Cherish the moments

There I was, minding my own business, undergoing an interesting outpatient procedure at a local hospital, when Eleanor Roosevelt sent me a message.

OK, so it wasn’t exactly Eleanor Roosevelt. It was more like a former student in the hospital’s internship program who left this message on a chalkboard that faced my patient station. She decorated that chalkboard more than three years ago, and the staff has left it intact because the words are timeless and oh so inspiring.

"I could not, at any age, be content to take place by the fireside and simply look on. Life was meant to be lived. Curiosity must be kept alive. One must never, for whatever reason, turn his back on life." - Eleanor Roosevelt.

Usually, I interpret this kind of message, randomly delivered, to be personally directed at me, of course. Rather, I personalize it, internalize it, and take it to heart. We don’t know everything, so when a message touches us, we should embrace it and apply it, because such things surely can’t be accidental.

I’m pretty sure in this case I am right. For this message spoke to me at a time when I was thinking about a very cool uncle of mine.

Uncle Frank is my father’s youngest brother. In our family, the DNA runs strong and deep, so you can see the family resemblance quite strikingly when you look at my Dad and Uncle Frank. It goes beyond that, too. Both of them worked at Sikorsky Aircraft here in Connecticut, one of the state’s major employers and the manufacturer of the well known Black Hawk helicopter.

Proud union members, they. Strong minded in their beliefs. Dedicated to their jobs because dedication to the job meant dedication to the families they were providing for. I think that was inherent in their generation, because work ethic these days for many people has a different definition.

Until last August, Uncle Frank held the title of being the longest serving employee at Sikorsky - just shy of 56 full years. He started working there directly after he concluded his military service as an Airman Third Class in the U.S. Air Force, and there is not a time I can remember seeing Uncle Frank over the years when he did not smile when he spoke about his job at Sikorsky.

“I got it made,” I think was the most common remark. He had his spot in the sheetmetal fabrication department. If I was lucky, I would catch him there on a rare occasion since I started working at the company several years ago. Without fail, he would break into an instant smile when he saw me coming.

For reasons that are his to hold, Uncle Frank decided it was time to call it a career. I say, good for him. His retirement is well deserved, and I hope it means he will have plenty of time now to drink in the love and attention of his family and good friends.

Over the years, Uncle Frank would be the rare uncle at a family gathering who would be taking video or photographs to capture the occasion and the family members that were there to share it. I remember him telling me that he kept a scrapbook of any newspaper articles about relatives, keeping track of the success story that accumulated over the years to continue telling the family story.

How can you not love a guy who is sentimental and proud of his family?

There are so many ways to describe Uncle Frank, from his affection for his German shepherds through the years (each one, according to him, being the “best dog in the world”) to his contagious laugh and an overly generous heart. He has always been exceedingly proud of his children, encouraging them and doing whatever he could to make their lives comfortable. I don’t know for sure but I would bet it was Uncle Frank who ignited the love of music that they each have and cultivate daily.

So many gifts from one man. Uncle Frank has not turned his back on life. He is taking each day as a gift. Life is meant to be lived, right?

The other day, when I returned to my patient station for my last therapy session, I again faced the Eleanor Roosevelt quote and settled in. As it does each morning, the pastoral care department then issued its daily inspirational message over the intercom system. The message angels were two for two, offering words that I believe in and know to my core.

Spend time with your loved ones; they’re not going to be around forever... Say I love you to your spouse and your loved ones... Hold hands... Cherish the moment.


Copyright 2011 By Marianne V. Heffernan

Update and a precursor to an upcoming special post

I have a lot on my mind lately and promised a blog this weekend to share something inspirational, but be patient, as that post requires more time than I can spare this evening and I thought I should keep you posted on my Journey to Dissertation while my latest efforts are fresh.

I’m happy to say I’m making progress but it may not sound like it to you. Sure, you would expect that by “progress” I mean I have written scores of pages of my insightful research project, but you would be mistaken, forgive me for saying.


