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Tag Archives: family

on being ordinary

15 Saturday Aug 2015

Posted by Anna Clutterbuck-Cook in life writing

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family, work-life balance

I’ve been thinking this summer how grateful I am that our parents understood, and communicated to us, that we were ordinary. Unique, yes, but unique in an unexceptional way — because all human beings are unique in, well, their own unique way.

So being unique was unremarkable.

Being a special snowflake, in other words, is only “special” if there aren’t a bajillion other one-of-a-kind snowflakes on the ground alongside you. We grew up with parents confident we were … as awesome as the next person. No more, no less.

birthday138b

As a child, I probably chaffed against this. I was a seeker of adult attention. I was pleased by the fact my height often meant people overestimated my age — by my teens, in the right contexts, I was regularly mistaken for a college student and occasionally a parent rather than a babysitter. I chaffed against the limitations of youth, and to the extent that serious adult attention encouraged me to think of myself as an old soul I’m sure I chaffed against reminders that I was, indeed, pretty much the same as most other six, nine, twelve, fifteen year olds.

I started college, haphazardly, at age seventeen, although at the time I thought I would either do that or possibly pursue a career in bookselling or seek an apprenticeship in wilderness adventure tourism. I wasn’t particularly wedded to the idea of college — and, indeed, remained quasi-allergic to institutional education throughout the decade-plus span of my higher education career. But I started college, nonetheless, and by the second semester was holding my own in upper-level humanities courses with students of twenty, twenty-one. Spring of my first year I won a writing prize for an essay on erotic God language and basked in the praise of faculty impressed by my facility with words and intellectual curiosity. Throughout my college career, faculty pretty much let me run with ideas, nudging me toward graduate school, prizes, publications.

I did school well, in other words, despite my ambivalence, and got major cookies for doing so. For being an exceptional student. While I often resented and sometimes even felt nauseated by the attention, I would be lying if I said I didn’t also bask in the assurance of being able to excel by the standards of the system in which I had wandered into and chosen to remain.

Eventually, though, my gloss wore off. I was aware of it at the time: that the same independent (undeniably privileged) educational path — the one where I took more or less what I pleased and occasionally something that filled in the gaps for a degree — which has led me into college ahead of my peers also led me to graduate several years after. I went from being the youngest student in upper-level humanities courses to the oldest student (bar the rare “nontraditional” middle-aged enrollee) in a sea of first-years struggling through those skipped core requirements.

I’d gone from being read as exceptionally ahead to being worryingly behind, in terms of our cultural expectations. I was malingering in college, failing to graduate on schedule, with no clear career plan. I was not a good neoliberal student.

Even at the time I was aware that the social perception of my abilities was shifting underfoot, and felt some measure of relief. The exceptional person draws notice, expectations accrue, praise — high marks, encouragement — become ways in which admirers invest in certain outcomes. They paint a picture of you as a person which is a fantastical ideal, not a flesh and blood human, and they start speaking and acting as if you are entitled to certain things because of what they believe in you. They become invested in others seeing you through similarly rose-tinted glasses.

Again: Of course this feels good in some ways. How can it not. You really think I have a shot at …? You nominated me for …?! You think I should go for it? This socialized belief that you are exceptional also has material benefits. People who believe you are exceptional reward you with good grades, a job, a higher salary. It’s a privilege to have the story told of your life be one of success, because stories of success invite further success: doors open, invitations arrive, serendipity occurs, a cushion of self-confidence develops.

These stories may also, in part, be true — an approximation of the truth. They are true in certain details without being true in the cumulative result: I am skilled in some areas, not in others. I have strengths (as we all do) and weaknesses (as we all do). I have insightful days and days where my brain and social skills are sluggish. Parts of my body work better than others, on some days more so than on other days.

In other words, I am like every other human being.

I’ve been thinking this summer about how helpful it is to be able to return to this truth over and over again in the hyper-competitiveness of American mainstream culture — particularly around questions of work and economic success. It’s also helpful to return to in the context of adulthood in a youth-obsessed culture. As a thirty-four year old, I may or may not be part of Millennial generation but apart from definitions certainly feel less a part of that cohort than its marginal second cousin. I am not an “emerging” or “young” adult or professional at this point. I’m one of those people over thirty the young folk should always give the skeptical side-eye — and I’m actually really, really okay with that.

