tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4586619051144753492024-02-07T20:49:22.500-08:00Kathryn Douglas, MFA, MFAK Douglashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08235392634709911099noreply@blogger.comBlogger36125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-458661905114475349.post-37878337898333556842014-03-24T16:00:00.000-07:002014-03-24T16:04:20.083-07:00Eulogy for Peg Douglas: March 23, 1928-April 1, 2012Peggy Manley Douglas was born in New York City on March 23, 1928 to May and Michael Manley. She was 100% Irish.<br><br>
She was the eldest of three—Peg, Michael and Eileen, who has now officially been promoted to matriarch.<br><br>
Mom was a member of St. Patrick’s parish and the Bay Shore community for 81 years.<br><br>
My mother gave birth to ten children, and lost one, Kathleen, shortly after her birth. She considered Kathleen to be our guardian angel.<br>
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With my father, she built and kept a beautiful home where they raised nine children. I recently asked Mom whether she and my father talked much about their plan for children before marriage. When looking for property on which to build a house, she told me, they looked at a piece of property on Lanier Lane that backed onto a lake. She told my father she didn’t think it was a good choice “in case they had children.” And that was the extent of their prenuptial conversations about the incredible, large, healthy family to come. Being a mother was a huge part of my mother’s life. And even though she would jokingly say, “Who would I give back?” she was immensely proud of her brood, and our brood of 23 grandchildren, and their growing brood which now numbers 10.<br><br>
When I called one of my Bay Shore friends to tell her about Mom’s passing, she said, “I can’t believe it, your mother was such a fixture—she was larger than life.”<br><br>
I like to think of her as a force of nature. She was physically strong, beautiful, stubborn, independent and gregarious. She touched many, many lives. At 83 she was still being approached in Bay Shore stores by friends of her kids saying, “Hi Mrs. Douglas!” Even in the rehab center at Our Lady of Consolation a few weeks ago, a fellow patient called out from her wheelchair across the room in physical therapy, “Aren’t you Peggy Douglas?” Although my mother didn’t know her, the woman recognized her from her work years ago as a volunteer in the Southside Hospital gift shop.<br><br>
My mother had a large cohort of first cousins in Ireland, England and the U.S., and several second cousins are here today. She had a wide circle of new and life-long friends from Seton Hall High School, the Bay Shore post office, volunteer work for Southside Hospital, her work at First National Bank, our neighborhood, Bay Shore Yacht Club, the Hibernians and through many more connections. After my father passed away, she met an old schoolmate at a high school reunion, Tom Fox, and they became loving companions and confidantes until the day she died. One of her newest friends is Sister Catherine, her roommate from Our Lady of Consolation—and we’re so glad you are with us here today.<br><br>
Like I said, Mom was a force of nature. Part of her vast personal legacy was her determination to continue to live and to thrive. Any day now she was going to get back on her exercise bike. If any of us pointed out that she might not, she would say, “Watch me.” I think in her mind, she was still 45 and strong. She was always young in spirit and refused to believe she was 84.<br><br>
My mother was a force of nature and she was a woman of contradictions.<br><br>
She often said, “I don’t want to be a burden to you children,” or “I don’t want to bother the kids.” But in one of my last conversations as we were getting ready to say goodbye she said, “When you hang up, call Michael and tell him to bring me a chocolate milk shake from McDonalds when he comes by tomorrow.” She was very good at giving orders.<br><br>
My mother never lost her appetite—for chocolate, or for life.<br><br>
We were incredibly blessed to have her for so long, and to know she was so well-loved as a vital part of many communities and circles of friends. My siblings, our families and aunt Eileen thank you for coming today to help us celebrate Mom and lay her to rest.
K Douglashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08235392634709911099noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-458661905114475349.post-4413920813915663832014-03-23T18:48:00.002-07:002014-03-23T18:53:32.162-07:00Eulogy for James Monzel
James Alan Monzel was my brother-in-law. With my sister Suzanne, he became a parent in 1992 when Eric James was born. This was a defining moment in Jim’s life, and I believe being a father was his greatest source of joy. Jim was a good father with hopes and dreams for Eric. He taught Eric how to talk, to ride a bike, care for animals, swim, and how to not be afraid of a roller-coaster. He taught him how to tie his shoes, blow out his birthday candles, run the wood stove, and a host of ways to be a contributing member of the household including some of Eric’s favorite activities – lawn mowing, snow shoveling and household recycling. Jim taught Eric how to figure things out for himself on the computer, do math, fish, build a car for the annual Pine wood derby, and more recently, how to drive a standard. <br><br>
According to his family and friends, Jim was unabashed, curious, inquisitive, quick-witted and sardonic. He was humble, non-pretentious, passionate, focused, dedicated, fun to work with and surprising. He was a sailor, skier, and was tender with the children. Jim had a keen knowledge of really obscure facts, based in part on one his favorite books—The Book of Totally Useless Information. Jim delighted in spieling off such gems as why peas spark in the microwave and why military uniforms have non-functional buttons up the cuffs of the sleeves.