No, I have been re-skimming an important book in my literature references as I prepare the introductory chapters that will explain why my topic, Literary Grief: The Changing Communication Technologies in Grief Memoir, is a subject that has fascinated, intrigued and poked at humankind at least since the Middle Ages.

Well, that is as far back as I am willing to go, so let’s just leave it at that.

The 614-word book I have been scanning to refresh my memory and highlight the important points is Philippe Aries, The Hour of Our Death (New York: Barnes & Noble, 1981.) Historian Aries spent almost 20 years studying his topic (so I suppose I am ahead of the game, as my Journey to Dissertation so far has only taken about 5.5 years): the changes in Western attitudes toward death and dying from the earliest Christian times to the current day (OK, so until about 1981 when the book was first published).

In any case, it is considered a landmark study that demonstrates a pattern of gradually developing evolutionary stages in our perception of life in relation to death. Each stage suggests a redefining of human nature.

I’ll leave it there for now. I am using Aries to help me set the stage for my exploration of how authors of books, documentaries, and even Internet blogs and web sites are publicly offering memoirs and memoir-like writings and whether these three distinct forms of writing all constitute memoir. I am a writer, after all. I am fascinated by compelling writing, and to me, telling the stories of people we love whom we have lost is possibly one of the most important works of writing anyone can produce.

I plan to do some of this myself, of course; another reason I need to understand this unique genre; another reason I want to share in a meaningful way the stories of my loved ones. I am doing some of it here, so you, too, perhaps find it helpful or perhaps even comforting in some way. I hope so.

I have three days before this book and two others that I borrowed via the state of Connecticut’s InterLibrary Loan system (which I highly recommend; you can find most anything you need with this valuable tool and it has saved me virtually hundreds of dollars in buying books that I may not need to keep forever -- contrary to the hundreds of books I already own which I will never give up).

This week, along with ripping through a few books (This is what PhD candidates do, by the way. We read. We “rip” through books, we skim, we glance, we speed-read. There are only so many hours in the day, you know.) to refresh my memory on the key points that are helping me to flesh out my Introduction and first chapter parts, I also did something that I require to be successful in this journey. If you are a list-maker like I am, you will appreciate this.

Of course, on the same piece of paper, I also drafted a list of Christmas gift ideas for my loved ones, a list far too long for my current budget, but nonetheless, a list to get my shopping mojo fired up). I can't just focus on one task, you know. Writers are all over the map. It is best you learn this now.

I drafted a “schedule” for the next month. Yes, a day-by-day estimate of the hours I will spend working on this massive writing project. Some days, maybe three hours is all I will achieve. Other days will be marathons including late nights. I can tell you this: I have a long stretch of “off” time coming up, unused vacation and personal days coupled with a lovely weeklong holiday vacation from work that my company generously provides (thank you, Teamsters Local 1150, for my father, a proud longtime former employee of my company, tells me that is why we have the holiday week off), and I intend to spend nearly every one of those days devoting a stretch of time to this project.

Mind you, it is an aggressive schedule and I am not foolish enough to believe I will hold to it scrupulously every day. My intentions are good and strong, and I know I can do it if I choose. The thing is, I also value time with my friends and family, and I know that I will give myself a pass to indulge in some visiting and relaxation because it is too important, too precious, not to.

This brings me to one of the next blog posts I need to share. It is weighing on me something fierce, and it is too important to keep to myself. A special family member is ill and I want to speak about this awesome man in the present, so I hope you’ll stop back to meet my dear Uncle Frank. I want to share him, because I know you’re gonna love him. Perhaps I will find the words tomorrow. Please stop back.

Copyright 2011 By Marianne V. Heffernan

A little organizing, a lot of thinking

It’s been a week since my official signal to get going on the dissertation writing, and I have made small progress.

Small progress is OK. Got that?

I have a feeling this journey will have its fits and starts. Periods of marathon writing and editing, coupled with dry spells of thinking and figuring.

For me, that has always been the way writing has worked. Time away from the computer is not exactly time away from “writing.” It is time for the words to do their musical chairs impression, floating around while the music plays and scrambling for a seat when it abruptly stops.

I need the word juggling to take place. It’s the only way I can get to the right ones.

