Recently in Personal Category
Grandpa Hilberg was always "old" to me -- he must have been in his mid to late fifties in my earliest memories of him, going to see Cubs games with him and my dad. I remember his apartment on Ashland Avenue; its smell, and how it was filled with his model trains. I remember the creaky wooden stairs in his building and their red stained wood. I can't remember much else though, almost thirty years later.
He moved to Montana when I wasn't much older; I won't pretend to know why exactly, but after that I saw him less, when he would come to visit or on the rare occasion of a family gathering. I would talk to him on the phone, I always intended to go visit him sometime once I started working but somehow it never worked out; the idea of going to see him without my dad always seemed awkward, and how many people in their 20s want to go hang out with their grandparents? I always thought there would be time later anyway -- the mortality of Grandpa Hilberg never really set in for me.
When my mom's dad died on Christmas 2003, I seemed to make it through almost unfazed. Maybe it was because I had just changed my name and his funeral would be the first time I would meet my mom's family as I am now, and selfishly I was more worried about their reactions to that than grieving over his death. I hadn't spent as much time with Grandpa Schroedter either, since he lived further away. For some reason, I feel like he had reach his time -- he had done what he set out to do and now he was done, and maybe felt a bit at a loss with what he was supposed to do now.
Grandpa Hilberg was different; there was always something childlike about him to me. He seemed to have few regrets about his life and despite the fact that I don't think he ever really had a comfortable or successful career, he never seemed bitter or upset by that. It seemed like every time I talked to him, whether in person or on the phone, he had some story to tell about his friends or his family, and nearly every single one ended with his laugh. I don't think I ever heard him to tell a story with a sad ending.
For someone like me, who has felt world-weary and cynical since I was in my teens, there's something fascinating about a person like Grandpa Hilberg who could maintain that kind of point of view and outlook on the world for so long. I never really thought about his mortality, I guess, because it felt like he would never really go -- how can someone like that die? I figured when you see death coming that has to be the ultimate downer -- when the end is near how can you maintain that kind of outlook?
Yesterday, my dad called me as I was leaving lunch and told me that Grandpa Hilberg had died that morning. He'd been in the hospital, and I knew he was sick, but still, I never thought he would actually die -- it just didn't even strike me a possibility. I don't think it really settled in until last night, but for the first time, I think, I'm actually feeling a strong sense of grief over someone's passing in a way I've never felt it before. Maybe it's the fact that I'm getting older, and my parents are getting older too; for the first time I am really thinking about what it will be like when they die and realizing what that will mean.
I'm filled with regrets now, about my grandfather. I always told him I'd come visit, but I never did. He wrote me after the first time I went to Iceland, including an article he'd read on the place, and I don't think I ever wrote back. I talked to him on the phone, sure, but now...I was his oldest grandchild, and I think he was trying to reach out to me, and I wasn't there. I was always going to see or talk to him later, and now there's never going to be a later.
That is always going to haunt me I think, especially when I look at how his kids turned out -- seven boys and girls who managed to turn out to be pretty great people, one of whom I'm happy to call my dad. Whatever he and my grandmother did to raise them, they seem to have done it pretty well, and they managed to pass those lessons on to their kids, because I don't think I could have asked for a better dad than I am lucky enough to have. After all he's been through -- with me and my brothers, with my mom and everything else life has thrown at him, he's always been there for me. And when I think of that, I wonder if that's how my dad feels about his dad, and I wish I understood that more. I can't help but feel a bit of guilt that I am never going to have kids of my own so that I can pass those lessons on too -- and part of me wonders if I could have, even if it weren't no physically impossible. I can't imagine it was easy for him or for my parents to raise their kids as well as they did.
So, this weekend, I guess, I say goodbye to Grandpa Hilberg, and sorry for putting off what is now never going to happen. I hope that he passed peacefully and as without regret as he seemed, and I hope he knew how much he meant to those of us he leaves behind.
