull mutt, and we gabbed for a while, and then one of the sisters from the house I can't afford came by and I pretended to read so that we wouldn't gab for a while, and then some twenty-something hipsters with Jersey plates pulled into a recently-vacated parking space, and they were very into gabbing with each other, and then I got to look at how pretty the gas lights are, and think about 18th century England (which isn't something I spend a lot of time thinking about) and then my landlord Melissa came out and we gabbed for a long while, and then ... well, maybe you get the picture by now. Hanging out on the stoop is all about slowing down and being open to the world that comes by, rather than speeding up and trying to control our interactions with the world.

A couple hours after my stoop sit, I got a text message from a friend who moved to NYC the day before yesterday, who wrote that he wants to open a bar called Lazy, because he's already noticed that New Yorkers have lost the skill of having quality down time. I scanned over my weekend. Saturday: slept in, went to the farmer's market and botanic garden, ran into a friend and her toddler, talked with my friend and played with the toddler, went for a run, hung out all evening playing Scrabble. Sunday: read the paper, went to open houses, stopped in for a slice at Four and Twenty pie shop, sat on the stoop, went to spin class, made Indian pudding, had a 2-hour phone call while stretching. How much of that qualifies as down time? Just the parts at home? Just the parts when I was sitting down? Does it count as down time if a friend was over? What if it was a spontaneous friend hang-out? How do I tell if it's quality down time? If I'm enjoying myself? If I end up feeling rejuvenated?

As much as I love to go on adventures, I also need a significant amount of rejuvenating down time. I actually get more of it than people think I do, because I work alone, and I can take little naps in the afternoon when I need them, or go for walks, or just sit and think. Also, this blogging practice has been good for me, because I need time to think before I write. But none of that is quite the same as just sitting on a stoop and waiting for the world to come, which seems like it might be connected in some ways to Humility, Diligence, and Equanimity: Rise above events that are inconsequential, which is this week's mide (middah.) And because I feel a little defensive writing about hanging out on a stoop as if it's a legitimate Never Done activity, consider this: Otis Redding did it.

Never Done: I became Facebook friends with my high school Vice Principal

Never Done: I became Facebook friends with Mr. Stanley (my high school Vice Principal)

I have written before about the wonderful school I went to all the way from kindergarten through 12th grade. Well, I guess it was the school system I went to that whole time -- the Harvard public school system. What made it great? For starters, it was small; my class had just 72 people, and there were only 900 students in all of K-12. Also, the teachers cared about us. A lot. I imagine that teachers all over care about their students a lot, but our teachers were given certain liberties to show us. Maybe part of that is that it was the 1970s (plus one year in the 60s and one year in the 80s) and in some circles, inter-generational relationships were generally encouraged. My second grade class was an experimental class -- mixed grade, second and third -- and we called our teacher by her first name (Debbie.)

By the time I got to middle school, the opposition to the Vietnam War was in full force, and the high school kids who had their lockers right above mine were among the hippie protesters. They were also my babysitters and neighbors, and instead of feeling alienated from them or scared of them, I was filled with admiration and aspiration. In fact, I did eventually become like them, but it took leaving high school and entering college to get my hippie on. But let's go back to that little thing I passed over: I was in 5th grade -- 10 years old -- and my locker was under the lockers of the 17 and 18-year-olds. That is a cool decision that some school administrator made. The big kids looked out for us; we looked up to them, and we had continuity. Recently I've reconnected with a lot of these "big kids" on Facebook, and it's been great to notice that for the most part, age difference is almost no barrier when put in context of our common experiences of coming from Harvard, MA.

Recently one of these "big kids" recommended that I become friends with Tom Stanley, who was the vice principal when I was in school. Tom and I (except then I called him Mr. Stanley) had a special relationship. He was my math teacher, and he had my back as I went through that awful math transition that so many girls go through -- thriving to struggling. He believed in my innate math talent, and told me, and my parents, so. It was such a simple thing -- to say something positive and affirming to a young person (and particularly in my family, which had its share of math geniuses, and I wasn't considered to be among them) -- and it still encourages me today, 35 years later, when I encounter a tough calculation.