So for now, just an update so you know I am serious. I’ve done a bit more reading -- a stack of borrowed books on loan from various libraries is taking up major space on my dining room table, reminding me that the literature review does not end just because I am beginning to write.

I’ve started mapping out the Table of Contents in an order that will be helpful in getting me to take up the chapters in a logical fashion.

Maybe I needed this first week of “stretching” so that I can be ready for the marathon ahead. I do realize it is a marathon. Which means I have to pace myself and stick with it.

Just don’t remind me how much I hate running.

Better to remind me how good I will feel when I cross the finish line.

Copyright 2011 By Marianne V. Heffernan

They said, “Go ahead.”

When we last left our fearless PhD candidate, she was getting into her Jeep Liberty for the three-hour drive to Newport, Rhode Island, to deliver a formal presentation on her dissertation proposal.

It was 10 a.m. Armed with a chocolate protein bar, two bottles of spring water, and her trusty MacBook Pro, she promptly missed an exit while fumbling with prepared note cards, and continued rehearsing her presentation three times along the way.

Destination: McKillop Library on the Salve Regina University campus. The only "good" sign in this part of the process. Our heroine loves libraries, loves being surrounded by books. The one location that would surely offer comfort in calming her jitters would be knowing that she is in an environment that has always been a favorite place.

All this prepping for a roughly one-hour meeting with The Committee that would rule “yay” or “no” whether she is ready to render her accumulated knowledge and data (to date) into a written research report.

Would she right her vehicle to the correct highway route after veering off path?

Would one protein bar be enough to sustain her until late afternoon?

Would O.P.T. (Original Professor Three) stroll in and throw rotten tomatoes at the screen?

Ah, the drama of a doctoral candidate’s journey to dissertation. It is fraught with tense moments, highs and lows, every conceivable cliche that might conjure up horrifying images.

Is it really that bad?

In a word: Yes. I’m sure it’s supposed to be. Seeking a graduate degree is a challenge, no doubt. It demands that a student be dedicated, willing to sacrifice hobbies, family time, fun pursuits, sleep. I have not researched the number of people that are pursuing doctoral degrees in this country (give me a break, I’m already researching something here!) but I guarantee you it is not an overwhelmingly gigantic number.

Not everyone does this or wants to. Those of us who do usually have to go all in, or surrender much earlier in the process than dissertation phase. That’s because dissertation phase is the last big hurdle to clear before one becomes a doctor of philosophy.

As many of you know, I have come close to crumbling. It is not an easy process. On Friday, I successfully presented my topic and can begin writing. I gave myself one day to enjoy that little victory -- but only because yesterday was my birthday. I took the whole day to relax with my husband, take in a high school football game and enjoy the company of good friends and family.

I needed that, so I acknowledged that need and indulged it. Today I took time to give thanks for the blessings of the week and for those to come. Then I sat down to sift through my notes and Committee comments, and to begin organizing the first few pages of my dissertation.

Am I ready to write this thing?

As one of my coolest friends would say, “Hell to the Yeah!”

Copyright 2011 By Marianne V. Heffernan

Ready or not, here I come

I know I shouldn’t be spending these minutes blogging, but as I am about to get on the road to drive to Newport, Rhode Island, this morning, I am compelled to capture my thoughts now. Reflecting on them later will somehow make this part of my Dissertation Journey inauthentic.

So here it is: I am five hours from the start of my formal presentation on my proposed topic, and I am nervous. No matter how prepared I am, I think I would still be nervous because this is an important meeting. I have so much to say, but I need to stay focused. I have done so much work already, but I need to hit the highlights.

I am surprised at the thoughts that are popping into my head this morning. Mind you, I have been up since before 5 a.m., my brain reminding me that I had more “reviewing” to do of my presentation slides, and more rehearsing to get my speech down.

What thoughts are bombarding me?

Will I be able to articulate this topic without wandering down tangential paths?

Will my knees be shaking as I stand there?

Perhaps the oddest question of all: Will the original Professor Three make an appearance to poke holes in my idea and challenge my sources?

