Book sale

We’ve come back from the book sale with less than half our usual cull.  By this point we own enough books that we’re not having to take what they have by the truckload.  Sydney and I each found a few good books in our areas of interest, plus a few classical music CDs.  Getting up early to stand in line seems to have tired us out, however.  I think we both wish we could borrow some energy from the small spaniel we’re taking care of this weekend.  Tongue hanging out, whole body shaking in excitement, that dog is happy.  I can see how having a dog like him would be a good way of boosting self-esteem . . . until you realized pretty much anything on two legs that has a hand to pet him will get that kind of attention.

Erin

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Tomorrow

is the Tompkins Public Library Book Sale. They usually have something like 200,000 books for sale (most expensive book being $4.50), and this year they’re said to have over 350,000 books. Where do you think two dissertation-beginning Ph.D. students will be tomorrow morning? 🙂 We love buying books, and now more than ever we have a reason to hunt for them!

I agree with Sydney, however; the effort of coordinating two people’s goals and schedules on a daily basis is far more than we bargained for when we got married. Sydney suggested taking a low-key approach to the book sale: “whenever one wakes up, that one prods the other one and gets things going.” I, thinking that this was a perfect recipe for me not sleeping (“Is it time yet? Did I oversleep?”), countered with, “Okay, so when my alarm goes off at 5 I’ll prod you!” Yeah, sometimes I think back on the simplicity of the single life, when I got up early and scheduled my day (and when Sydney got up and, well, whatever it was that he did to make stuff happen), and long for that time. I can honestly say it’s the only thing I really miss about pre-married life. Oh yeah, and the ability to chew gum without Sydney covering his ears and shrieking “Ack! Such horrible sounds!”

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Warm and Fuzzy Statistics

“The average student takes 8.2 years to get a Ph.D.; in education, that figure surpasses 13 years. Fifty percent of students drop out along the way, with dissertations the major stumbling block. At commencement, the typical doctoral holder is 33, an age when peers are well along in their professions, and 12 percent of graduates are saddled with more than $50,000 in debt.”

Pretty picture, isn’t it?

These statistics are quoted by the NYTimes from the National Science Foundation; ordinarily I would check up on the original data, since the NYTimes has proved itself unreliable every single time Sydney and I have bothered to check it out, but these facts are the same ones we have heard throughout graduate school.  This is the point where my parents start to think really hard, “Try not to faint.  Try not to faint.”  But I wanted to offer a few reflections:

1)  Sydney and I attend one of the few institutions in the country that will fund us.  Fully.  Although it’s still true that the researchers on the science side of campus may get something like $10,000 more each year than we do, Cornell has promised us full tuition coverage and a living stipend for five years, as long as we keep up our end of the bargain.  Plus, being married, we can pool our resources and . . . buy lots of books 🙂  Just kidding, but not really.

I applied to a few graduate schools that were well-ranked, but that didn’t offer great funding, and I remember thinking, “Okay, you let me in just to hit me with the fact that you would expect me to live on nothing but an I’m-in-graduate-school high for a year, and then have me teach three classes each term until I graduated while paying me below-poverty-level income?  So much for this being a moment of celebration!”

The funding enables our departments to expect us to graduate in five or six years.  Without that kind of support, I’m not sure how you’re supposed to graduate in a reasonable amount of time, barring those with independent income.  That’s why there’s so much pressure on getting into good grad schools: we need them to have enough prestige to offer us funding while we study.

2)   Full funding aside, it’s important that we teach while we’re here, not simply so that the university doesn’t see us as a financial black hole, but because we need to have teaching experience on our resume to a) prepare us for our future job and b) convince colleges of all kinds that we will be useful to them in addition to our research skills.  Most places that have job openings in this country are very small, undergraduate-oriented colleges that don’t, frankly, care if we can do research.  They need someone who can teach, and teach well.  Without spending some of our time teaching, we would have a resume that would be useful for only about 5 jobs in the country, and for which there are smarter applicants.  I also think it’s important to confront the teaching/researching tug-of-war early in our career so that we can start trying to juggle them now, rather than later in life when the pressure is on to do really important research work.

All of that aside, Sydney and I have each had a classmate drop from the program in their first year here.  I also don’t want to be too smug about success, since the dissertation is the big hurdle and it’s the one part we haven’t done yet.  But I intend to be ready to graduate in five years, barring unexpected health issues and such.  The question then, of course, will be whether we can move on with a job or whether we will need to stick around for a sixth year to take a second shot at the job market.  The numbers from the New York Times don’t scare me because they pale in comparison to the job market hurdle.  But more on that as we get there 🙂

Erin

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All in a day’s work

In the middle of my class this morning I saw a couple of students looking a bit uncomfortable, and I was pretty concerned, until I saw they were transfixed by a bee that had wandered in through the window and, just as lazily, wandered out again.  This is Cornell, where hefty carpenter bees make come in through open windows and, buzzing loudly all the while, start carving out a home in the wood of the window frame while a class is being held.  You get used to things even if, like me, you’re a bit uncomfortable about bugs in general.

But five minutes after the visit from the bee I saw another girl seize up and look frightened.  When I asked her if she was okay she answered, “There’s a spider in my bag.  I’m sorry; I’m freaking out right now.”  That was about when I started wishing I didn’t have to be at the front of the room.  But when I took a peek I saw a very, very tiny spider looking a bit lost, so I picked up the pencil case in her purse, scraped it along the garbage can, knocking the spider off, returned her bag, and continued.  When I teased the one guy in the classroom, who was sitting next to her, about his failure to seize the moment and act in chivalry, he smiled a bit sheepishly and said, “I know, but I didn’t want to grab a girl’s handbag.”  Good point; I don’t think I would have been comfortable doing so if I hadn’t also been a girl, as well as the class instructor.  Girls’ “handbags,” as I guess they’re called seem to have this aura of mystery and sacredness about them.

