The Banana Boat Problem

My official calendar at the University is bland.  Meetings I have agreed to attend are in dark purple and meetings I have no intention of attending (bad Denise) or have forgotten to RSVP (tsk tsk Denise) are in light purple.  All times are in Pacific, because Pacific Time rules the University of Washington world.   Each week, I translate the combination of UW meetings, external meetings, and personal appointments into a single calendar.  And to add spice to my otherwise boring life, I color code all of my obligations.   

• Blue:  Meetings or time dedicated to Research
• Green:  Meetings or time dedicated to Teaching
• Yellow:  Meetings or time dedicated to Service or other things that have nothing to do with enjoyment, research, or teaching
• Pink:  Fun times!

According to the stated expectations of my employer, I am expected to spend 40% of my time on teaching, 40% on research, and 20% on service. But, as with many other organizations, there aren't enough people to go around to keep the organization running, so I often end up with a schedule dominated by the color of banana:

The banana boat problem is a schedule awash with way too much yellow with little blue or green and only the occasional pink. And even during pink times like the Pac 12 championship, I am busy multi-tasking, trying to get a few more bananas off my plate while watching the football game out of the corner of my eye. 

I think I need to send the banana boat out to sea.  

May it sink or swim in peace. 

Should I write a song about its demise?

Not a Happy New Year 2022

My mother-in-law, Mildred Maulding, passed away last night, just one hour short of the New Year Pacific time and well into the New Year, Eastern Time.  Several platitudes apply:  "At 97, she lived a good, long life"; "In the end, she was at peace", and the list goes on.  None of them ring quite true.  Although I am grateful that the end-of-life pain, struggle, and anxiety is now behind Mildred, I am very aware that the grieving has only begun and of all the people Mildred knows and has touched, I think Barry, her son and my husband, will be most affected.  Although, as is true for most Northwesterners, the untrained eye will be unable to see the burden of grief that Barry will carry for the foreseeable future.  

Although Mildred has been on a roller coaster most of the year, with an infection scare that looked like the end of her life in October, it was still hard to believe that she would die this week.  On Christmas Day, she stopped eating. Shortly thereafter, she stopped drinking. Yet still, the inevitable next step was not real, not believable.  But when the Southwest Airlines' fiasco filled up most of the available seats on airplanes flying west, the urgency of heading out to Oregon seemed to finally take hold of both of us. Barry left on a full plane on Friday night to Seattle and drove to Oregon on Saturday. Although Mildred did not wake up during the last hours that Barry was able to share with her, I am absolutely sure that she was aware of his presence and I don't find it at all hard to believe that it was Barry who she was waiting for before she finally stepped away from this world and into the next.  

I believe that Mildred is now in heaven, although I still have no clarity on what the transition to heaven looks like or what heaven looks or feels like. As the losses have piled up over the last few years, my hope has gone in the other direction to the point that I hang onto my faith with the wispiest of threads, hoping (ironically) that the Holy Spirit, Father, or Son will intervene and bolster that thread back into a much sturdier rope.   

Today is not about me and yet I ramble about me. Sigh.

As Barry passes over the threshold of his mother's death and into the garden of the surreal, my heart hurts for him.  Taking care of all the details, getting affairs in order... while logical, reasonable, and rational for any Northwesterner to do, will be shrouded in that dismal, painful finality of death. And the winter rains and the incessant gray overcast will not exactly serve as a mood booster. 

In the peaceful sadness and quiet solitude of New Year's day here in Florida, there is solace and time for prayer.  And given my propensity for doing rather than being, God is probably wondering "Who's that calling my name?"  

It's me, God. Your lost sheep once again gone astray.  If you have a moment, would you mind chasing me down?  again.  And, give Mildred a big hug from me (and much more importantly, a big hug from Barry).  

Christmas 2022

Before you start reading, know that I tried very hard to write a normal Christmas letter, but I failed. My failure is probably due to a number of things, but the first two that come to mind are (a) I'm not normal (no surprise to anyone who knows me) and (b) this hasn't been a normal year.  So onward with the abnormal prose and recollection.

Let's start with how I finally got over procrastinating and put words to paper (fingers to keys... whatever).   On the eve of Christmas eve, I was outside in the backyard getting irrationally and unduly frustrated by the fact that I cannot manage to keep the plant coverings on the plants. I'm an engineer.  How can it possibly be so difficult to persuade a bunch of sheets and various other swaths of fabric to stay put over all the plants in my yard that are shivering in their roots tonight? Yes, you heard me correctly. Shivering in their tropical roots... as the coldest Christmas in over a decade looms over the Sunshine State. The Arctic winds that have somehow made it this far south seem on a mission to undo any protection I might provide to my poor colorful friends.   

