Scientific Ink

Author: Dunrie

  • The tension in public storage of personal memories

    I’m pretty much unable to draw, though I doodle a lot when I’m thinking. Photography has been my visual outlet, and I’ve long loved taking photographs and sharing photographs with friends and family.

    It took me a long time to give up my film camera, but when I converted to digital, it was permanent and now my old film SLR just sits there. I used to print lots of doubles of photographs to share with friends, but with digital files, I simply upload my photos and use Flickr to host my “photo albums.” My bookshelf of photo albums abruptly ends at that point, and now all my recent photo album holds is photo Christmas cards from friends and family featuring their kids. I enjoy the ease of sharing photos online, and given the loss of a few hard drives, I value that Flickr is storing my photos for me off-site.

    Until recently, my online photo album caused no angst. I don’t have kids and haven’t acquired a stalker so I feel unperturbed about hosting personal photos online. But, an interesting thing just happened to remind me that my personal photo album is public, and therefore not entirely mine.

    It took me a while to notice the add person to photo link in Flickr. But I love tagging things, so when I did notice, I immediately thought of some photos that I had uploaded that had other Flickr members featured (this feature is less interesting for non-Flickr members).  At that point, I went on a tagging spree and labeled them.

    I received a response that I should have anticipated. In my tagging frenzy, I’d tagged a friend in a photo I’d taken several years ago. In my photo, she’s seated with a man with whom she’d had a stormy relationship. Flickr had dutifully emailed her that I’d tagged her in a photo, and she had probably gone to look and perhaps been surprised by the reminder of that relationship.

    She wrote:

    I got this message via flickr.  Would you be willing to remove this photo from your page.  [NAME] is in it and I would like to look at your site without being reminded of him.

    What’s interesting to me about her note is that:

    1. That photo had been online on Flickr for several years, and she probably saw it when I first shared it with her after the event, but since the photo was buried underneath several years of more recent photos, it was below her notice until I tagged her and Flickr notified her.
    2. Once it was tagged, it was not only more obvious to her, but it was also more findable by anyone looking for information on her online (a current love interest, a parent)…

    My response was complicated. I realized I had been thoughtless and may have caused her pain, and I felt like a bad friend. At the same time, I was reluctant to remove the photo, even though I had had a negative interaction with her ex that very day, because he was part of my memory of the event and the image was within what I considered my personal photo album. Additionally, since Flickr is my photo file storage application, and the photo was taken at least one hard drive crash ago, I didn’t even know if I had a copy of the file on my computer anymore.

    It’s odd to me. I didn’t even like the guy, so it should have been fine to delete the photo, but that didn’t feel fine. In my mind, my Flickr site is mine first, and shared second, but, of course, that’s not how anyone else experiences it. And, the adding people functionality made that tension more apparent. My compromise in this case was to keep the photo on Flickr, but to label it private, so it was no longer visible to her and was not findable by anyone else.

    Note – in 2019 given flickr’s new owner’s change to the terms of use, I’ve moved my photos to Google Photos, so my flickr archive is much, much smaller now. 

  • Surfing the web, not surfing the waves, in Hawaii

    We had a lovely, wonderful, amazing, restful trip to Hawaii in March.

    The one thing I noticed, though, was that wireless internet was ubiquitous. Even at our sweet secluded little B&B near Hawaii Volcanoes National Park (Hale Ohia).

    I suppose the problem isn’t that there was wireless internet, the problem was that I was using it while I was on vacation.

    I sometimes used it for recreation (goofing around on Ravelry.com looking for a pattern for the yarn I brought). We sometimes used it for vacation research – for instance, I used it to find a highlight on Kauai – the amazing quilt/fabric shop – Kapaia Stitchery. And we used it to keep up with local/current events (wait, was that an earthquake? OMG).

    But we used a little too much to keep up with work. You might argue that some of it was in self-defense, we were clearing the email brush to prevent any stress conflagrations at the time of re-entry. Think of it as a back-burn or firebreak. Yet, that strikes me as the self-delusion of an email/work addict. And, to be fair, sometimes the strategy backfired – the email traffic might also ignite little stress events during the R&R, drawing us into the work mind we intended to leave at the office.

    We both do client work and have folks who depend on us, which makes going incommunicado a challenge and a little bit scary. I do believe that setting things up so they succeed especially in my absence is a sign of good work. So, perhaps I didn’t trust myself enough to leave completely? I’ll have to keep trying and keep vacationing to solve this conundrum.

    Do you find checking in on vacation restful or stressful? What’s your optimum prescription for rest and sanity with email on vacation?