Why? Because I think there’s danger in thinking you’re hot shit. In thinking you’re exceptional. In thinking you deserve, that you’ve earned, the life that you’ve pieced together for yourself. We’re all in this together, and when we start imagining somehow we’re destined for greatness — or not worthy of being part of the human family — when we start worrying that we’ve missed the opportunity for some Jean Brodie act of greatness — or believing (as those who love us may be tempted to tell us) that we deserve the good things that come our way — then we will forget to pay attention to the uniqueness of those whom the world is unwilling or uninterested in treating that way, and recognizing that we walk as human beings on the earth, together.

So I’m glad to be ordinary. It’s a good kind of life.

an eclectic list of delightful things [summer 2015]

27 Monday Jul 2015

Posted by Anna Clutterbuck-Cook in linkspam

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boston, cat blogging, family, links list, photos

IMG_20150724_184838It’s a busy summer around these parts, and while I have a lot of blog-worthy thoughts in my head I haven’t felt much like blogging. Go figure. In the meantime, I thought you might like a rather eclectic list of things which I am enjoying this summer.

1. Today’s defeat of the bid for Boston to host the 2024 Olympic games.

2. Gardening at our community garden. We have two babby pumpkins growing bigger by the day!

3. My #365feministselfie project (now on day 120).

4. Welcome to Night Vale.

5. A great deal of the Hawaii 5-0 #fanfic on AO3.

6. The Plaid Jacket latte at Voltage Cafe.

7. This list of needed words.

8. The fact that Seanan McGuire is coming out with a second Indexing novel (!!!).

9. The Farmer’s Lunch sandwich at City Feed & Supply.

10. Reading books and reviewing them.

11. Magenta. As a color one can wear.

12. @HorribleSanity‘s Twitter feed.

13. Looking forward to the release of Carol in December.

14. Having borrowing privileges at the Harvard libraries again.

15. English muffins.

16. Walking Boston.

17. Being married in all fifty states.

18. Being protected from workplace discrimination by existing law.

19. Our cats being ridiculous.

20. @EarlGrayTea’s epic Inception AU.

21. My #RelentlesslyGay umbrella.

 

from bookstore to library

17 Friday Jul 2015

Posted by Anna Clutterbuck-Cook in a sense of place

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family, hope college

hbg-old

Hope-Geneva Bookstore, 1971.

My father, Mark, is retiring today — on his 64th birthday — from his position as Director of the Hope-Geneva Bookstore at Hope College (Holland, Mich.), my alma mater and extended living room. He’s held the position since 1973.

I have a complicated relationship with Hope College — like most people have with their extended families. Most of my earliest childhood memories implicate places and people whom we knew, in part, through Hope College connections. And the Hope-Geneva Bookstore was the site of my earliest work experiences. It was through work as a bookseller that I eventually found my way into librarianship.

It was also my father’s work that gave me access to, and appreciation of, all the resources available at institutions of higher education. I was incredibly privileged to leave seven years of undergraduate studies only $5,000 in debt, having availed myself of the faculty, award-winning library, and cultural resources the college had to offer.

In other words, in many ways, I am the librarian I am today because of the bookseller my father has been for the past forty years.

(As an aside: I was pleased to see, a couple of weeks ago, that they’ve publicly announced that the institution will recognize the same-sex spouses of faculty and staff for the purposes of all college benefits. Hanna and I still couldn’t get married in the college chapel but hey, baby steps are better than standing in place or running backwards.)

Another thing my father’s long career at Hope College has taught me is that it is possible to remain in the same job for decades while constantly reinventing your work in ways that keep your mind sharp, your energy relatively positive, and your labors worthwhile. Being able to “grow in place” is just as valuable a skill, I would argue, as knowing when or if it is time to move on. (Assuming, in both cases, you have a say in the matter.)

Dad’s doing a bit of both the next couple of years, shifting to a new part-time project position for the college — I hear he’s super excited about his new office with a balcony on which to drink his morning coffee! — and then transitioning to freelance work as a mapmaker, in addition to books and bicycles another of his enduring romances.

There’s no larger point to this post — I just wanted to take note of the day and share how much my father’s career really has (and will continue to) inspire my own. … Including the eternal quest for an office with windows and a sun-warmed balcony on which to drink that morning coffee!

26.06.2015

26 Friday Jun 2015

Posted by Anna Clutterbuck-Cook in our family

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family, history, marriage equality, married life, politics, sexuality

wedding_hands#LoveWins

 

a year later, on minden st.