Anyway,  I only wish my directions about writing introductory paragraphs had been as effective as my spider-ridding skills today.  I’m also very, very glad that the spider did not decide to climb up my arm and into my shirt or something ludicrous, thereby pushing my bravery beyond its meager limits.

Erin

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Some simple gardening around the home

Sydney is the gardener in the house.  I will not be fighting him for his title any time soon.  But this fall I got an itch to plant bulbs.  The tiny crocuses, grape hyacinths, daffodils and narcissus in the spring are my favorite flowers of the year.  After asking permission to dig up parts of Christi’s lawn, I was intending to go ahead, when Sydney suggested that I make use of his expertise in the process.

As it turns out, I rejected all expertise, and just made use of the muscle.  I didn’t heed his attempts to tempt me with exotic bulbs from mail-order places, instead buying what I wanted at the local ag store.  But when it came time to plant the things, we realized it was going to be quite a chore.  Tree roots and rocks comprise 90% of our yard, despite the green stuff on top.  So after saying he was just going to get the turf up, Sydney proceeded to dig me all of the little trenches I needed for my bulbs.  By the end he was exhausted.  Oh yeah, and he did this with a fever that’s been nagging him for the last several days.

I had a few more things to plant elsewhere, so I though I could handle a couple of small holes myself.  Ha!  Within about ten seconds I had a major rock pile beside my little hole.  When I pulled most of the large rocks out, Sydney told me I should use a pickax to break up the soil (what little there was left).  I thought he was kidding, but nope, that was the tool for the job.  A pickax???  It definitely made me feel like part of the local chain gang, though Sydney said any decent chain gang member would fall over with laughter while watching me.  Oh well, it worked, and in the process of digging the holes both Sydney and I felt a longing for home, he for his sandy Nova Scotia soil, and me for the loamy black dirt from Iowa.  Ithaca is a lovely place, but I’m not surprised that early settlers pushed westward for their farming!

Erin

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Fuzzy feline

As the days cool off, our cat gets a lot more lovey; she’s willing to be scooped up and pressed down into a lap or up onto a shoulder. When it’s really cold she even seems to like banding together for warmth–and man, she’s a great lap-warmer. For about two weeks of the year we have a lap cat. The rest of the time, she’s perfectly lovey, but won’t stay on your lap for more than ten seconds.

Erin

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Nostalgia for the days in which teachers were respected and feared . . .

After one of my students expressed dissatisfaction with her paper grade in a meeting today, she asked whether I’ve ever taught before.  Yup, she asked that aloud.

Erin

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Babysitting Critics

Why is it that so many of the critics I’ve been working through recently are described as if they’re unruly children? I’m relieved to read that some reviewers also thought my current critic “willfully difficult”; I’ve spent a week working through his complex (but very interesting!) prose. No matter how interesting he is, however, I wonder that my former babysitting charges and the gurus of my current field conjure up the same words . . .

Erin

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the happiness gap

Perhaps you’ve seen the NYTimes piece on the happiness gap between men and women. The claim is that in the early 1970s women were slightly happier than men but that now things are switched with men slightly happier than women. This is all supposed to be very interesting and the article has gotten lots of attention. When I first read it, though, a number of alarm bells went off regarding both the basic claim and the explanation for it, e.g., how exactly the researchers derived the claim from the data, alternative explanations for the data that weren’t ruled out, and so on. But I didn’t have time to really dig into the matter and see whether and where things had gone wrong. But somebody else has done some digging: here and here. Maybe it’s premature worrying about how to explain the switched gap. Then again, perhaps it is also noteworthy if happiness rates haven’t changed, given how many other things have changed.

Sydney

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All are home, safe and sound

Mom, Dad, and the Cooneys have returned safely to Iowa after their whirlwind visit.  It was so nice to share Ithaca with friends and family.  We love where we live, we like having company, and I think Arwyn enjoyed having additional cat-lovers in the house.  She also likes the new furniture, which fits perfectly in the bedroom.  I pulled down all of the sweaters and swimsuits and such from the attic, as well as the baskets of socks and t-shirts that have been sitting around, waiting for a home, and filled the drawers.  I am still hearing a bit of drawer-open, drawer-shut, drawer-open from Sydney as he tries to get dressed in the morning, but I’m much happier with everything in its place 🙂

Continuing in our farming, Mom and Dad helped us pull and shell dry beans as we kicked back in our living room, and were rewarded with cherry tomatoes and red peppers and such.  Dad got to make lots of jokes about going to all that work to haul out furniture from Iowa, and then be stuck doing farm-hand work when he finally got to Ithaca.  But he seemed okay with it, and it gave us something to keep our hands busy while we talked.  Sydney’s canned pickles were a big hit.

While Mom was learning things from our local Alternatives Credit Union Dad and I got in a game of golf on Monday.  By which I mean he golfed, and I followed along, tugging the bag of clubs and pretending to give advice now and then.  It’s become something of a ritual for us, and I was veeeery happy to get out and about after all of that eating out over the weekend.

I think I’m becoming something of an academic.  Not that I am a good one, or have brilliant ideas, but I get itchy and irritable if I don’t get some reading in for a few days.  Thankfully, I got in a nice, long day of reading articles yesterday and today, so my brain will stop having a conniption over my weekend holiday.  And now we’re back to the usual: some days on campus, Sydney’s got a conference this weekend, and I’m typing up notes on the books I’m working through.

Erin

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