Six Degrees of Separation

So let's talk about one of my favorite movies of all time (or the play, if that's what you've seen/read): Six Degrees of Separation.

But before I get started...how 'bout I take you on a quick trip down memory lane?

So back in the good old days of Badger football, students brought marshmallows to home games and threw them at one another for entertainment. And you didn't just throw the marshmallows you brought. No, no. When you got hit with a marshmallow, you picked it up and threw it at someone else. It goes without saying...prior to the arrival of Barry Alvarez, games were pretty boring.

As a result of this marshmallow-throwing chicanery, I met my first "real boyfriend" in college. It was a chilly Saturday afternoon. I was wearing mittens. An incoming marshmallow smashed into my shoulder and fell to the bleachers. So I bent over and picked up the sticky, previously-thrown-by-many-people-marshmallow...and I let it fly.

Or at least I thought I did.

But actually, the marshmallow smacked square into the chest of the rather cute-ish guy standing directly behind me. And that's how we ended up dating for the next 3-4 months.

I don't remember much about that boyfriend (well actually I do, but not tons of it is favorable, and the point of this blog isn't to trash old BFs), but he was the one who took me to see Six Degrees of Separation. And he was the one who said, as we were walking out of the theater, "Well that was boring." And I said, "Um, I think there was actually a lot to it. Maybe we just didn't get it all and should talk about it?" And he said, "Well I thought it sucked." And that was the end of that conversation.

Fortunately for me, a totally awesome English professor (Jonathan Veitch) had us read the play and watch the movie in a class I took my sophomore year. If I remember correctly, the over-arching theme of the class was exploring the extent to which we create our own identities vs. the extent to which they are imposed upon us by the world with which we interact. It was a great class. And Professor Veitch is, to this day, one of the most intelligent and engaging professors I ever had.

So back to Six Degrees...(and if you haven't seen the movie or read the play, you might want to skim the synopsis here)

Obviously, one of the central themes of Six Degrees is the creation of identity and how people respond to and treat one another based on said identity. In my humble opinion, sincerity, or more precisely, authenticity, is an equally important theme in this story. Paul is pretending to be someone he isn't (a Harvard student and the son of Sidney Poitier) so he can work his way into the world of these wealthy, white families to which he so desperately wants to belong. The Kittredges fall in love with him for who he says he is (the son of a famous, ground-breaking, black actor) and who they become because they are acquainted with someone like him.

There are many noteworthy passages in Six Degrees, but the lines that rocked my socks off upon introduction to the material and continue to do so to this very day are:

(at the end of the play/movie, as Ouisa tries to come to grips with what just happened)

"And we turn him into an anecdote to dine out on. Or dine in on. But it was an experience. I will not turn him into an anecdote. How do we fit what happened to us into life without turning it into an anecdote with no teeth and a punchline you'll mouth over and over for years to come. "Tell the story about the impostor who came into our lives--" "That reminds me of the time this boy--." And we become these human jukeboxes spilling out these anecdotes. But it was an experience. How do we keep the experience?"

The idea--to use Ouisa's language--of preserving the experience and not reducing others to anecdotes is one that has stuck with me since my first experience with Six Degrees. This idea that there is a more-encompassing way of thinking about the concept of authenticity is incredibly piercing to me. Ouisa isn't just concerned with sharing her interpretation of the interaction with Paul...she is determined to preserve the integrity of the entire experience. Extending beyond the rather simple, self-gratifying notions of honestly representing ourselves or being true to ourselves and into the realm of truthfully representing life's experiences and what they mean...this idea is Six Degrees' important contribution.

So it's no longer just about me being honest with myself about me...or even me being honest with you about me. Now there is a larger sense of responsibility to what we experienced together. We must--with authenticity--capture and represent a larger moment in time, as well as the lasting impact of that moment. In Ouisa's monologue, listed above, I think you can hear her trying to capture what it meant to all of them...to her, to her husband (Flanders) and to Paul. Because how can we really grasp the complete experience, if we don't strive to understand it from the vantage points of each of the players?