03 Sunday May 2015

Posted by Anna Clutterbuck-Cook in a sense of place

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boston, family

A year ago, yesterday, Hanna and I picked up the keys to our new apartment. A year ago today, we started packing in preparation for this:

And this:

There’s been a lot of stress for our household over the past year, but I can honestly say that our new home and new neighborhood has, rarely, been the source of it. Our landlord is responsible and responsive — something we particularly appreciate in the midst of crisis! — and the space suits all of us, cats included, miles better than the apartment we’d outgrown in Allston. Given Boston’s real estate market, we know we are genuinely privileged to be able to afford a comfortable apartment within walking distance to work in a neighborhood that’s a good fit for our lives.

As we head into year two of life in Jamaica Plain, we’re digging into our plot at the neighborhood community garden, showing off our favorite neighborhood haunts to out-of-town friends, and working out ways to be (hopefully!) good neighbors. The tensions of gentrification hang over JP as they do all of Boston. In multiple ways, Hanna and I fit the profile of those to whom gentrifying interests cater: We’re white professional queers with a taste for artisan coffee shops, shopping “local,” cycling, and compost. At the same time, we still technically qualify for affordable housing opportunities according to the Boston Redevelopment Authority table. Which simply is what it is, something the majority of thirty-somethings seem to be coming to grips with in one way or another. Privilege is, as always, intersectional and complicated. We’re try to live, and put roots down, in ways that honor both where and who we are.

I’m looking forward to finding out what year two has in store.

On a related note, this will be my eighth summer in Boston. I don’t even know.

more self-care december

12 Friday Dec 2014

Posted by Anna Clutterbuck-Cook in our family

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family, holidays, work-life balance

100_1952

Snow falling in Norridgewock (Maine), December 2011.

Yesterday I wrote about the end-of-year pressures the holiday season creates in our culture — compulsive happiness, travel and social stress, gift-giving dilemmas and demands — and some of the opting out we’re doing this year. But I’m not a total sourpuss when it comes to Christmas. It was a magical time of year for me as a child, and not solely (or even primarily) because of the prospect of opening presents on Christmas morning. I liked the rituals of the season: the activities and pleasures enjoyed between Thanksgiving and New Year’s that recurred year after year, could to a certain extent by counted on — familiar, with subtle differences. A unique advent calendar every year; a new Christmas cookie recipe. Attending to the season is one way of slowing down, of mindfulness, during otherwise hectic times.

Here’s a list of five things I particularly appreciate about this pivot-point of the year. Continue reading →

theoretical blog posts

10 Friday Oct 2014

Posted by Anna Clutterbuck-Cook in our family

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boston, education, family, librarians, professional gigs

turtles on Jamaica Pond (May 2014)

turtles on Jamaica Pond (May 2014)

Here in Massachusetts we’re looking forward to a three-day weekend in honor of some exploitative white explorers, some indigenous first peoples, and of course small, swift boats on the Charles.

Our plans include a lot of napping and reading. Maybe some long walks, used bookstores, libraries, and coffee shops.

In the meantime, here are some things I’d like to write blog posts about at some point:

1. I’ve been reading sociology books on home education lately — Kingdom of Children and Home is Where the School Is — and would like to write a post about unschooling at work (what does it look like to bring the values and structures of the unschooling ethos into a workplace?) and unschooling at adulthood (can you have a family that practices “unschooling” when you’re not raising kids? spoiler: I think you can).

Continue reading →

wedding anniversary the second

14 Sunday Sep 2014

Posted by Anna Clutterbuck-Cook in our family

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art, domesticity, family, holidays, move2014, wedding

100_4267

As this post goes live, Hanna and I are on our way to Northampton, Mass. to enjoy lunch at the Lhasa Cafe and a wander with friends in celebration of our second wedding anniversary.

31169-tattoocalligraphy

I spent some of yesterday hanging art on our walls (finally!) including the framed tattoo concept drawings my father did for our wedding tattoos, and my sister-in-law Renee’s two landscapes — one painted in honor of her marriage to my brother (9/9) and one in honor of our marriage (9/14). We’ve hung them in a triptych on the bedroom wall (pictured above); they face this housewarming gift from my parents, who obviously know their daughter and daughter-in-law well: Continue reading →

the marilyn ross memorial book award

08 Monday Sep 2014

Posted by Anna Clutterbuck-Cook in my historian hat

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Tags

being the change, books, family

Marilyn Ross with her daughters Bonnie and Janet

Marilyn Ross (1925-2013) with her daughters Bonnie and Janet
Photograph by Duncan Ross

Today is my maternal grandmother’s birthday. She passed away in June 2013, a year and a month to the day before her husband, Duncan Adam Ross, followed.