You may recall that I had a difficult experience with this professor, who is a well regarded grief expert and someone I had sought out to support me in this research effort, but ultimately became a Committee member that did not fit within my intended path of exploration or ambitious schedule. I found a new reader, replaced this one with courtesy and appreciation, but never received a reply from her when I officially notified her I was making the change.

I was disappointed at that, but tried not to take it personally. She is a busy professor, lecturer and author, and I don’t know what she might have said to me other than perhaps, “I understand,” or “Good luck.”

Still, for some reason she came to mind this morning as I stumbled through my slides to practice my delivery.

What if she, or other Committee members, or even random audience members, ask questions that I cannot answer?

I can’t go there. I’ll stop right here, thank you very much. Here is what I need to do. Take a deep breath. Gather up my laptop, my note cards, my bag. Get into my car and head to Rhode Island. I have about three hours on the road to rehearse and gain confidence. As a wonderful colleague and friend has reminded me over and over these last few years, this is MY topic. This is my project. No one is a better expert than I.

I can do this, and I will do this. Let’s get this show on the road.

Copyright 2011 By Marianne V. Heffernan

Making the pitch

It’s kind of a big week for me. I am in the “Countdown to Proposal Presentation.”

For a PhD candidate, this is a key milestone, and I am happy to say I am finally on the brink of achieving it. After submitting a full draft proposal on my research topic, Literary Grief: The Changing Communication Technologies of Grief Memoir, I faced yet another arduous task that must be tackled to get past this critical stage: The task of corralling my three-member Committee for a scheduled appointment to hear my pitch.

This is not as easy as you might think. Does the term “herding cats” mean anything to you?

First of all, the Graduate program requires that you have a three-week lead time for scheduling this presentation. That window of time presented a challenge for me since the Fall semester ends in early December, and there is a cutoff prior to that which precludes these presentations from being scheduled until the next semester.

Then there was the “herding cats” aspect: Finding a time and date when all three Committee members would be available to attend my briefing. Since these are full-time professors with classes to teach, other PhD candidates to support, lecture responsibilities and a host of other obligations, this was a fun game of back-and-forth to shake out a common time slot that would work for everyone. As the presenting student, you have no say, by the way. When your Committee says THIS is the day and date I can do this, you must throw your entire schedule out the window and plan to be there.

For me, this meant giving up my plans to indulge in a spa treatment or two to relax, de-stress, and treat myself to an early birthday present for a change. Heck, I’ve been working hard. Life has been pretty intense of late. I deserve it. More than that, I need it. But hey, I can reschedule. If the Committee says “Be there,” I’m there.

So here I am, prepping for my moment at the front of the room. This is when I tell my team what question I am exploring, how I will explore it and what it potentially will contribute to the Humanities when I have finished. I do not enjoy public speaking, usually, so it will test my nerves and tax my knowledge on the topic – much of which has been collected in fits and starts over the past two years.

When I have finished presenting, I will likely be peppered with questions from the Committee, and potentially from any other guests who wander in to check out what I am attempting to do. I hope to have the right answers or at least an intelligent way to suggest that I will find those answers as I proceed to writing my dissertation.

At this point, the only thing that matters is that I clearly articulate my road map for scholarly exploration and ultimate success. Friday at 2 p.m., it’s Go Time.

Copyright 2011 by Marianne V. Heffernan

Off-the-grid lessons learned

It has been nine days. We have tossed perishables that became suspect by Day 3. We have not seen a single rerun of The Sopranos. And my 8-week dedication to a morning workout routine has been one of the most painful hits so far. Just when I was getting results, I was forced to surrender to a silenced BluRay player. No power, no Tony Horton.

The freak Nor’easter of October 29, 2011, that left hundreds of thousands of Connecticut residents without electricity has yet to be officially a “memory,” because for my husband, our dog, and me, life is still a camping adventure.

We keep our flashlights handy, and our coolers packed with snow and ice as we desperately try to preserve what perishables we have left. Our wood stove is burning from morning ‘til bedtime.