He moved to Montana when I wasn't much older; I won't pretend to know why exactly, but after that I saw him less, when he would come to visit or on the rare occasion of a family gathering. I would talk to him on the phone, I always intended to go visit him sometime once I started working but somehow it never worked out; the idea of going to see him without my dad always seemed awkward, and how many people in their 20s want to go hang out with their grandparents? I always thought there would be time later anyway -- the mortality of Grandpa Hilberg never really set in for me.
When my mom's dad died on Christmas 2003, I seemed to make it through almost unfazed. Maybe it was because I had just changed my name and his funeral would be the first time I would meet my mom's family as I am now, and selfishly I was more worried about their reactions to that than grieving over his death. I hadn't spent as much time with Grandpa Schroedter either, since he lived further away. For some reason, I feel like he had reach his time -- he had done what he set out to do and now he was done, and maybe felt a bit at a loss with what he was supposed to do now.
Grandpa Hilberg was different; there was always something childlike about him to me. He seemed to have few regrets about his life and despite the fact that I don't think he ever really had a comfortable or successful career, he never seemed bitter or upset by that. It seemed like every time I talked to him, whether in person or on the phone, he had some story to tell about his friends or his family, and nearly every single one ended with his laugh. I don't think I ever heard him to tell a story with a sad ending.
For someone like me, who has felt world-weary and cynical since I was in my teens, there's something fascinating about a person like Grandpa Hilberg who could maintain that kind of point of view and outlook on the world for so long. I never really thought about his mortality, I guess, because it felt like he would never really go -- how can someone like that die? I figured when you see death coming that has to be the ultimate downer -- when the end is near how can you maintain that kind of outlook?
Yesterday, my dad called me as I was leaving lunch and told me that Grandpa Hilberg had died that morning. He'd been in the hospital, and I knew he was sick, but still, I never thought he would actually die -- it just didn't even strike me a possibility. I don't think it really settled in until last night, but for the first time, I think, I'm actually feeling a strong sense of grief over someone's passing in a way I've never felt it before. Maybe it's the fact that I'm getting older, and my parents are getting older too; for the first time I am really thinking about what it will be like when they die and realizing what that will mean.
I'm filled with regrets now, about my grandfather. I always told him I'd come visit, but I never did. He wrote me after the first time I went to Iceland, including an article he'd read on the place, and I don't think I ever wrote back. I talked to him on the phone, sure, but now...I was his oldest grandchild, and I think he was trying to reach out to me, and I wasn't there. I was always going to see or talk to him later, and now there's never going to be a later.
That is always going to haunt me I think, especially when I look at how his kids turned out -- seven boys and girls who managed to turn out to be pretty great people, one of whom I'm happy to call my dad. Whatever he and my grandmother did to raise them, they seem to have done it pretty well, and they managed to pass those lessons on to their kids, because I don't think I could have asked for a better dad than I am lucky enough to have. After all he's been through -- with me and my brothers, with my mom and everything else life has thrown at him, he's always been there for me. And when I think of that, I wonder if that's how my dad feels about his dad, and I wish I understood that more. I can't help but feel a bit of guilt that I am never going to have kids of my own so that I can pass those lessons on too -- and part of me wonders if I could have, even if it weren't no physically impossible. I can't imagine it was easy for him or for my parents to raise their kids as well as they did.
So, this weekend, I guess, I say goodbye to Grandpa Hilberg, and sorry for putting off what is now never going to happen. I hope that he passed peacefully and as without regret as he seemed, and I hope he knew how much he meant to those of us he leaves behind.
...asking "if <something intelligible> comes out of my nose when I sneeze, is that normal?", you're on The List.
This is one of the many things I hate about being on-call 24/7 -- if I get a call at four in the morning, it might be for work, so I can't ignore it. And, of course, at 0422 I wasn't exactly thinking straight so I ran in to check my email to see if something was going on instead of listening to the voice mail first. Fun.