Jim was cheerful, playful, and opinionated. He was an introvert, gourmand, world traveler, music lover (especially Todd Rungren, who he thought was a God), a mentor and an animal lover. Jim was a loving father and a good provider. He was a pyrotechnics master—setting up extravagant displays of fireworks for the kids, and a pro at driving up his icy driveway in the winter. His non-technical family members might think of him as a geek or a techie (not to mention a trekkie), but to his colleagues he was an expert. Jim was a leader in his profession, organizing annual conferences, publishing articles and with colleagues, he held a U.S. patent. As an active member of the AA community, Jim had almost two years of sobriety—a testament to his fortitude and to the hard and important personal work he was engaged in at the end of his life. <br><br>
As I’ve sorted through pictures the last few weeks looking for images of Jim to share with Suzanne and Eric, I’ve been struck by the wide variety of locations where Jim is found. There are shots of Jim and Suzanne in Buffalo, NY where my son Drew was born, shots of them in Syracuse with my daughter Maureen at the zoo, shots at my parent’s house in Bay Shore, and at the beach on Fire Island. Suzanne and Jim were ever-present as I was moving around getting an education and raising my kids. Although Suzanne was the extrovert in their marriage, managing the connections between family and friends—Jim always showed up, he was there. I’m sure he felt adrift when with Suzanne’s family of 9 siblings, but Jim was an integral part of the family. He might have listened quietly while conversations flew, but could be relied upon to insert the surprising and well-timed one-liner that made everyone laugh. When friends and family descended on Suzanne, Jim and Eric at the Monkton house for holidays, Jim eventually snuck off to his room or the basement to play a video game. While the guests sat around the guitar players in the kitchen after a feast, Jim might retreat to the living room to watch his complete collection of Dark Shadows, but he was always happy to have a house full of guests.<br><br>
Jim fed us well. He was the first one up, and a thermos full of fresh coffee could always be found on the counter as evidence of his early morning productivity and hospitality. Soon Jim would begin his famous ritual—making breakfast. One of Jim’s first jobs was a short order cook at HoJos, and he never lost those roots. Over the years he had perfected the art of making bacon and pancakes, and his griddle was one of his prized possessions. Jim’s method included frying 6 strips of bacon at a time, laid out in perfect rows, flipped at just the right time and cooked to perfection. Each batch was placed on a paper towel, with a paper towel on top for the next batch. Jim brought to his breakfast making the kind of focus and precision needed for a career focused on the intricacies of computer chips and circuitry unseen by the naked eye. Although he sometimes came off as a little rigid, there were mornings when that last batch of bacon had seven strips rather than six. Unphased, Jim squeezed that last strip on the griddle.<br><br>
Jim’s untimely death has been a shock and a sorrow for his family, friends, colleagues and community. We can hope to find comfort in being together today, in the song and prayer that we share. <br><br>
Jim will be missed by many. As his colleague Ed writes, “Jim touched many lives, for the better.”<br><br>
I want to read an excerpt of a poem by Liam Rector, written as Liam was contemplating his own death and thinking about the one’s he would leave behind. The poem includes some of Liam’s doubt about an afterlife and questions about his life and place in the world, and includes what I think of as good advice for his children, and indeed for all of us. From the poem titled <b>Now</b>.<br><br>
<i>Born alone, die alone—and sad, though<br>
Vastly accompanied, to see<br>
The sadness in the loved ones<br><br>
To be left behind, and one more <br>
Moment of wondering what, <br>
If anything, comes next. . . <br><br>
Never to have been completely <br>
Certain what I was doing Alive, <br>
but having stayed aloft <br><br>
Amidst an almost sinister doubt.<br>
I say to my children <br>
Don't be afraid, be buoyed —<br><br>
In its void the world is always <br>
Falling apart, entropy its law —<br>
I tell them those who build <br><br>
And master are the ones invariably <br>
Merry: Give and take quarter, <br>
Create good meals within the slaughter, <br><br>
A place for repose and laughter <br>
In the consoling beds of being tender, <br>
I tell them now, my son, my daughter.<br><br>
</i>
Be buoyed.<br>
Give and take quarter.<br>
Create good meals.<br>
Don’t be afraid.<br><br>
My heart goes out to all of us today, especially to Suzanne, Eric, Michael and Steve, who traveled long and well with Jim. My prayer for Eric is that he continue to travel with his Dad, taking the full measure of Jim and his life forward into his own life.<br><br>
To Jim, if you’re listening, God rest your soul brother. May flights of angels sing you to your rest.
K Douglashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08235392634709911099noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-458661905114475349.post-71292260597332195652011-08-08T07:20:00.000-07:002014-03-23T18:41:33.731-07:00Palimpsest: Yale Literary & Art Magazine<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbprT4Og83fOrqSu2bx65aLPTQWB7-Q6qbg893VUcqxaoN3kZOm8AwUVTFWRF9ZPbTt5RoZRG05XmolIEf-3ShehaS3qVuX_Pj_gs6LAVxvlzMV1R4l7PGfbFLiQ8IBQ0i_ckGJ_j8Uu8/s1600/tupperwarepage.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 247px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbprT4Og83fOrqSu2bx65aLPTQWB7-Q6qbg893VUcqxaoN3kZOm8AwUVTFWRF9ZPbTt5RoZRG05XmolIEf-3ShehaS3qVuX_Pj_gs6LAVxvlzMV1R4l7PGfbFLiQ8IBQ0i_ckGJ_j8Uu8/s320/tupperwarepage.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5638491073638833634" /></a>
<br />Project: Oversaw production, publication, marketing and distribution of four issues of award-winning multi-media, cross-disciplinary magazine at Yale Graduate School of Arts and Sciences. Palimpsest served as laboratory for student editors, writers, and designers across 13 graduate and professional schools at Yale: each issue is an artist book which includes a cd and/or dvd with original music, film, video and digital artwork. Issue #4 includes a make-your-own paper theater with changeable sets based on a play included in the issue and an <a href="http://www.digitalecologies.com/gallery/">alternative audio guide</a> for visitors at the Yale Art Gallery, one of the many collaborations of the magazine. Advised editorial teams and managed print and dvd production with local and international printers. Issue #5 designed by artists of the firm agency: collective, click <a href="http://www.agencycollective.com/projects/Palimpsest">HERE</a> for details.