It's my fault.  Who plants a tropical plant in a subtropical zone?  Worse, who plants dozens of tropical plants in a climate that roller coasters all winter long? The answer to that question is very easy... lots of Floridians (including me). Hence why Home Depot and Lowes are entirely out of plant coverings and all of our bed sheets are out in the yard for the time being.  The prospect of freezing palms, crotons, schefflera, and the like dying or looking pathetic for the months ahead is motivating my battle with the bed sheets, but I am well aware that Floridians are getting off easy this Christmas season.  And, that is what triggered me to stop procrastinating and write. 

The temperatures hovering above freezing along the Gulf Coast of Florida are absolutely nothing compared to what is going on in the rest of the country.  My sister Heidi, who lives in a cozy rural home near Knoxville TN, has woken up to single digit temperatures multiple days in a row with a wind chill that has a negative sign in front of it.  In lieu of tinsel, she has solid ice on the inside of several of her windows.  While I could Pollyanna my way through the deep freeze and wax poetic about the wonderful opportunity that it gives to enjoy a warm, cozy day indoors, all the charm of a cold winter's day evaporates when rolling blackouts and power outages show up at the door as is the case with Heidi, my brother-in-law, and their canine family.   Even Star is protesting the cold by camping out on the kitchen table right underneath the heating unit:

As the cold days continue, I have been repeatedly reminded that I have little to complain about as the frustration of the renegade plant covers is nothing compared to the brutal cold that so many are facing over this Christmas season. Not to mention all the people stuck at airports around the country, with holiday plans at best delayed, and at worst, entirely submarined. SeaTac had one runway open for a few days. Prolonged freezing temperatures along with the rain that Seattle is so famous for have turned the airport into one big skating rink interrupted only by barely enough de-icing equipment to keep open a single runway.  Much public transportation is shut down.  Yet, Seattle is well known for residents who insist on driving in such icy conditions, which leads to those familiar videos on the evening news of bumper cars on surface streets:

Freezing in Florida on Christmas is a fitting end to the climate upheaval this year.  Fires, drought, category 1 equivalent windstorms in Western Washington, erupting volcanoes, Hurricane Ian, Floods, Tornadoes, Earthquakes, and the list goes on.  The world has gone crazy and the climate has gone with it. Early in the Fall of this year, while I was still simultaneously breathing a sigh of relief that Hurricane Ian missed Tampa Bay at the eleventh hour and mourning the destruction and death just south in the Ft. Myers area, drought followed by intense rains followed by equally intense windstorms (that would have been named had they happened anywhere but the Pacific Northwest) arrived on Whidbey Island.  This led to fallen tree buffet at our home and property.  One beautiful oak, one white alder, one maple, one fir, and one red alder were lost during the storm (and I haven't plucked up the courage yet to see what fell deeper into the woods).  

All thoughts of "just leave it until spring" dissipated when two of those lovely trees blocked the driveway.  Thanks to the help of wonderful friends and neighbors, most were delimbed, cleared, and otherwise "left until spring" but the marathon of manual labor left me feeling like I was 110 years old and wondering if I'd be able to get out of bed the next day.   

I returned to Florida from the clean-up adventure on Whidbey genuinely believing that I could rest, relax, and recover.  Haha.   A late season tropical storm/category 1 hurricane left us wondering (yet again) how a postage stamp size yard can produce soooo much yard waste; an unexpected intense and prolonged thunderstorm gave us water flooding into our garage/office faster than we could bail the water out, and to top it all off, I slipped on our porch steps and cracked my head on the corner of a metal lawn chair (hint -- visualize lots of spurting blood).  What a smashing way to finish off the year (OK... not very punny).   

Since many are reporting their COVID status this year, I am happy to report that Barry and I are still COVID virgins, but we have no illusions about staying COVID-free forever.  That doesn't mean there hasn't been illness in the house.  I've been painfully sick three times this year... Thanks go to Moderna (twice) and to my tetanus shot (thank you lawn chair).   My immune system is tired out from fighting battles with vaccines this year.   And, as an introvert, I am quite happy to crawl under my rock during the Christmas cold snap, coming out only occasionally to cook cold weather comfort food and spend time with Barry.  

The University of Washington continues to be a never-ending source of work that rarely skips a beat.  With my colleague and still-friend (Yay!) Jennifer, I published a book on Sex, Gender, and Engineering in 2022 to address that pesky, persistent issue of harassment that continues pretty much unabated in many engineering work and learning spaces.  I took on an (additional) administrator role as associate chair of diversity, equity, and inclusion this year which promptly reminded me of why I have no interest in being more of an administrator and less of a professor (hint -- I appear to be allergic to meetings).  I have three wonderful PhD students and much to be thankful for at work (despite the workload which can still be soul crushing).  I am happy to not be a "star" in academia as it helps to keep me humble and gives me more time to be thoughtful about what I am doing in both research and teaching. While I often have a heart for service, I have also learned how to say NO in at least a hundred different ways.   