  • Place of Refuge – Pu’uhonua o Honaunau

    On the Big Island in Hawaii is a national park called Pu’uhonua o Honaunau, or the Place of Refuge. The place is special, white sand, black lava stone walls, ki’i figures bearing their teeth at the wind and the water, tall palms swishing their fronds in the wind. There are usually a few sea turtles bobbing around in the waves and happily grazing algae. Sometimes one pulls itself out of the lapping waves for some warming sunshine.

    In the park, there are some lava stone walls and platforms, some buildings and figures, but mostly it contains peace and beauty.

    What’s important to know is that inside these walls was safety. Historically, the place of refuge provided an escape valve of sorts out of the strict rules of Hawaiian society. To my superficial understanding, that traditional culture had strong kapu – or what we might call taboos – protocol for who is allowed to do what where. Some sound social-caste-driven – commoners couldn’t touch the shadow of nobleman – others seem much more about alignment with ecological forces – letting land or fishing areas lie fallow to recover from harvesting pressure. There were also political struggles. Those who had transgressed the rules or been on the wrong side of a battle could reach one of these zones of…is it forgiveness? or maybe absolution?…and enter a process to be reincorporated into society.

    A hut near the entrance holds the bones of priests, and it is their power, in my language perhaps the power of their intention, that gives this place its power of peace. The place is magical. Maybe it is the warm sun, the closeness of sea turtles, the graceful swaying of the palm fronds. Or maybe the years of peace and renewal in this spot has left an aura of deep calm.

    While there are moments of transcendence and sublime beauty, life also contains moments of annoyance, small-minded prejudice, mistakes of inattention, bad luck, and bad intentions. Wouldn’t it be nice to have a place where we can go and be forgiven?

    Of course, the spell breaks when envisioning larger transgressions, or repeat offenders. And, while I cannot imagine setting this up for a larger society, this place does inspire me to create openness and forgiveness for myself, for the day to day departures from intention, misfires, and missed opportunities, for the ways in which I find myself lacking and lecture myself on doing ____ better, more often, or never again.

    As I near my 40th Birthday, my goal is to carry that safe place around for myself and for those close to me. My meditation practice is the practice of building that space, and my meditation room is its physical manifestation.When I am calm and at peace, I create peace around me. When I let myself become disturbed, I disturb.

    What is your place of refuge? How can it be extended to increase your own well-being and that of those around you? How do you nurture your hope?

  • House Blessing

    We moved into a new place in August. For a while there we were almost camping because we had the kitchen ripped out…it didn’t feel exceptionally homey.

    Our fabulous Ann Arbor construction crew gave us a working kitchen in our bump out just before Thanksgiving. We moved our plates, spices, glasses, and cookware into the kitchen the weekend before family arrived from Massachusetts and Rhode Island.

    And, then, with the help of Dave’s family cooking at the house, china plates from my family, delivered a few days ahead so we could wash them, mashed potatoes and appetizers from Fenton, sweet potatoes from Kalamazoo, and ambrosia fruit salad from Rochester Hills,  we had a great meal. The place was full – we had fourteen for Thanksgiving dinner. Six from the “Greiling” (Johnson) side: my aunt and uncle, my cousin and her family of  four (hubby, two kids, and one on the way), and three on the “Bondy” (Sopt) side.

    And, because of lovely memories and shared traditions, several more people were there in spirit. My Grandmother Greiling, whom I never met, shared her china with us. Grandma Higbie’s pie safe held the desserts, and Dave’s Grandfather Bondy contributed beautiful flower arrangements. I wore pearls my father gave me, and a bracelet from my mother.

    I am thankful for everyone who blessed our home that day – to inaugurate our kitchen and celebrate with us. Now, finally, after a few months in the house and a handful of days in the new kitchen, the new place feels like home.

  • Ingredients and Technique

    We’ve had a few houseguests recently, which is odd considering we just moved and we have ripped out our kitchen so we don’t really have the infrastructure for houseguests. We’ve been taking our guests to local eateries, including Zingerman’s Roadhouse.

    The other night, I ordered a Classic Martini at Zingerman’s Roadhouse. It’s one of several “classic cocktails” that Zingerman’s is bringing back to life at the Roadhouse Bar.

    I have a weakness for a gin martini – with a twist of lemon, exceptionally dry. Basically, if I make one at home I kind of wave a bottle of Vermouth near the martini shaker and that’s it. Well, I knew that Zingerman’s was into traditional cocktail recipes and so I ordered a classic martini, with trepidation. The Zingerman’s classic martini has Plymouth gin, vermouth, and orange bitters. When I saw the bartender pour what seemed like an awful lot of Vermouth into the martini shaker, I thought, well, chalk this one up to experience, looks like I blew my order and I won’t like this drink. Then he put in the bitters.

    But, I relaxed a bit when I saw him work the lemon, he held the lemon over the glass as he dug deeply into the rind to carve out the twist, covering the empty glass with “expectorated” lemon yumminess.