The routine tasks we have been living without include Internet access, television, hot showers, flushing toilets, and the ability to charge our cell phones or run the washing machine. But these are all things we can deal with. There is really nothing that you “need” in the way of modern conveniences that you cannot find a way to accommodate or do without, at least for a while. That’s what a storm can teach you. You adjust.

Yet, when the local hardware store called us on Day 5 to say they had gotten a shipment of generators, we broke the bank and snapped it up. It had been on our Wish List anyway, but I would have preferred to have a cushion in our checking account before draining it for this. We’ll be living on even more of a shoestring for a couple of weeks before the next paycheck, but it beats melting snow on the wood stove to fill buckets for flushing toilets.

It has been an interesting experience in recognizing how I spend my time. The effects of this early snowstorm have given me the opportunity to evaluate many things. For example, for years I have subscribed to the Writer’s Digest and Poets & Writers magazines. They consume a large portion of magazine holders in my home office. Today, I sat down and read a couple of issues, cover to cover, with a mindfulness that was ultimately inspiring.

Except for the constant hum of generators and chain saws in the neighborhood, I feel good in the silence. I have been able to read with focus -- something that a doctoral student (or any student) values. Since I am preparing this week to formally present my dissertation topic to my Committee, the silence is a blessing. I need to be ready to clearly articulate how literary grief has evolved, and I will need full focus to feel confident that I will sail through this next major hurdle on my Journey to Dissertation.

In all the challenge put forth by this latest storm’s wrath, there are some things I can acknowledge:

Most people are good. While many people were without electricity this week, I found those that “had” were thoughtful of those that were without. Neighbors who had generators offered the chance for a hot shower. Coworkers who had their power restored offered a loan of their generator. People who were unaffected by the outage brought hot food to those who couldn’t cook in their own homes - especially elderly who might be inclined to eat a less nutritious meal, for lack of a way to prepare it.

The elderly are resilient. My parents, in their early 80s, were an amazing example of strength in the face of crisis. Sure, they did their share of complaining about the inconveniences of being without electricity, but they are awesome survivors. They toughed it out in their own home, which, thankfully, has always had a cranking woodburning stove.

They pulled out an old tape cassette recorder and listened to a 1980s radio broadcast of a local high school basketball game, reliving that time when my youngest brother was a three-sport standout. They warmed up leftovers on the flat top of their woodburning stove. Like my husband and me and my visiting in-laws, they spent evenings after dinner chatting and reminiscing, and they went to bed early and prayed to have power restored the next day.

It felt like a kind of connecting was taking place. With so many distractions created by the technologies we cherish, we may take for granted the presence of real people in our lives. The storm gave me a chance to think about this in a new way. It also enlightened me to the idea that for many people, the outages delivered the opportunity to see what we are made of. How much can we take? The threshold is different for each of us. What are we willing to do to survive and what do we absolutely hate to be without?

The point really hit me the other evening at a family gathering when a loved one suggested that he was perfectly content to deal with the power outage but for one inconvenience that he had missed all week. “No Facebook!” Then he jokingly went off to chat up other guests, telling me that he “sees me on Facebook all the time.”

It was a striking thought: He had become so accustomed to socializing on the web, he preferred that to an in-person opportunity.

I understood that he was saying that he wanted to visit with people who are not connected to him electronically, but I couldn’t help feeling less friended than if I had posted a note to his Wall or tagged him in a photo.

Have we really come to this?

It made me think about all the disconnectedness in my life. While I employ social networking sites regularly, I don’t feel they keep me “close” to those I really wish to be close to. Email, for me, has become more of a chore -- just another thing to “clean out” regularly, with sporadic moments of genuine exchange.

Text messages and Facebook posts ensure that you always have your say, because even though the communication goes both ways, you don’t have to acknowledge the return posts and texts. For me, that just doesn’t cut it. I won’t be abandoning the social media lifestyle, but it will be easier to keep it in perspective.

For me, this week on the old frontier has reinforced one thing: The connections to those I love are not maintained by Internet networking. They are maintained by direct contact and genuine acts of caring.

Copyright 2011 By Marianne V. Heffernan