But there's a certain story that characterizes my relationship with Mr. Stanley, and the kind of leaders that he and Mr. Horgan (the Principal) were. I was a big college basketball fan, and in particular I was a Notre Dame fan, back when Kelly Tripucka and Orlando Woolridge were college stars. Mr. Stanley and Mr. Horgan were Notre Dame fans too. (I grew up around a lot of Irish people.) In 1980, Notre Dame made it into the NCAA finals, and some of the games were played in Providence, RI. The only way to get tickets (remember, this was way before the internet) was to go to the Providence Civic Center, and the only time to go was in the middle of the school day. So Claire and I went into Mr. Stanley's office, and I asked him for permission to skip school to go get tickets. (Yes, that's the kind of kids we were. We asked permission to skip.) And what did he say? He said yes we could go, but only if we got him and Mr. Horgan tickets as well. Because after all, it was more important that the Principal and Vice Principal to be in school than a couple of seniors.

I haven't been in touch with Mr. Stanley for probably 25 years, but I think of him often, and when I was prompted to send him a Facebook friend request, I did it right away. He in turn wrote back to me right away, calling my high school years "magical times in a magical place." They were. They truly were. Maybe that's why, as I am on the cusp of bringing a teenager into my life, I have such high standards about the home and school environment I want to provide.

I celebrated Thanksgiving in April

Never Done: Released the Ecological Footprint spoof video
Never Done: Celebrated Thanksgiving in April

Truth is, it was a long, strange day. Maybe it was the late swim practice, and maybe it was the last gasps of my sinus infection, but I barely slept, and had to reschedule things all day long because I was just too tired to do them. But first, the video I've been writing about (the props, the ear muffs) released -- and seems to be doing a pretty good job of moving around the web. To see the original anti-immigrant video that we are spoofing, and to get some more political context, read about it here at Imagine2050. (Please pass it along to your friends and colleagues -- especially you and your crowd are environmentalists.)

After some hours of posting and cross posting and after failing to nap, I ended up going to a bike shop with Sierra, who gave me a wonderful tutorial about everything from frame materials and physics, saddle shapes, wheel sizes, and butt padding. And then I went to plan b with Nikki, to watch the Red Sox lose their opening day game against the Texas Rangers. While I had a great time -- both with Nikki and the game -- I also started feeling sicker and sicker over the course of the time I was there, and feared that I was relapsing, but stuck with my plan to go to Abigail's Thanksgiving in August feast. How could I not? Along with Mich and Aleza, we had had a most excellent email exchange about finding a turkey in NYC in April, food scarcity and the Jews, whether genocide and structural racism are at the heart of Thanksgiving in April the way they are at the heart of regular Thanksgiving, and if not, do we possibly need fewer comfort foods? I really don't want to miss any party that sparks such entertainment before it even starts. Plus which, I had made Indian pudding, and had promised Abigail I would bring a platter.

And then a magical thing happened. I got to the party, had a plate of kale, parsnips, and mashed potatoes (comfort food!) and looked around and noticed that I felt very close to many people in the room, and that I had become close to them all in the past year. I remembered the exact day I met Heath, Mickey, Nina, and Mich -- it was last year at peysakh. And then Abigail came into my life through Mich, and I feel as if the three of us have been friends since childhood (except that would have taken some time travel to make up for our age differences.) As I was saying, I sat there noticing my community, giving thanks for it even, and then I also noticed that I was feeling better. And in that same moment, I looked across the room and saw someone I did not know, and I had one of those Blink moments about her -- the rapid cognition that occurs within the first two seconds of a new experience that lets us jump to a series of conclusions -- and without really thinking about it, I went and sat down next to her. It turned out my blinktution was spot on -- within five minutes we had five people in common, and by the time we stood up from our little island of focused conversation, we had discovered many points of deep connection, from love of water (in it and on it) to work history (similar approach, different disciplines) to our ages to caring for friends and family through illness and death to brining and pickling.

Actually, meeting her felt significant in a way that's making it hard to find the turn and conclusion to this post, and so I think I will end it, simply, with thanks and the shehekhianu, the blessing at the heart of this blog, at the heart of my Mussar practice -- the blessing we say when we experience something for the first time. Baruch ata Adonai Elohenu, melekh ha’olam, shehekhianu, v’kimanu, v’higianu, lazman hazeh. Praised be you, Adonai, holy one of the universe, who has kept us alive, and has preserved us, and enabled us to reach this day.

I went to swim practice and I learned to draft

Never Done: Went to Team in Training swim practice (and drafted!)

One of the things they tell you in Team in Training informational sessions is that you are going to make a lot of great new friends. Honestly, I cringe every time I hear this, because really, the last thing I need is more great friends. I am already blessed with the best. So I've been going to trainings and focusing more on myself than others. Not unfriendly, just not solicitous. Which is not actually easy for me to do, accustomed as I am to focus outward, take the temperatures of the people around me, assess their needs before my own. But I've been staying pretty close to myself, and I'm enjoying the training.