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<br />K Douglashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08235392634709911099noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-458661905114475349.post-63424719592454552052011-04-05T13:22:00.000-07:002014-03-23T18:41:12.195-07:00Alumni Profiles from 2010-11 Employer Brochure<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhYXl06j5AKklVkftgV405187tdBCid3ttm52DnYtDCgYz2kM0XdbrrWeEfJFeWEro81ffNHYc4PJpR8tsfsT_u2PKlF3Rjp03TFeBUxEMx3TdK6y0dLOVFS-IYbpR7TbQtV-w1QIe6hE/s1600/Alum+Profiles+from+Brochure.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 345px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhYXl06j5AKklVkftgV405187tdBCid3ttm52DnYtDCgYz2kM0XdbrrWeEfJFeWEro81ffNHYc4PJpR8tsfsT_u2PKlF3Rjp03TFeBUxEMx3TdK6y0dLOVFS-IYbpR7TbQtV-w1QIe6hE/s400/Alum+Profiles+from+Brochure.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5592198363154695618" /></a>K Douglashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08235392634709911099noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-458661905114475349.post-86974865258670491482011-04-05T13:17:00.000-07:002014-03-23T18:41:50.244-07:00Poster: Alumni in NGOs Career Panel, 2010<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxrPicqGqjCL0ROkJgKTQhldh3yprdq7Bi8RyYRUp-XSM-EzhaVtAs2vXmFcbIhGvbmEQX-egcJy_Iu0ynToB01Wef3KGUfGT8ZLMPYfrorj15X0rG8mWmmDvy4_P6gXNkOyNLgykGPBg/s1600/NGO+panel+poster+%25282%2529.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 259px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxrPicqGqjCL0ROkJgKTQhldh3yprdq7Bi8RyYRUp-XSM-EzhaVtAs2vXmFcbIhGvbmEQX-egcJy_Iu0ynToB01Wef3KGUfGT8ZLMPYfrorj15X0rG8mWmmDvy4_P6gXNkOyNLgykGPBg/s400/NGO+panel+poster+%25282%2529.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5592196396665208098" /></a>K Douglashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08235392634709911099noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-458661905114475349.post-38076380120177192102008-07-27T09:43:00.000-07:002008-07-27T14:33:04.425-07:00Through Her Eyes Cover: 68 page exhibition catalog, Yale School of Forestry<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7zsuu2_giHEunb0cQKzmqTNYXvnWJqmcqETb48zfMKQ4Edli9q6N_T6wTD0-R1CKry4mN5o4k0q6suV9q0o0FojcImE8pzBMN2Yi1sO1DfVpxqgJ1aFL_XipoI9GPAaQG6vf0d8UUyjo/s1600-h/yew+cover.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7zsuu2_giHEunb0cQKzmqTNYXvnWJqmcqETb48zfMKQ4Edli9q6N_T6wTD0-R1CKry4mN5o4k0q6suV9q0o0FojcImE8pzBMN2Yi1sO1DfVpxqgJ1aFL_XipoI9GPAaQG6vf0d8UUyjo/s200/yew+cover.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5227735664725417250" /></a>K Douglashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08235392634709911099noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-458661905114475349.post-59640158656366523982008-07-27T09:21:00.000-07:002008-07-27T14:40:27.924-07:00Career Development Office, Yale School of Forestry<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDmbKH5G2o-ZWdxJqGxZPXnD6S4uu6n5nZj-zHd9n37LpQ34rPqG0eyWPL_x3MpCGT39MZuSbqePD3XWxpW_mxrUD83urGOvjk1DzdF9wNF4EYembTnBOxOU835Toacl0ETe-uruwIL6Q/s1600-h/cdologo.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDmbKH5G2o-ZWdxJqGxZPXnD6S4uu6n5nZj-zHd9n37LpQ34rPqG0eyWPL_x3MpCGT39MZuSbqePD3XWxpW_mxrUD83urGOvjk1DzdF9wNF4EYembTnBOxOU835Toacl0ETe-uruwIL6Q/s200/cdologo.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5227730065670081586" /></a>K Douglashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08235392634709911099noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-458661905114475349.post-60827842051547403922008-07-27T09:05:00.000-07:002008-07-27T14:33:04.425-07:00Environmental Career Guide Sample Page<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu78uRhG-mOOIGhIHau5MuiM4htkgMZgETgieaIyABdlnjWWtgZTxJa3wJJhFgzD13ctrwx3RYMGwTVhRsegToYH4AIBxQUuCnwF1KgKtb0L58W2L0lRfsPq0BneWj-kYqLJ6F8EL9F-U/s1600-h/Career+Guide+Sample+Page.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu78uRhG-mOOIGhIHau5MuiM4htkgMZgETgieaIyABdlnjWWtgZTxJa3wJJhFgzD13ctrwx3RYMGwTVhRsegToYH4AIBxQUuCnwF1KgKtb0L58W2L0lRfsPq0BneWj-kYqLJ6F8EL9F-U/s200/Career+Guide+Sample+Page.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5227726073339486690" /></a>K Douglashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08235392634709911099noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-458661905114475349.post-910383402223967692008-07-27T08:22:00.000-07:002008-07-27T14:33:04.425-07:00Poster: Federal Career Month at Yale<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrZqZWaFD3Jkk3Yq77SPeTNK_vCVxyxf0OMV9MYfVbuQbtTX4y1VxHSfwX_C_tTNGkiDbQJYKBv8-f9oho_h3gjipSd1OuIj9HXXptZPZRH5AazT87-wjkpshJfwIK8Ur4bYK4azBhFD8/s1600-h/fedcareerposter2small.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrZqZWaFD3Jkk3Yq77SPeTNK_vCVxyxf0OMV9MYfVbuQbtTX4y1VxHSfwX_C_tTNGkiDbQJYKBv8-f9oho_h3gjipSd1OuIj9HXXptZPZRH5AazT87-wjkpshJfwIK8Ur4bYK4azBhFD8/s200/fedcareerposter2small.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5227721257445984290" /></a>K Douglashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08235392634709911099noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-458661905114475349.post-34999471491307401282007-05-04T09:25:00.000-07:002008-07-27T14:33:04.425-07:00DESIGN: Off The Beaten Track Logo<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1w1qhHEc1kyp5NpKvETz0uAAAOQTy_k05NNDHY74G20h6gZATvAB7PTf2Eue2oVVX6ohNOxDig2nLaMY_ZE-D3fJ0jyzMtbLzkBuH0cqdxHW6cf6sP89WxtIR7UQ6oBZT-xYIfhkV-tI/s1600-h/logo5.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1w1qhHEc1kyp5NpKvETz0uAAAOQTy_k05NNDHY74G20h6gZATvAB7PTf2Eue2oVVX6ohNOxDig2nLaMY_ZE-D3fJ0jyzMtbLzkBuH0cqdxHW6cf6sP89WxtIR7UQ6oBZT-xYIfhkV-tI/s400/logo5.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5060742948637673090" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY6vUTrsFDPI22BNbu2m1qGb1FXfrbT5OI7RhCImWuwW3n7SH_dqd8Z9RZ_WjKBBjMl5w_hEqOlBwsIX_OuB8X0G4t31A7Tx2vNLxKOd8-4QUhfT-6zAVyTkg2IOJxk5VCWR0qHlVh9Pg/s1600-h/logo4.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY6vUTrsFDPI22BNbu2m1qGb1FXfrbT5OI7RhCImWuwW3n7SH_dqd8Z9RZ_WjKBBjMl5w_hEqOlBwsIX_OuB8X0G4t31A7Tx2vNLxKOd8-4QUhfT-6zAVyTkg2IOJxk5VCWR0qHlVh9Pg/s400/logo4.