Marilyn Coe Ross was born in 1925 to single, working mother Marguerite Scott Coe, and grew up in Detroit, Michigan, with her mother and younger sister Barbara (b. 1927). While she was unable to afford college or extended professional education, she was — among many other things — a lifelong lover of books and libraries. One of my most enduring memories of my grandmother is that a visit from her always meant new books to read. It was she who introduced me to such beloved childhood classics as The Witch of Blackbird Pond by Elizabeth George Speare and The Pushcart War by Jean Merrill. When my grandparents relocated from Michigan to Oregon in the 1980s my grandmother began volunteering at the Bend Public Library, a relationship that lasted decades and endured even after a stroke left her partially paralyzed. Her active enjoyment and eager sharing of books and the act of reading within community remains one of my inspirations for pursuing a life of letters — of reading, writing, and sharing the life of the mind through librarianship.

This past spring, while Hanna and I were participating in our third year of Massachusetts History Day judging, I noticed that the special topical awards given out for student projects — labor history, local history, military history — didn’t include any awards for the history of projects related to women’s or gender history. Each year, many students do excellent work exploring the history of women and girls, gender, sex, and sexuality — and it seemed to me a shame that this work would not be recognized to the same extent that more traditional fields of historical inquiry would be.

So I decided to establish a book award in women’s and gender history — and I decided to name the award in honor of my grandmother. As I explained in the award letter:

Congratulations on winning this year’s Marilyn Ross Memorial Book Award. This prize is awarded annually at the state level to the best Junior or Senior individual project on the subject of women’s and gender history.

As an undergraduate student in history and women’s studies I was the recipient of several book prizes. It was very meaningful to me that faculty paid attention to my research and selected an award that fit my own particular scholarly interests. In establishing this book prize, it is my intention to support the work of the young scholars in my own field as I was once supported by my own mentors. I celebrate your hard work and encourage you in whatever direction your historical curiosity takes you!

…I award this prize in the memory of my maternal grandmother, Marilyn Ross (1925-2013), who was one of my inspirations for pursuing a career in librarianship and writing.

The inaugural award was presented in May 2014 to Gayatri Sundar Rajan for her individual documentary “Smile, Laugh, Charm: Expectations Placed on Women in the Work Force.”  

The idea of the book award is to reward and encourage the honoree in their continued work as a scholar by selecting a book that reflects the topic of their project but branches out in a tangential direction. This year I selected two titles (the second being an apology for an unwarranted delay in selection and presentation of the prize) in labor history:

  • Rocking the Boat:Union Women’s Voices, 1915-1975 by Brigid O’Farrell and Joyce L. Kornbluh. Rutgers University Press, 1996
  • Women Strikers Occupy Chain Stores, Win Big: The 1937 Woolworth’s Sit-Down by Diana Frank. Haymarket Books, 2012.

I look forward to presenting many more books to eager young scholars in the years to come!

local intentions: year eight

01 Monday Sep 2014

Posted by Anna Clutterbuck-Cook in a sense of place

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

boston, boston summer seminar, domesticity, family, hanna, librarians, professional gigs

Photograph of the hallway in our new Jamaica Plain apartment (May 2014)It’s become a tradition here at the feminist librarian for me to pause and take stock every year around Labor Day. It was on Labor Day weekend in 2007 that I first arrived in Boston, trunk packed with dorm room necessities, to begin a new chapter of my life as an East Coast urbanite.

read year one | year two | year three
year four | year five | year six | year seven

2014 has been a tough year for us, so far. As Hanna said back at the beginning of August, “I’ve decided to break up with 2014. We’re through.” Things started last fall with a positive but tiring whirlwind trip to the West Coast, out of which Hanna barely had time to recover before coming down with a pernicious case of pneumonia which required multiple courses of antibiotics and several weeks of bed rest. Then we began the new year with a Midwest polar vortex, then returned to Michigan in March to sit with my family during my grandmother’s deathtime. Hanna sprained her ankle the day after we got back to Boston, and while she was still on crutches we got the call to view what is now our apartment. We moved in May, then got the call that my grandfather had cancer. I’ve just come through the busiest summer on record at the MHS library and at this point we’re both looking forward to what we hope will be the most peaceful, boring autumn Jamaica Plain has ever seen.

At the same time, it feels good — more than good — to be looking forward to fall (my favorite season!) in Jamaica Plain, which in turn is here in Boston. We’re so pleased to be living here, in fact, that when we take our vacation in September we decided to stay put.

We’ve done a hell of a lot of traveling this year and it’s good to be home.

Which brings me to the point of this year’s post: local intentions. Continue reading →

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"the past is a wild party; check your preconceptions at the door." ~ Emma Donoghue

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