I love to swim. It's really one of my true joys in life. I love it so much that I am willing to drive to Staten Island to go to swim practice because the Brooklyn practice is on my Mussar night. I especially love to swim at night. When I lived in Portland and had 24-hour access to a wonderful pool, Jensi and I used to swim at 10 or 11 PM, and I found it would do whatever I needed it to do -- if I needed to stay up and work, it would energize me so that I could do that, and if I needed to go to sleep, it would calm me down and relax me.

So I had my first swim practice with Team in Training. It was supposed to go from 8:30-9:30, but when I got there at 8:15, it was already in progress, and the coach (Mark) and I had an awkward little introductory conversation that went something like this.

Me: Hi. Doesn't practice start at 8:30?
Mark: We start at 8.
Me: Oh, my Brooklyn coach said it started at 8:30.
Mark: Yeah, we start at 8.

I am the person who gets there 15 minutes early to stretch, so in a way I think it's good for me to be the person who thought I was getting there 15 minutes early, but was really 15 minutes late. Good in terms of ... you can't be perfect, and life doesn't fall apart. When I hopped in the pool and started to swim, it was clear that I'm on the advanced end of the spectrum of this group of swimmers, and he sent me and another guy off to do my first real workout in 35 years, and then he stayed with the other swimmers, who could literally not swim a length of the pool. I was so impressed with these guys, that they are learning to swim and then are going to swim a triathlon! I mean, at least I know how to ride a bike.

Mark told me to start with three 200's, 30 seconds apart, and try to keep them all at the same pace. I remember when this used to be easy. Back when I was on swim team in 1976. (Tshuve.) (Is that right, Claire? When is the last time I actually on swim team?) But since I spent the last 5 years of my life with Olympic swimmers, and watching swim practice at the highest level, I think I sort of faked myself into thinking I was in better swim shape than I really am.

As soon as we started I got nervous that he had pegged me as a good swimmer and that I would start to fatigue faster than he expected. This might be true, but he tracked how I was doing, and told me my stroke looked great. At some point, I switched it up and did some back stroke, and he told me to try putting my head back more. I loved getting real coaching from someone who had the capacity to watch a bunch of people in the water at the same time, and offer instruction to everyone at their own level. So I did what he said, and I tried putting my head back further. It felt strange. Water went deep into my ears, and over my face, but he was right -- my stroke was smoother.

After that, he had me do five 50's, 15 seconds apart. And then a 10 minute endurance swim, which I was enjoying, just taking it slow and steady, when my foot cramped up. Which was a sure sign that I was doing something different/harder from usual, because I routinely swim a mile and my foot doesn't cramp up. But once again Mark coached me - this time through my cramp. I had gotten out of the pool and was rubbing it, but he told me to walk and drink water. I don't even know if was a better approach, but there are so few occasions in my life when someone mentors me that I just suspended my questioning and did what he said. I think that training for the triathlon will give me much reflection about the mide (middah) Humility: Seek wisdom from everyone, including the ways I crave wise guidance, and also the ways I resist it.

About 5 minutes before practice was over, a woman (Tonya) arrived and hopped in the pool. By then, I was sitting on the deck, having not continued my endurance swim. The rest of the guys were leaving, and Mark said to me and Tonya, "If you stay, we can do some fun training."

So I hopped back in, and he taught us how to draft. Drafting is swimming (or bike riding) so close to the person in front of you that they create a wake that basically pulls you along. I've watched people draft, but never done it myself, because ... well, basically because I like my space. And I have some fears about being too crowded in certain situations, and water is one of them. You're not allowed to draft on bikes in a triathlon, but it turns out that not only are you allowed to draft in the water, you are encouraged to.

So Tonya and I took turns drafting off each other, and it turned out to be a smart thing to practice. She kept actually touching my feet when I was in front, and I didn't kick her in the head, so that was good. And when I was behind, I was able to reach right out and stay super close to her without actually touching her feet, and I definitely felt the water pull me along. Then we practiced a fingertip drag stroke, and sculling, and did a few other things, until Mark wanted to go home. And as Tonya and I showered and dressed and talked about her sister in the Pacific Northwest and her work with children with developmental disabilities, I realized it was happening, the Team in Training experience I didn't think I wanted. I was making a new friend. Just like my coaches said I would.