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5060742742479242866" /></a>K Douglashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08235392634709911099noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-458661905114475349.post-76916533233860766142007-05-03T08:33:00.000-07:002007-05-03T08:34:48.158-07:00PHOTO: Children, Portrait<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUfiRU7yAYuKqSmu7oFoMUkJ6fX5hVV6b-azOouzZ2D8UJOCJ3Kq_eMWGww1BJBnJW3NLuz3toMVP-ZRt_pxuD8sp79ZLYkHHnOSxrB9fsVGOMxvQXvyQQIaqMZzzTCqOSIcVjVDP7AhU/s1600-h/DrewMaureen.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUfiRU7yAYuKqSmu7oFoMUkJ6fX5hVV6b-azOouzZ2D8UJOCJ3Kq_eMWGww1BJBnJW3NLuz3toMVP-ZRt_pxuD8sp79ZLYkHHnOSxrB9fsVGOMxvQXvyQQIaqMZzzTCqOSIcVjVDP7AhU/s320/DrewMaureen.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5060358265596839522" /></a>K Douglashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08235392634709911099noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-458661905114475349.post-54686677445611581242007-05-03T07:56:00.000-07:002008-07-27T14:33:04.426-07:00DESIGN: Women Mentoring Women Book Mark<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSk8fZQ4AqbXd_ccOMZWbHJDJ6Kj5zclxJs0Khlkb7MBnWT4K7o20R0xKbcBZNdZp_dwA5JnO1v0EKZuSWCSGnWoCAgM6zCyAbU6xfCfcOJL9TTNeB_xbsJRNNY2oVeoY7R2wrOA4Vlt0/s1600-h/wmwbookmark.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSk8fZQ4AqbXd_ccOMZWbHJDJ6Kj5zclxJs0Khlkb7MBnWT4K7o20R0xKbcBZNdZp_dwA5JnO1v0EKZuSWCSGnWoCAgM6zCyAbU6xfCfcOJL9TTNeB_xbsJRNNY2oVeoY7R2wrOA4Vlt0/s320/wmwbookmark.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5060348636280161842" /></a>K Douglashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08235392634709911099noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-458661905114475349.post-19420169499048966262007-05-03T07:50:00.000-07:002008-07-27T14:33:04.426-07:00DESIGN: Promotional Bookmark for Palimpsest<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaJX5cRei2IUtbttxHvhSW0KsWETcoKZB2Hq94LcBMBJwzAoEuo__7QHabpPMGNz0afDEcDpRnsDBN1G4dSqsZdhwDrFSBHTqeknhCiSiU6VgLr1aCAHtp2_Xt_LgY594mdLxBORv1DP0/s1600-h/P5+Sales+bookmark2.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaJX5cRei2IUtbttxHvhSW0KsWETcoKZB2Hq94LcBMBJwzAoEuo__7QHabpPMGNz0afDEcDpRnsDBN1G4dSqsZdhwDrFSBHTqeknhCiSiU6VgLr1aCAHtp2_Xt_LgY594mdLxBORv1DP0/s320/P5+Sales+bookmark2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5060349533928326722" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnAoFcnEF_d8oSGQwFEa5vdVrWm1AFTE5DizVqKQ6YwJBzaahlFP_utv7SCF0wFDYuefxegIOA_XFjAgDRTXsEQcbJL8iwvD4Jyp73W27wuCBVO0PTsQz3P8kI6aVy7OcG2me_6K5PTzI/s1600-h/P5+Sales+bookmark.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnAoFcnEF_d8oSGQwFEa5vdVrWm1AFTE5DizVqKQ6YwJBzaahlFP_utv7SCF0wFDYuefxegIOA_XFjAgDRTXsEQcbJL8iwvD4Jyp73W27wuCBVO0PTsQz3P8kI6aVy7OcG2me_6K5PTzI/s320/P5+Sales+bookmark.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5060347171696313890" /></a>K Douglashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08235392634709911099noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-458661905114475349.post-43092068814038882032007-05-02T13:24:00.000-07:002008-06-11T17:39:32.653-07:00PUBLICITY: Women Mentoring Women Programs<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFl1EGsct9Ap8H2NOxBvGye2JSDJ_zM0nHVNjEaY1Jcarl4Wqwe_0M5x706Qa-Vuo1GGpvq2wOMDwMNPAxv2pX21p9sUoeIxhEXkDlRC6HkpvQ2PT2XccCIIGxEf0MLEP4PUncmD_HElw/s1600-h/WMW+Fall.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFl1EGsct9Ap8H2NOxBvGye2JSDJ_zM0nHVNjEaY1Jcarl4Wqwe_0M5x706Qa-Vuo1GGpvq2wOMDwMNPAxv2pX21p9sUoeIxhEXkDlRC6HkpvQ2PT2XccCIIGxEf0MLEP4PUncmD_HElw/s320/WMW+Fall.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5060062978005304850" /></a><br />As Advisor to Women Mentoring Women fellows in the McDougal Center of Yale Graduate School, I inaugurated mentoring programs for graduate women students. <br /><br />For more information, and to see our monthly "Women on Campus" web-column, visit <a href="http://www.yale.edu/wmw">www.yale.edu/wmw.</a><br /><br /><br />The accompanying article is from <span style="font-style:italic;">Yale Graduate School Newsletter,</span> Volume 9, no. 2, November 2007K Douglashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08235392634709911099noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-458661905114475349.post-89675591345698187782007-05-02T13:18:00.001-07:002008-06-11T17:40:49.629-07:00PUBLICITY: Professional Development ProgramsAs Assistant Director of the McDougal Center, I initiated a series of professional development programs for the Student Life and Careers & Professional Development Fellows at the Yale Graduate Center. During the pilot year, we offered sessions covering a range of topics including "What Makes A Good Meeting," "Presentation Skills," and "Conflict Resolution."<br /><br />The accompanying article is from Yale Graduate School Newsletter, volume 9, no. 2, November 2006<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9c6Zd3NC7khKWTaZZy-sIXsLTvD9hq1j5MAUQxtN9ksZfLAHUER9way9ptGYngyvWIhuMpubthxARYr9DDb-d7RQtpImHRGPHUDN6xJcjoJYnm72V9s7IaEh6a1yUgVS19HBLdsCL_uc/s1600-h/fellows+PD+1.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9c6Zd3NC7khKWTaZZy-sIXsLTvD9hq1j5MAUQxtN9ksZfLAHUER9way9ptGYngyvWIhuMpubthxARYr9DDb-d7RQtpImHRGPHUDN6xJcjoJYnm72V9s7IaEh6a1yUgVS19HBLdsCL_uc/s320/fellows+PD+1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5060059400297547250" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOL1pDMrv-BHuZ8w5GomArCYbSz1RMqXOaVdoXo6ed2wIVGrecAKyu_sm9pm5AbkyK-XilUpc08AvVTnozGsrQtzPmr4CsTM8-tDxvIrR-hIgUMzG0qTAnxoYSbDqADeb4CPy3R_8yG_4/s1600-h/Fellows+PD+2.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOL1pDMrv-BHuZ8w5GomArCYbSz1RMqXOaVdoXo6ed2wIVGrecAKyu_sm9pm5AbkyK-XilUpc08AvVTnozGsrQtzPmr4CsTM8-tDxvIrR-hIgUMzG0qTAnxoYSbDqADeb4CPy3R_8yG_4/s320/Fellows+PD+2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5060059602161010178" /></a>K Douglashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08235392634709911099noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-458661905114475349.post-46053757977283811112007-05-02T12:42:00.000-07:002008-06-11T17:42:00.835-07:00PUBLICITY: Dissertation Boot Camp 2007<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLBj9jUSqLBhvD1xpDC2jhOIGzwTgJWhEUwkap7ev2Rdlj88DKi8h23lSCsbKYgviwoJkHDuYSQWFumKTGAy7M_rRCCQkv0ADtIrr74SnKiN96X2rOrOEPGEnvrM4EJZsAWfa_GK8wU6I/s1600-h/boot+camp+2+copy.