DNA

I spent some time reading blogs in the early evening Easter eve, while family watched Almost Famous yet again. I happened to come upon a string of blogging about women and violence and women and (in)visibility. Then I moved into more Bryson reading and came upon the story of Rosalind Franklin, a scientist who studied DNA in the early 1950's. Franklin was treated with disrespect and condescension and her data was shared with competitors without her knowledge or consent. Franklin was pressured to stop studying DNA and she did. She went on to publish extensively in the field of virulogy. She died at age 37 of ovarian cancer. She had not worn a lead apron when using X-Ray technology to photograph DNA. Her competitors won the Nobel Prize after her death. Theme night for me.

One hysterical child, one older sister 

I cheated at pooh stix. I didn't drop my stick as the others did, but flung it over the opposite side of the bridge. Dropped and almost broke my camera in the process so I felt like a dork. Was it worth it? 

Take the Meanness Out of You

Whenever my father visits, and I'm dressed in running clothes ready to leave for a slog, he says, "Go for a run! It'll take the meanness out of you!" First off, I was going for a run anyway, so I don't know why he feels the need to give me this direction. Second off, don't tell me I'm mean, okay? Third off, there is some rightness to his words, which kind of irks me all the more. Yesterday started off with me in the starring role of Queen of MEAN. I had to apologize to two people before 9 am. I pulled it together and went for a run. Rosalyn walked behind me and pretty much never lagged far behind. Annoying, but still the meanness did dissipate through this slight physical activity. A movie in the afternoon helped too.

No truck.... 

Mite Squad

The mites below are lake mites, but Bryson has this to say about bed mites...

Most living things are small and easily overlooked. In practical terms, this is not always a bad thing. You might not slumber quite so contentedly if you were aware that your mattress is home to perhaps two million microscopic mites, which come out in the wee hours to sup on your sebaceous oils and feast on all those lovely, crunchy flakes of skin that you shed as you doze and toss. Your pillow alone may be home to forty thousand of them. (To them your head is just one large oily bon-bon.) ---A Short History of Nearly Everything, p. 365.

This could be useful information sometime.

I'm obsessed with mites right now. Tell you why later... 

Editing the editor

Katha Pollitt wrote about the role editors play in keeping women out of journalism. I am fooling around with using editor as a metaphor for the writing teacher and I try to be critical of the metaphor as I write. At some point, the editor thing may just fall apart. The dissertation keeps doing that. I work on something for weeks and then I feel dissatisfied. But John Green and many other writers seem to embrace the revision work they do with editors, so it may be useful in the end. Rosalyn recommends Green's new book, Looking for Alaska.

cheerful boy with salt and pepper 

serious boy with salt and pepper 

Breakfast Blog

Rosalyn described the Safe Child Syndrome article by Beth Hawkins in City Pages as "judgmental" and I had some issues with it as well. Though we both agree that a dad and kid walking next to each other at an indoor playground probably don't need to be talking to each other with walkie talkies. I visited indoor playgrounds when the kids were younger. but I found them a bit sad. I didn't feel like talking to the other parents because I suck at chitchat. So I would try to read a book, but these places are so loud and distracting, I would end up just watching my kids as they squirmed through the tubes. I didn't want them to be kicked by another kid and I didn't want them to kick anyone else. Crowds of kids jammed together into tubes can lead to trouble. There's a little bit of "blame the victim" in the piece, since parents are represented as hovering overbearing worriers. Hawkins cites Winnicott and suggests parental worry might be a manifestation of repressed aggression or resentment toward our own kids. Maybe, but maybe not. Maybe what is resented is the lack of access to free public spaces and facilities. Hawkins concludes her piece with a story about a family who moved into a neighborhood with a public park, let their kids play there, and then were told their kids were too young to play in the park without supervision. Through miscommunications based on good intentions, the family ended up being investigated by social services. A few years ago, Rosalyn and some friends wanted to organize a picnic in a park at home and one parent decided that she would need to be there to supervise. They were seventh graders in a public park on a Saturday afternoon. They're dropped off at the mall regularly all on their own, but public space seems more risky? I don't get that. Breakfast is now over so I must actually get to work. Hawkins wrote an interesting piece. The carseat section alone I could go on and on about, but I need to move on... Check out her piece if you get a chance. Such sad photos...