    He made the drink, I tasted it, and then he talked about it. He said it was a great cocktail, one of the best around. He was careful to say that it wasn’t just the recipe, but implied it was the details of the ingredients and the technique that made it special.

    He showed off for us, digging the zester into a lemon to create a small mist of lemony goodness and illustrate his point. He was proud of the cocktail. I think I have to incorporate the aggressive zesting into my routine. Beyond that, it made me think of what sets Zingerman’s apart, what makes them special. I think part of it is that they value ingredients and technique, not that they have a magic recipe that can’t be guessed. Their competitive edge is about quality ingredients and consistency of approach and hard work, nothing more magic than that. Worth contemplating.

  • Yoga for the tall

    I am still under the influence of Arianne Cohen’s The Tall Book. In keeping with the tall theme, I am mulling over her notes on body differences. In one section, she noted a few differences in tempo (just takes longer to sweep my hands from my sides to above my head given my hands travel farther) and strength (body is heavier, but not proportionally stronger) that gave me an a-hah moment.

    Yoga would be a very different activity if yogis were six-footers. p.89 The Tall Book: A Celebration of Life on High by Arianne Cohen

    Being a 6’+ tall yogi and an internet wonk, I then Googled variants of several phrases including “yoga” and “tall”, and I found nothing helpful. I did see lots of advertisements for longer yoga clothes and a rant by a shorter-stature yoga teacher about talls infringing on the airspace and viewspace of the shorter folk. (Note I would go to the back of the classroom, but it’s really crowded back there and there’s a lot more wingspan space at the front because people avoid it…sorry to be blocking the view).

    Arianne’s words finally helped me solidify my positions on certain styles of yoga, given the dearth of info, I thought I’d write it up. In the past, I have found Vinyasa and Ashtanga Vinyasa yoga classes quite challenging in terms of pacing. Now, I feel justified in this, but I suppose it isn’t a critique of the style itself that they are less than tall-friendly, more like a note to self that I would either need to do these on my own in a more stately tempo or else not mind falling farther and farther behind the class (a good exercise in disregarding externalities and working on my competitive nature, I suppose…).

    • Vinyasa yoga, in which sequences flow from one position to another, is lovely and dance-like, but I’ve often struggled with its tempo. Essentially, when doing a sun salutation, I’ve often felt like I was rushing to get from one position to another. I barely get into plank and I have to rush headlong into Chaturanga Dandasana and oops, just getting there, and the whole class is already enjoying upward dog. Essentially, I am running behind, challenged by my extra length to maintain the pace of the class and actually spend a moment in each pose. I’ve taken Vinyasa classes at Sun Moon Yoga (where Sondra is beautifully tall and lithe and fleet of yoga pose and disproves my argument a bit, but I’m sticking to it anyway) and A2Yoga. At least now I have a physical excuse for the rushed feeling.
    • Ashtanga yoga, in which folks repeat a series each class is wonderful for marking growth because, well, you can mark your progress because you’re doing the same thing over again. I found the sequence quite challenging in terms of strength (lifting myself up in places). Perhaps it was no accident that my old Ashtanga teacher was a powerfully built shorter statured guy. He could do anything at all, floating high while balancing on a finger or two, and I was flailing along, quite grounded as he soared. I am not sure on the naming, but I sometimes see it as Ashtanga Vinyasa Yoga, and yes it does flow from pose to pose. I have taken Ashtanga classes at A2Yoga.

    So, I am brought back to the idea of Iyengar yoga, of which Ann Arbor is a historical bastion, and the Russayog or rope yoga, that I’m currently practicing. They both have a more stately, thoughtful pacing.

    • Iyengar yoga is all about alignment, which is good because of my crooked back (scoliosis) and not so much about speed. I have taken Iyengar classes at the Ann Arbor YMCA and Inward Bound. I routinely work with Elise Browning Miller’s Yoga for Scoliosis DVD. Elise is a certified Iyengar yoga teacher.
    • Russayog or rope yoga has nice repetition in the classes, so it is both stillness-inducing (I yawn my way through the class, and that’s a compliment), and I can see progress as I go. Some portion of the classes change each time, so there’s also something to keep things fresh. I really like working with the ropes – they are both challenging and forgiving – they can help stabilize me. And, they stretch my back like nothing else. My massage therapist notices if I don’t go! So it must be doing something good for me. I wonder if it also helps that Jasprit is tall, so his classes have a nice tall-friendly pacing.

    All of this is a good reminder to be gentle with myself, to not rush in my yoga classes (sometimes during the bal-lila in russayog I do feel rushed, and I just have to claim my own speed and stick to it) and respect who I am and where I am, which is of course, a big part of practicing yoga in the first place.