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLBj9jUSqLBhvD1xpDC2jhOIGzwTgJWhEUwkap7ev2Rdlj88DKi8h23lSCsbKYgviwoJkHDuYSQWFumKTGAy7M_rRCCQkv0ADtIrr74SnKiN96X2rOrOEPGEnvrM4EJZsAWfa_GK8wU6I/s320/boot+camp+2+copy.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5060052021543732706" /></a><br /><br />As the advisor for Academic Writing Programs at Yale Graduate School, I developed programs to serve the academic writing needs of Yale Masters and PhD candidates. I introduced a new program, "Dissertation Boot Camp," modelled on other similar programs but with more of a "retreat" flavor to it. The program, in modified form, will be repeated in coming years.<br /><br />Accompanying article from Yale Graduate School Newsletter, volume 9, no. 5, March 2007<br /><br />See more programs at <a href="http://www.yale.edu/mcdougal/writing">www.yale.edu/mcdougal/writing.</a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSZpt9p3gF7GXys5sujGiLdBxXH4q_r3dfQPqv_x0sYKKwcWStUCkX0YWdApSqTqnbK1XcXs3OEreE_NEvMdxWjjUhiBM1b0MHzYym_590C5MrnG7uePx7cISkfSN_hXlUIpcNGX77l-s/s1600-h/boot+camp+1.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSZpt9p3gF7GXys5sujGiLdBxXH4q_r3dfQPqv_x0sYKKwcWStUCkX0YWdApSqTqnbK1XcXs3OEreE_NEvMdxWjjUhiBM1b0MHzYym_590C5MrnG7uePx7cISkfSN_hXlUIpcNGX77l-s/s320/boot+camp+1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5060051364413736402" /></a>K Douglashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08235392634709911099noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-458661905114475349.post-34534288038046566002007-05-02T12:26:00.000-07:002008-06-11T17:43:39.385-07:00PUBLICITY: Palimpsest #5 Is Here!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5E0394Uvu7sE0i5N0CfInGeh6tg0gar4GXhI7x3p_xtYQB5GjvlQg06ZrW41EyfE2QLiFOiHMDsZNomT_98V5YI366jS1RfI5LlBIqPK1pWapRg57dqZ9weLIHYJW7RPvnolronsoFYI/s1600-h/Palimpsest+Article.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5E0394Uvu7sE0i5N0CfInGeh6tg0gar4GXhI7x3p_xtYQB5GjvlQg06ZrW41EyfE2QLiFOiHMDsZNomT_98V5YI366jS1RfI5LlBIqPK1pWapRg57dqZ9weLIHYJW7RPvnolronsoFYI/s320/Palimpsest+Article.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5060047365799183810" /></a><br /><br /><br />I served as advisor and essentially publisher/managing editor of <span style="font-style:italic;">Palimpsest: Yale Literary & Arts Magazine</span> for four years. <br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">For the fifth year in a row, the creative forces behind Palimpsest have pushed the boundaries of artistic experimentation and the form of the book, stitching together different sizes, weights, and tints of paper into a multi-media publication that includes a comics section; fiction and non-fiction; photography and other visual art; plus a DVD containing films, music, drama, and poetry.</span> -- Yale Graduate School Newsletter, Volume 9, Number 6, May/June 2007<br /><br />For more information see <a href="http://www.yale.edu/palimpsest">www.yale.edu/palimpsest.</a>K Douglashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08235392634709911099noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-458661905114475349.post-26803199069302405352007-05-02T10:48:00.000-07:002014-03-23T18:43:07.990-07:00NON-FICTION: Girls Pretending<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIG0yOpwqE9lduQGffpj-Fn5723KJksrVRrPz4REQ7a7gNEZ_L4eVKO8OIVgtAjopAfmX4UF7Fk3X93pMhrVI3qTDL8Vs5qWF-Nc-DrTdHkw5Mh8mA9n4wwISoUk2Pdz-8hb8y4FRxmAw/s1600-h/pal04_small.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIG0yOpwqE9lduQGffpj-Fn5723KJksrVRrPz4REQ7a7gNEZ_L4eVKO8OIVgtAjopAfmX4UF7Fk3X93pMhrVI3qTDL8Vs5qWF-Nc-DrTdHkw5Mh8mA9n4wwISoUk2Pdz-8hb8y4FRxmAw/s320/pal04_small.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5060022150046188978" /></a><br />Published in <span style="font-style:italic;">Palimpsest: Yale Literary & Arts Magazine,</span> v. 4, 2006<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Girls Pretending</span><br />When I was five years old, my friend Marybeth broke her collar bone. My mother baby-sat for her after our half-day kindergarten class, earning a little money, while her mother worked as a teacher. Marybeth had an incurable finger sucking habit, despite her mother and step-father's efforts to curb it with nasty tasting ointments painted onto her fingers and bribes. She also had the habit of twisting her hair around her fingers and pulling it out, a few strands at a time, leaving her with a bald spot.<br /><br />Marybeth and I were Romper Room fans, and the day she broke her collar bone, we may or may not have been eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with milk in front of the television. My younger siblings, Suzanne and Jimmy, three and two years old, may have been taking a nap. Michael may not have been born, my mother may have been pregnant with him. What I do remember is the drama, the screaming, the whisking away of Marybeth by her mother who mysteriously appeared, called home from work.<br /><br />The children on Romper Room that day, or some preceding day, or perhaps all week, were riding pretend cars around the studio--cardboard boxes with no tops or bottoms and brightly painted cars on the sides that they stepped into, picked up around their middles, then carted with them as they ran on their little lucky TV-star legs, much like the Flintstones.<br /><br />My mother may have cut the tops and bottoms out of two cardboard boxes. Marybeth and I may have yanked them off ourselves. We may not have painted cars on the sides. But we did step into them, pick them up around our middles, and race around the den. I have no idea how long we enjoyed this activity, but I do know that Marybeth decided to race her car along the armless sofa, and on her last trip, tipped over and crashed onto her shoulder on the floor. That's when the screaming began. I remember fear, guilt, and a sudden whisking aside, far from the attentions of my possibly pregnant mother.<br /><br />The next day, Marybeth re-appeared in a full upper body cast, with one hand sticking out of the front, making it extremely difficult for her to suck her pointer and middle fingers, or twist and pull out her hair. Of this I am sure.<br /><br />Not to be outdone, either before or after Marybeth broke her collarbone, but also during kindergarten, I smacked my head on the radiator at the bottom of the stairs at her house, necessitating a visit to the hospital and stitches that I can still feel being sewn into my scalp.