Phew. Does any of this even make sense? I wrote a paper about Six Degrees for Professor Veitch many, many years ago. I worked my ass off...and got a B+. He told me I did a decent job, but still needed to work on fleshing out my ideas and expressing my thoughts on the topic. Apparently, more than 16 years later, I'm still trying to do just that...

Monster Cookies - PJ Murphy's Bakery

I'm just going to go ahead and say it. This post is about pure, unabashed, unadulterated glee. There's nothing else to it, so go ahead and lower your expectations. Oh, and I apologize in advance to my Two Smart Cookies gals. I've cheated on you many times. And I'm not gonna lie...I'll do it again.

When I was little, we used to go to the Target off of White Bear Avenue. And back in the day, the set-up of the store was such that right at the end of the check-out lanes was a McGlynn bakery. I'm sure they had a wide selection of baked goods, but the only things I remember were huge, brightly-colored sugar cookies coated in noxious, waxy frosting. They resembled rainbows and Cookie Monster (ironic?) and flowers and whatever else was in season. And there was usually a good deal of frosting frosted on top of the base layer of frosting. I think that was the main attraction, actually.

Although I've grown up (and I have my own favorite Target), I still have a child-like love of things with lots and lots of frosting. I know I'm supposed to want tarts and tortes, pies and petit fours. But I don't. I want white sheet cake with white frosting. Or sugar cookies...with as much icing as you can cram onto them. Fortunately, PJ Murphy's Bakery understands me. And they've created the perfect treat. The Monster Cookie.

 

They take two cookies (Jay and my Befri like the m&m, I like plain sugar), and they decorate one so it resembles a monster face, and they place it on top of another one that has been covered with what can only be described as a CRAPLOAD of frosting. Like a heart-stopping, diabetes-inducing amount of frosting...but in a good way.

Just looking at one of these creations is a gleeful experience. Taking one out of the cardboard bakery box makes you giddy with anticipation. Biting into the cookie with the frosting squashing out everywhere, turning your tongue and your fingers hot pink...hilarious. And the sugar rush? Oh man. Even the nauseous feeling afterward is pretty fun.

As we get older, I think we believe that our tastes are supposed to grow up as well. We're supposed to be more adult. More refined. But there's nothing refined about these cookies, except obviously the sugar. [Press red button to insert rim-shot here]. I think the world is a better place when we don't take ourselves too seriously. We have to take our jobs seriously...our responsibilities to our families...things like that. But not ourselves. I firmly believe that. And for the days when we forget, or when we need to be yanked back from the edge of portentous sobriety, I wish us an unabashedly gleeful, sugary-sweet reminder...hopefully caked in frosting.

Central Library - Seattle, WA

So if you know me even just a little, you know that I luh-huh-huv the Seattle Public Library...Central Library to be specific. We visited the library while on vacation just over a year ago. It was a rainy Saturday morning and we'd set off on our journey for the day. Per my usual (at least when we're traveling), I had a set schedule of things we HAD TO ACCOMPLISH while relaxing on vacation. Armed with a map of downtown, our trusty camera and an obviously-we're-tourists-umbrella (no one in Seattle carries umbrellas because they all have rain coats...sigh), we made our way from breakfast at the market and headed south along 4th street. Completely oblivious to what we were about to encounter, we chatted as we walked. Suddenly, one of us exclaimed "Oh my god! There it is!" and we practically stopped in our tracks.

In front of us, as if by magic, was this structure of diamond-shaped glass panes and silvery steel that looked like stack of coffee table books piled up all wonky and casual-like in the middle of downtown Seattle. We walked in to the library through the entrance on the 4th street side, making our way across a wooden floor embossed with words in every language (which are, it turns out, lines from books in the international collection). A magnificent conveyor belt whisked returned books and materials up through the ceiling. The place was buzzing and alive. We grabbed a tour map and started up the lemony-limey escalator.

During our hour-long stay at Central Library, we wound our way through the spiraled stacks of books... progressing between the 6th and 9th floors without ever going up a step. We marveled at the reddish/pinkish/orangish hallway where all the meeting rooms are located. And the views. THE VIEWS! Whether you're looking within the space itself, or from the inside, out, the views are spectacular. In fact, you should really just read this...this says it all!