It is not a happy Christmas this year because there is so much wrong in the world this holiday season ... COVID in China, the cruel and ugly war in Ukraine, the lingering Artic cold across most of the U.S.... the general lack of kindness and patience I see on the roads, in the stores, and other places when out and about.  But I am very grateful for the love and comforts that I have and the freedom to express myself, even though I write outside of the normal Christmas letter genre.   

My wish for Christmas this year is that gratitude spread across the U.S., filling hearts and minds to the best extent possible... with peace and hope this holiday season.  

Merry Christmas!  

Oh... and Lazer asks that you please send your holiday leftovers to Clearwater, FL and he will take care of them for you.     

Hurricane Ian: A brief debrief on grief

It all started with a calm, uneventful hurricane season. As August turned into September and the end of September approached, I thought that finally, we would have a season free from the worry and anxiety that marks tracking a tropical system to its final destination on land or in the ocean. When Ian first formed, it took Paul Dellegatto to make me pay attention to the obvious -- once a tropical system gets into the Gulf of Mexico, there is no option but to make landfall.  I went through almost all the stages of grief, in the wrong order, and threw some more stages of turmoil in for added drama.

Denial went like this -- "Oh, it's been such a quiet hurricane season (Fiona still hadn't sunk in), that it will be all right. God is giving us a break this year."

Denial quickly gave way to...

Bargaining -- "OK, God -- what can I trade you to make Ian just go away? My new car (oops I don't have one... supply chain problems)? My great attitude (don't have that either)? My strong faith (hmm... don't have that either)? 

bargaining moved onward to...

Anger -- "OK, God -- what is the deal? Why do you allow this stuff to just keep on coming? Why can't you reach us some other way -- other than through one horror after another?

as anger faded,  a combination of begging and praying took its place...

• Breathe In -- "Push it west"
• Breathe Out -- "Weaken it"
• Breathe, Pray, Breathe

desperate prayer gave way to...

Depression and dread when prayer felt like it was going nowhere except in and out of my lungs.  The inevitable Ian just keep churning onward to smother Florida with a dead hit on Tampa Bay, one of the most if not the most vulnerable areas to storm surge in the world.  

When Ian changed his mind and headed east at the eleventh hour, depression and dread morphed into a nauseating combination of relief, confusion, and renewed dread as Ian did not weaken in the Gulf before landfall but instead barreled into southwest Florida just a hair shy of Category 5. And as he began to march across the state as if he owned it, all of my emotions surrounding Ian came together into a surreal numbness as the wind and rain moved through at a "walking pace".  Staying indoors and trying to remain distracted from the rain pounding on the windows and the wind howling past in a very foul mood, I knew what I was hearing and seeing was nothing compared to what was going on in southwest Florida.  

In the calm evening on the day after, still sitting in Orlando and waiting to head to Clearwater, I was nowhere near the acceptance stage of grief. My contention with God on these Natural Disasters (aka horrific suffering and pain) remains. I haven't even taken the smallest of baby steps toward acceptance.  While it doesn't change my faith and conviction that God exists, I have an ever lengthening list of questions to ask Him if I ever get the chance. 

• For God:  Why? Why Gigantic Hurricanes? Why Massive Fires?  Why? Why? Why?  (no platitudes or generalities please)
• for people:  what I want to ask and say...could fill a book.

Prayers ping ponging inside my head like F-16's flying around in the same hangar tonight for all those who are suffering tonight because of Ian.  

Remnants of Canada

I have a terrible habit of starting out strong with sharing highlights of road trips and then tapering off at the end to the extent that no-one knows (including me as memories fade) what happened on the last few days of vacation.  Herein lies my experiment in better diligence on the matter.  

After a smoky day in Kamloops that came with the most awesome macaroni and cheese I have ever had on an outdoor patio at a downtown brewery, we headed out of Kamloops and back into the mountains. At first, it seemed like the color coding on the map was wrong; it had led us to believe that the quality of the road would be several tiers below "free and easy" highway driving.  But, the map did not mislead; it just took awhile to reach the twisty turns, stretches of gravel, and plethora of bumps and scrapes that disrupted the spectacular scenery around us.  

But, despite the smoke, the scenery near Lilloet on the Fraser River was spectacular:

If the conditions look dry, they were and as expected, the scenery hinted at vineyards to come. The kind of grapes that turn into good wine love rocky, troubled soil and this area of British Columbia was home to another niche of the expanding wine industry in Canada:

Lazer was more interested in the buck and doe that had just travelled past at high rates of speed than the grape vines that stretched as far as the eye could see, but we all enjoyed getting out of the car for a bit to sample the regional wines.   