<br /><br />As a later-in-life child with her siblings grown and gone, Marybeth had many attentions and things that I went without in a house of nine children. Her step-father was a pianist who gave her hours-long lessons on the baby grand in their den. She was an extremely talented pianist.<br /><br />Her family ate things like tongue, while at my house the exotica included frozen store-brand fish sticks and melted open-faced Velveeta on white bread with mustard. They had matzos that Marybeth and I ate slathered with real butter even though her family wasn't Jewish, and Marybeth got away with not eating all of her peas but still getting dessert. We would lie on the floor near the piano, listening to Peter And The Wolf and Swan Lake with our eyes closed so we could imagine the wolf as a French horn like Leonard Bernstein said, and pretend we were Odette, our spirits flying high above the lake with Siegfried.<br /><br />Their house was also filled with magazines and books--including her step-father's magazines with naked children in them that he showed us--a luxury that didn't exist at my house, as my father was firm in the belief that we should use our multi-million dollar library that his taxes paid for, rather than buy books or subscriptions. And I did use that multi-million dollar establishment, one I Can Be An ______ (Astronaut, Engineer, Artist) book at a time, nestled in the cardboard castle in the children's section, planning my life and earning my fiercely competed-for reading club stars. But still I marveled over the lavishly illustrated texts Marybeth owned, all shapes and sizes and scents lining the shelves in her very own room, including the oversized ones that made the most excellent sleds when placed on the carpeted stairs, tilted, mounted, and ridden down to bottom.<br /><br />Which is where my head met the radiator.<br /><br />But it wasn't all smashed heads and broken collarbones for us. When Marybeth moved and we were on to first grade in our separate schools, I visited her new house several towns away. While we were playing horseshoes, or a sorry game of two-person tag, or pretending we were settlers of the wild, wild West, her step-father, who was watering the garden, decided it would be good fun to drench our t-shirts. At the ripe age of six, I unwittingly entered my first and last wet t-shirt contest.<br /><br />Showering later in the enormous blue (or possibly green)-tiled master bedroom stall, Marybeth and I pretended we were fountain statues by posing and spitting water out of our mouths. She told me that her stepfather had raped her, but only because he had mistaken her for her mother. I pretended to know what she was saying.K Douglashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08235392634709911099noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-458661905114475349.post-72340839284291121862007-05-02T06:57:00.000-07:002014-03-23T18:42:56.966-07:00NON-FICTION: Meditation on Tupperware<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSWnan26Qlp70TgJH_2KabVfBXucnmYQkuqYdlGeeKDABA6HHKuNj65J6nefqB9mhVC5tUJCYNvOOSjIh9miUdvHhZDbJahY2PLR1OD4jTKBYiY26he21goXgI7fwruvCsujZIBT5sYIE/s1600-h/tupperwarepage.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSWnan26Qlp70TgJH_2KabVfBXucnmYQkuqYdlGeeKDABA6HHKuNj65J6nefqB9mhVC5tUJCYNvOOSjIh9miUdvHhZDbJahY2PLR1OD4jTKBYiY26he21goXgI7fwruvCsujZIBT5sYIE/s320/tupperwarepage.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5059964004778935698" /></a><br />Published in <span style="font-style:italic;">Palimpsest: Yale Literary and Arts Magazine,</span> v. 3, 2005<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><br /><br />Photo: Stephanie Kays<br /><br />Meditation on Tupperware</span><br /><br />I don’t know exactly when I lost touch with Tupperware, but it occurred to me today to ask, “Is Tupperware still going strong?”<br /><br />When I was a teenager, my mother tried to get me involved with Tupperware. The daughter of a friend of a friend of a friend of hers was selling the stuff, and apparently the product was wonderful and the money was good. And when you sold it, you got all sorts of freebies, including a hostess set, and I think that was what my mother was after. My mother wasn’t looking into this for herself. This was her ambition for me, her third daughter. And perhaps it was the daughter of a friend of a friend of a friend who had managed to buy her own car, to secure a proposal of marriage with a flashy diamond engagement ring and to dress professionally with an air of confidence to go along with her perfect body and hair cut that put the idea in my mother’s head that this might be a good thing for me too.<br /><br />There were several problems with this scenario. I wasn’t ready to give up jeans, T-shirts and work boots for one. I had no car. We didn’t have the kind of family, friends and neighbors who would buy the stuff. I was extremely uncomfortable in a room of strangers, particularly middle-class suburban housewives who burped their containers to get the air out before refrigerating, and in truth, beyond the adorable key chain with the teeny tiny Tupperware bowl and real, detachable, burpable Tupperware lid I received at the information/training session--which would have been an ideal accessory for my younger sister Suzanne’s Barbie Carousel Kitchen had we been say, seven or eight years younger--I couldn’t have cared less about Tupperware products.<br /><br />My friend Gina’s mother was heavily into Tupperware. Pat had a huge collection, not only of Tupperware bowls, rectangles and cylinders, but Tupperware closet organizing systems. Even though all Tupperware is stackable, there is only so much space even an enthusiast can dedicate to it. The Tupperware cabinets in her kitchen contained special racks on which to store the containers and lids. The lids, in addition to the trademark burpability seals, have a tab which is how you pull the lid back for burping (while gently pressing the center). The tabs are also notched so they can be hung on the organizer bars, and Pat’s were neatly ordered by size and color, biggest to smallest, like-colors together, cascading a surprise of crystalline order out of open cabinet doors, quite unlike the avalanche typically set off when opening my mother’s cabinets.