This is one of the many things I hate about being on-call 24/7 -- if I get a call at four in the morning, it might be for work, so I can't ignore it. And, of course, at 0422 I wasn't exactly thinking straight so I ran in to check my email to see if something was going on instead of listening to the voice mail first. Fun.
....didn't quite work out. I've been pretty well laid out by the flu since Tuesday, though the tests still haven't come back to say whether it was H1N1 or just some other kind of influenza A. Either way, I have felt pretty lousy for the last few days, so I apologize for the lack of any real updates since I mentioned them before. For anyone else who is suffering from this particularly gross piece of PAX swag, I hope it passes quickly for you.
Quite unfortunate, really, since I have been trying to get my affairs in order in preparation for a possible cross-country move. Being sick for a week has kind of thrown a monkeywrench into that particular opportunity though, so I don't know if it will still be open by the time I actually get things sorted out. There's not too much more I can say about that here, but for those of you I've talked to and asked for advice, and who have offered your support, thank you -- it's times like these, when everything is on the line, that you learn who your real friends are, and happily, for me, they've turned out to be pretty much everyone I thought they were.
Even if this doesn't work out, though, I'm hopeful that I'll get another bite at the apple soon enough. After five years of failing horrifically (and, at least in retrospect, humorously) to actually find a new job somewhere outside the University and the place I've called home since 1981, I appear to be slowly picking my way out. It's a good feeling, and I have to take a sense of accomplishment away from things, knowing I've made some actual personal growth.
Quite unfortunate, really, since I have been trying to get my affairs in order in preparation for a possible cross-country move. Being sick for a week has kind of thrown a monkeywrench into that particular opportunity though, so I don't know if it will still be open by the time I actually get things sorted out. There's not too much more I can say about that here, but for those of you I've talked to and asked for advice, and who have offered your support, thank you -- it's times like these, when everything is on the line, that you learn who your real friends are, and happily, for me, they've turned out to be pretty much everyone I thought they were.
Even if this doesn't work out, though, I'm hopeful that I'll get another bite at the apple soon enough. After five years of failing horrifically (and, at least in retrospect, humorously) to actually find a new job somewhere outside the University and the place I've called home since 1981, I appear to be slowly picking my way out. It's a good feeling, and I have to take a sense of accomplishment away from things, knowing I've made some actual personal growth.
Well, I don't have much time to make a real post right now, but I got back from Seattle yesterday and I'm now in a bit of a tizzy trying to get everything sorted here before I leave for Iceland later this month. Some quick updates though:
- Seattle was awesome. PAX was awesome. CCP's party was awesome. Pictures may follow soon, I just haven't had time to go through them; unfortunately, I didn't take as many as I had hoped for a variety of reasons.
- I really hope I don't have H1N1 (see bottom). It would be incredibly inconvenient, but I do admit I'm getting a case of the sniffles. If it comes up with anything else I think it will be time to head to the doctor.
- When travelling with someone, if their schedule does not match yours, it can be very frustrating for both parties. Likewise, some people need to learn the value of The Plan(tm). :)
- Anyone know anything about selling a house in the fall/winter months? Alternatively, is there anyone looking for a small, reasonably priced house in Champaign in the very near future?
I read two articles recently that made me think a lot about the way I think and how I see myself. I don't know if I would say I have low self-esteem, but I do know that I am monumentally insecure, and I suspect the vast majority of my most annoying character traits come from that.
First was from Squaremans, his first article in a new series called "The Process." He discusses the working relationship of three directors, and how an honest dialogue is important to their creative process. That same sort of relationship is the one I want to have with the people I work with, regardless of the field. Luckily, where I work now, I do have a very honest relationship with my coworkers -- if I screw up, I can count on them to call me on it and vice versa, and we can all count on each other to own up to our mistakes and point out our own errors. I'm not sure if I have always been wired this way or it has just grown out of my working environment organically, but now I find it difficult to work without that kind of honest back and forth. This has, unfortunately, gotten me into a bit of trouble when I work with people who don't work that way, or when I am not in a venue appropriate to that sort of discussion. The people who know me well can probably guess as to what I'm talking about. I'm slowly learning to self-censor a little better, but I think I will always crave this sort of brutal honesty.