As we continued to travel west, the landscape evolved from sparse, desert-like vegetation to the more familiar temperate forests that we were accustomed to in Western Washington. 

While the requisite day pass and stern park ranger turned us off to a longer hike to middle and upper Joffre Lakes, the lower lake (above) was still beautiful and worth a peek before escaping the crowds to sights at lower elevation.  My favorite part of an otherwise long day of driving was a hike to Nairn Falls just outside Pemberton, in the (aptly named) Green River:

Nairn Falls turned out to be my favorite waterfall on a waterfall-laden road trip.  Nairn "fell" in multiple stages and unlike the straight and dramatic drops of the falls at Wells Gray Provincial Park, Nairn Falls did its thing through multiple dramatic curves carved into the  rock canyon.  The fact that we could spend some time alone with this beautiful piece of Canada only made the experience more memorable:

If I were a freshwater mermaid (rather than the mermaid of the sea that I longed to be when I was a kid), I would choose this waterfall.  I would spend the heat of the day cooling off in the falls themselves:

.. but the cool of the early morning and early evening would lure me into relaxing by the green pools of serenity that lay at periodic intervals along the length of the falls:

And at night, I would nestle close to the river shore, under the trees and moon and dream of what it would be like to be able to walk on land ... but that's a cliche from a movie of the 80's, isn't it?

After our waterfall binge in the previous week in BC, the third largest waterfall (Shannon Falls in Squamish) in Canada wasn't nearly as spectacular:

Clearly, I had become jaded after the Nairn Falls experience along the Green River.

(pun intended) 

In the last days of our 2022 trip to Canada, we would spend a couple of nights in a cabin in Squamish alongside yet another beautiful river, before engaging in the daunting task of many hours of traffic near and in Vancouver before we entered back into the United Staes.  Four hours to travel 40 miles. Re-entry into civilization.  Ugh!

See you next year Canada, eh?

Smoke Break

At the start of the second half (of our Canada vacation), the score was Positives 14, Negatives 2.  But, as we drove into Kamloops on Sunday evening, the mountains started to slip from view, despite the fact that we were edging closer to those very mountains with every passing kilometer.  How could this be?  

Not surprisingly but still sadly, the calamity of west coast summers had caught up with us again, and the smoke rolled into the dry Thompson valley from all sides.  By the time we woke up in Kamloops on Monday morning, the mountains had all but disappeared from the horizon.  The eerie white sky reminded me of my time in Shanghai, China, when I began to wonder if blue sky were even possible and the persistent white skies were interrupted only by the darkness of night.   

But in my cushy Island County life, poor air quality was still a rarity and to see the air quality meter resting in the middle of the scale (which was oddly labelled "unhealthy" beneath the upper two tiers of "very unhealthy" and "hazardous") was unsettling. Walking Lazer for a few kilometers, I didn't notice any difficulty breathing but by afternoon, a steady headache started knocking on the door and didn't offer much chance of backing away.

And so, while most would take a smoke break outside a building, we took a smoke break inside our hotel building, hiding most of the day from the particulates that lurked outside -- eager for a chance to coat the air sacs in our lungs.   A break from a break. Vacation Interrupted.   

Not the end of the world and certainly no reason to complain.   

There is rain in the forecast this evening. Wonderful, beautiful rain.  I'll be eagerly standing at the window this evening waiting for the first drops to fall, the particulates to be washed out of the sky, and my headache to retreat.  

And, perhaps tomorrow, the smoke break will be over!

An Irrelevant Question

Which waterfall was the best?

Was it the widest one in Wells Gray Provincial Park?  Dawson Falls...

Dawson Falls is 350 feet wide... complete with three tiers of lava flows for a massive volume of water to hop, skip, and jump down the river.  

Or was it the mere 70 meter tall Spahats Falls, seemingly more humble because it was...

eclipsed by the canyon through which it flows?

Or was it the jewel of Wells Gray -- the fourth tallest waterfall in Canada... Helmcken Falls at 141 meters?

Spewing an average of 3,800 cubic feet of water into the pool below, every second.  

In my mind,  the question of which waterfall was best is totally irrelevant... all three of the falls were unique and stunning, leaving me tired and happy, with only one remaining question.

Did all that water get tired from falling such a great distance and then rumbling down the river below,  or was it just an ordinary days' work for all that H20?

Arthur Wellesley Gray was a Canadian politician (1876-1944) who had a lot to do with creating many provincial parks in Canada... those parks which now host a very large gaggle of tourists every year from Canada, U.S., and other countries around the world.  

Thank you Mr. Gray.