<br /><br />Pat was a great cook too, and her Tupperware was daily filled with fresh Tupperware Salad Spinner-spun greens, homemade sauce, and pre-boiled and peeled eggs, handy for an anytime, healthy snack.<br /><br />The first time Gina and I got drunk, we filled a Tupperware container with a shot of this and a thumbsworth of that from her parent’s liquor cabinet, concocting something I suppose was like a Long Island Iced-Tea without the sweet part (we were ON Long Island, after all). We walked over to a nearby park and sipped from the Tupperware while swinging on swings, until we were suitably silly and the brew was gone. We tossed the container in some bushes and stumbled home, but a few days later, as Pat had noticed the missing container, Gina retrieved it, snuck it into the house and washed it out really well. We were quite relieved it was only the Tupperware she noticed missing.<br /><br />Gina’s family didn’t have a huge amount of money compared to mine, but my parents had a few more kids, higher taxes and we only owned a few random pieces of Tupperware purchased at tag sales and thrift stores or the occasional piece someone forgot to bring home after a party. I don’t think it was a class thing; it was more of a priorities situation. We lived in a better neighborhood and took family vacations every summer. They had a wine cellar, rose gardens and lots of Tupperware.<br /><br />I don’t know anyone who owns Tupperware anymore, at least not with the kind of vigor Pat brought to her enviable collection. My own kitchen has long been geared towards recycling and re-use (which, now that I think about it, is part of what Tupperware is all about), though I have discontinued the practice of washing and drying plastic bags. I have also for the first time recently invested in disposable leftover containers. I actually re-use these save for the occasional one-that-gets-away. When an overly ripe item I can not bear to deal with mano a mano presents itself, I dispose of the entire container and contents, as the SC Johnson Family of Brands surely intended.<br /><br />My mother did pass on to me several small, trademark burpable Tupperware containers from the harvest collection--muted reds and oranges--but they were not transparent and any delectable of roughly 2/3 c. or less that found its way inside would rarely see the light of day again before it was far too late. I’m afraid I’m an out-of-sight-out-of-mind leftover engineer.<br /><br />Am I sad that I don’t know any hard-core Tupperware users anymore? I think its less sadness than curiosity. I don’t know many Republicans anymore either, and that doesn’t bother me too much. But I am curious about them too.<br /><br />I guess I would just like to know if this subculture still exists. Are there women and men out there with the resources, time and inclination to practice the high art of kitchen and food organization like Gina’s Mom did? Are there parties to which I am not invited going on in living rooms all over southern Connecticut? Once or twice a month, I do like to really cook. Sometimes I will even make up batches of sauce or soup or other freezables, which is where my disposable containers come into play. I bake during holidays, and am not totally inept at home economics. But even though I am efficient when I get going, and part of my periodic procurement of household reserves includes laying in supplies of healthy snack choices for my son Drew, the choices stand amid what can only be described as domestic chaos on the verge of order.<br /><br />Part of my disassociation from this now totally foreign world has always been there, traceable to that information session I attended twenty-five years ago with my mother, who herself was turned off when she realized that the hostess sample kit one used on the party circuit was not actually free. It was cash up front on that display carrying case filled with the latest wares, a lot of cash as I recall, to be earned back over time with every faithless converted to the cause. I am grateful because this freed me up to seek employment elsewhere, to don the brown, yellow and orange polyester of the affable, speedy burger-board queen I was during my tenure at Burger King (Gina was a McDonald’s queen) and to eventually trade that uniform for the dining hall apron worn over T-shirts and jeans while chopping onions and celery as a “salad girl” on the way to a no-frills marriage and my first college degree.<br /><br />Another part of this disassociation stems from my inclusion in the single working Mom set, as well as still being, at heart, like my best friend Jan, another single Mom once from Long Island who passes children back and forth with the ex. Jan recently admitted being a “throw-my-clothes-on-the-floor-kind-of-a-gal.” And I think this aptly describes one of several essential qualities we share.<br /><br />During our weekly or daily or monthly (depends on the crisis level) long distance telephone conversations, Jan and I comfort each other regarding our mutual inabilities to consistently work full-time, manage household finances, cook, clean, rake leaves, spend quality time with our children, chauffeur and change oil while simultaneously doing home repairs. I might complain about exhaustion and the four baskets of laundry I have yet to fold, and she will cheer me up by saying, “What? The clothes are clean, aren’t they?” Last week she advised me re: the overwhelming nature of the Saturday chores before me to: “Put on some music, throw on a facial masque and sweep the floor.” Likewise, when Jan frets about her inability to apply plastic to all of her northern New York subzero winters windows because she has been working ten hour days and cooking for her twins, I console her with my sage advice to “Just do the one’s upstairs. Don’t bother with the blow-dryer part, the wrinkles will work themselves out.”<br /><br />I’m not sure if things would be that much different if I lived the leisure-class lifestyle with which I associate all things Tupperware and a concordant higher domestic order. In addition to being a “throw-my-clothes-on-the-floor-kind-of-a-gal,” I would have to say I’m also an “I’d-rather-be-reading” or “I’d-rather-be-in-the-hot-tub” or “I’d-rather-be-doing-anything-but-housework” kind-of-a-gal. Prolonged periods of domesticity, no matter how artful they may be, would inevitably lead me over the edge, and no doubt before long I’d be drinking in the middle of the day, schtooping the tennis coach and wearing work boots again.