The second article was Time's "Yes, I Suck: Self-Help Through Negative Thinking," which talks about how affirmations only tend to make people with low self-esteem feel worse. This is a common problem for me; I tend to feel like the people I'm getting the compliments from are either trying to make me feel better or don't know any better -- yes, I know that sounds arrogant, no, I don't really have any retort to that. I suspect that's another problem I can blame on my insecurity. Part of this though, I think, comes from the working environment I talked about above, though. If I'm not getting a good dose of criticism, I feel like people aren't being honest with me, and it drives me crazy. The feeling I get is something stronger than simple frustration though, it's almost like I feel like I've been betrayed. I realize this is probably insane, especially since they are more than likely trying to be nice to me, but I think over the years I've slowly become very suspicious of people who are unwaveringly nice to me. Probably not the most redeeming quality, but it's hard to break out of.
I'm not sure where this particular aspect of my psychology comes from, but I think it goes pretty far back -- my parents have never been the coddling type. They have always been very firmly on the side of the "teach a man to fish" philosophy, which has ended up being to my benefit, even if I didn't necessarily think so at the time. They have always been supportive, but also honest about their feelings, with regard to my work (which, I admit, I sometimes feel they are a little too uncritical of) and everything else about my life, and I've come to expect it. I really can't thank them enough, but I admit at times it seems like a mixed blessing.
First was from Squaremans, his first article in a new series called "The Process." He discusses the working relationship of three directors, and how an honest dialogue is important to their creative process. That same sort of relationship is the one I want to have with the people I work with, regardless of the field. Luckily, where I work now, I do have a very honest relationship with my coworkers -- if I screw up, I can count on them to call me on it and vice versa, and we can all count on each other to own up to our mistakes and point out our own errors. I'm not sure if I have always been wired this way or it has just grown out of my working environment organically, but now I find it difficult to work without that kind of honest back and forth. This has, unfortunately, gotten me into a bit of trouble when I work with people who don't work that way, or when I am not in a venue appropriate to that sort of discussion. The people who know me well can probably guess as to what I'm talking about. I'm slowly learning to self-censor a little better, but I think I will always crave this sort of brutal honesty.
The second article was Time's "Yes, I Suck: Self-Help Through Negative Thinking," which talks about how affirmations only tend to make people with low self-esteem feel worse. This is a common problem for me; I tend to feel like the people I'm getting the compliments from are either trying to make me feel better or don't know any better -- yes, I know that sounds arrogant, no, I don't really have any retort to that. I suspect that's another problem I can blame on my insecurity. Part of this though, I think, comes from the working environment I talked about above, though. If I'm not getting a good dose of criticism, I feel like people aren't being honest with me, and it drives me crazy. The feeling I get is something stronger than simple frustration though, it's almost like I feel like I've been betrayed. I realize this is probably insane, especially since they are more than likely trying to be nice to me, but I think over the years I've slowly become very suspicious of people who are unwaveringly nice to me. Probably not the most redeeming quality, but it's hard to break out of.
I'm not sure where this particular aspect of my psychology comes from, but I think it goes pretty far back -- my parents have never been the coddling type. They have always been very firmly on the side of the "teach a man to fish" philosophy, which has ended up being to my benefit, even if I didn't necessarily think so at the time. They have always been supportive, but also honest about their feelings, with regard to my work (which, I admit, I sometimes feel they are a little too uncritical of) and everything else about my life, and I've come to expect it. I really can't thank them enough, but I admit at times it seems like a mixed blessing.