<br /><br />It might be a different story if I had the wherewithal to employ others to feng shui my home while I read or soaked in the hot tub, but perhaps, like the Bushmen and women in the Kalahari desert in the movie The Gods Must Be Crazy, who, when presented with a Tupperware party, rightly had no idea whether they were looking at strange drums or some lethal, animated creature-that-burps, I am just better off incuriously out of the loop. As for Republicans, my father--inexplicably breaking with a long line of Irish-Catholic Democrats dedicated to the welfare of the common woman and man--was one and I do miss him, a lot. So perhaps in an effort to extend the democratic ideal of free and open debate to kitchens across the land, it’s not a bad idea to invite a few Republicans to my next potluck dinner party. Who knows, they might even leave a piece of Tupperware behind.K Douglashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08235392634709911099noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-458661905114475349.post-22665691523855810172007-05-01T13:22:00.000-07:002008-07-27T14:33:04.426-07:00DESIGN: Yale Graduate Teaching Center<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSDAzfUlpl9_IE9t_xyGvIFqSo5NV0eTzVz_LpFBcqv9CX_5zgk9ECM0ZQ1jZ_2eQGV9azJ-lPrbWpzcC8GnY_B6_ijZfFpLW0JkAW1fHopB5kdPkK9zf2ClYfYgIwGY2929Rf__6C5Jo/s1600-h/GTC+Apple.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSDAzfUlpl9_IE9t_xyGvIFqSo5NV0eTzVz_LpFBcqv9CX_5zgk9ECM0ZQ1jZ_2eQGV9azJ-lPrbWpzcC8GnY_B6_ijZfFpLW0JkAW1fHopB5kdPkK9zf2ClYfYgIwGY2929Rf__6C5Jo/s320/GTC+Apple.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5059690350937671042" /></a><br /><br />Graduate Teaching Center <br />Fall ProgramsK Douglashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08235392634709911099noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-458661905114475349.post-56298489026040109262007-04-30T07:25:00.000-07:002008-07-27T14:33:04.426-07:00DESIGN: Publishing Day Poster<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinFdNiChO07cAOaITSRPOaTMWstRs9qmAHyMFEaa-UJKa7WgCIPjajmtjAmsB_VKMBYxK36hyqIyINmMxGnbK-54nbOoWs6O2BF4MF-fUcolbNmVHfWuApJ4ZRn5FpdpEo5HdS3O7sSuY/s1600-h/publishingday.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinFdNiChO07cAOaITSRPOaTMWstRs9qmAHyMFEaa-UJKa7WgCIPjajmtjAmsB_VKMBYxK36hyqIyINmMxGnbK-54nbOoWs6O2BF4MF-fUcolbNmVHfWuApJ4ZRn5FpdpEo5HdS3O7sSuY/s320/publishingday.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5059227362053096818" /></a><br /><br /><br />Academic Writing Programs<br />Publishing Day Poster<br />Yale Grad SchoolK Douglashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08235392634709911099noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-458661905114475349.post-78225278725158512382007-04-30T07:06:00.000-07:002008-07-27T14:33:04.427-07:00DESIGN: Family Life Brochure<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj1fGLWCpSueD-cJ4-sslHX5oQB2u-itAurOAUvKkf56KyCnchyphenhyphenb5W-BDSC78AvezXEKdPeqpAta85K10d12nzz-c33uPm2v11nEyHCnmUHmJRxRYyKxftWI9XnsohfHiNmn25u32PpN4/s1600-h/familybrochure.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj1fGLWCpSueD-cJ4-sslHX5oQB2u-itAurOAUvKkf56KyCnchyphenhyphenb5W-BDSC78AvezXEKdPeqpAta85K10d12nzz-c33uPm2v11nEyHCnmUHmJRxRYyKxftWI9XnsohfHiNmn25u32PpN4/s320/familybrochure.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5059222508740052322" /></a><br /><br /><br />McDougal Student Life Yale Grad School<br />Family Life BrochureK Douglashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08235392634709911099noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-458661905114475349.post-29620876479494508232007-04-30T07:03:00.000-07:002008-07-27T14:33:04.427-07:00DESIGN: Orientation Brochure<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEharFOsqouAe-nkydAQSobfRwfi1J8LUvGVvJXBN0PUJygSpm6LI2X2AOMP8XfG3CF0rTfQbaJdTF_iMzlzGQR0R3-y27RpbEr40b9Yk94x-kskAb7Ftqb3H4MFX4LnagxGjKi_BLOZf9g/s1600-h/Orient.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEharFOsqouAe-nkydAQSobfRwfi1J8LUvGVvJXBN0PUJygSpm6LI2X2AOMP8XfG3CF0rTfQbaJdTF_iMzlzGQR0R3-y27RpbEr40b9Yk94x-kskAb7Ftqb3H4MFX4LnagxGjKi_BLOZf9g/s320/Orient.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5059221787185546578" /></a><br /><br />For Yale Graduate School of Arts & Sciences<br />Orientation ScheduleK Douglashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08235392634709911099noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-458661905114475349.post-73826362843877731392007-04-30T06:54:00.000-07:002008-07-27T14:33:04.427-07:00DESIGN: Museum Career Panel Poster<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYA35graJwZLpMR6LTo3tqqI2UCL-cDVeeHLq0JvN6ZQrnlD5BmqfMZvsg73oo8Yop4FqR3wcDOOWQdcuhYCxH6DfqbU-xMoDhFhldXFBaBTHeRY56AluCBNfs5lj8BRALmYrCmLJalF8/s1600-h/museum+career+FINAL.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYA35graJwZLpMR6LTo3tqqI2UCL-cDVeeHLq0JvN6ZQrnlD5BmqfMZvsg73oo8Yop4FqR3wcDOOWQdcuhYCxH6DfqbU-xMoDhFhldXFBaBTHeRY56AluCBNfs5lj8BRALmYrCmLJalF8/s320/museum+career+FINAL.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5059219399183729986" /></a><br /><br /><br />Museum Careers for PhDs<br />Yale Graduate Career ServicesK Douglashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08235392634709911099noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-458661905114475349.post-84217685688386385242007-04-30T06:44:00.000-07:002008-07-27T14:33:04.427-07:00DESIGN: Peer Review Poster<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAr8E_VWNmHqFHch0lhli_9DDVQBg1NidX45FHnj2n0aSLBxiEVgqMxsX8Vb7uvn0jwr8jB3kdEmiuIKhrdyhXc1FIN_mb3oN9FBW0xOBX5n8MPBicgTsgkP4IBHPzjLZtwvevokWy10s/s1600-h/peerreviewsample.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAr8E_VWNmHqFHch0lhli_9DDVQBg1NidX45FHnj2n0aSLBxiEVgqMxsX8Vb7uvn0jwr8jB3kdEmiuIKhrdyhXc1FIN_mb3oN9FBW0xOBX5n8MPBicgTsgkP4IBHPzjLZtwvevokWy10s/s320/peerreviewsample.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5059216955347338546" /></a><br /><br />For Academic Writing Programs<br />Yale Graduate SchoolK Douglashttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08235392634709911099noreply@blogger.com0