But I digress.

If I'm staying true to the mission of this blog, I'm supposed to be reflecting on why this is an important contribution to my world (or all of our worlds, if you've heeded my call and joined me on this journey). So how 'bout I get to it...

Touring Central Library filled me--as I'm sure you've surmised--with unabashed glee! Every new vista was a sight to behold. Turning a corner or exiting a stairwell or stepping off an escalator was an absolute adventure. It was a challenge not to run through it...rushing to see what the next surprise would be...breathlessly taking it all in. And at the same time, it was almost impossible not to stop, rooted in one place with your mouth agape, trying to absorb the complete explosion of sights all around you. The colors were so bright, the spaces so dramatic. And yet it was comfortable and familiar. It invited exploration and engagement. I can't imagine NOT being excited in this space. And I think this palpable vitality is what extends increased validity to my next criterion...public good.

It goes without saying that libraries in any community contribute to the public good. Andrew Carnegie demonstrated this idea well over a century ago, so it's not like I need to say much more about it.:) And the beyond-generous $165 million commitment by the people of Seattle to construct this stunning library obviously speaks for itself. To me, the part where this library so truly contributes to the public good is because it feels incredibly accessible. When you walk through the doors (especially when you enter on the 5th Street side, into the "Living Room"), you're just swallowed up and taken in. You want to stay. You want to participate because you feel welcomed. You feel like you belong. The marketing campaign for this project was "Libraries for All," and if you spend any amount of time in Central Library, you'll see this promise in action. There is no pretense in this building. It is for all of us...together.

I loved the library so much that I planned an entire vacation around it. I spent one of my favorite weeks of my life working on my dissertation at Central Library. I flew to Seattle, stayed with friends in Gig Harbor, and took the commuter bus to downtown Seattle every morning for an entire week. The bus dropped me off each day around 7:45 a.m. Since the library didn't open until 10:00 a.m., I would get breakfast at the market and eventually make my way back down 4th Street. I had geeky, romantic notions of being the first person in the door, raring and ready to go each day. But no matter how early I got there (well, not earlier than 9:30), there were already people lined up waiting to get in. And by 10:00, there were crowds. Crowds of all sorts of folks waiting to get in to the library. It was amazing.

I tried to study in 2 or 3 different locations every day, so I could really experience as much of the library as possible. The quiet reading room up at the very top of the library, beneath all the glass diamonds...in the middle of the "Mixing Chamber" (a huge deck with over 300 public computers)...tall tables nestled under escalators in the stacks...long tables in the "Living Room." I even bought a thermos and a t-shirt from the Friend-Shop...and then wore the t-shirt to the library the next day. My husband was worried that they'd think I stole it. I was a little worried they'd think I was one of those dorks who wears the t-shirt of the band to the concert. :)

But seriously...visit Central Library next time you're in Seattle. Unabashed glee. Public good. I promise.

One More Thing: The Fine Print

Just so you know...so you don't ask me about it later...I'm skipping posts about the obvious stuff.

There is no need to bore you with how much I love my husband.

Or about how my parents are ridiculously better than yours (so we don't even need to go there...you'll never convince me otherwise).

Or how my brother works harder and knows perseverance like no one I've never met.

Or how my sister is mind-numbingly creative and wickedly funny.

I'm not filling up blog space with anyone about whom a college freshman would write "most influential person ever" essay in their first semester comp class. And if the person could ever possibly be listed in the dreaded ice breaker "Name any 3 people you'd have dinner with if you could," well, you won't find them here.

(Just FYI, my loathing for that ice breaker came from dinner in the cafeteria my first night in college when one girl--I shit you not--answered (in a stereotypical sing-songy, 18-year-old-white-girl voice), "Oprah, Jesus, and Grover." Gah. I almost puked. And let's be honest, it's hard to tell who, out of that triumvirate of greatness, should be most offended.)

I'm glad we have penicillin and the internet and Diet Coke. I'm not going to talk about it here.

There will be posts about things lots and lots of people like (I'm not suggesting that this will be some super hip blog of new and obscure things), but I hope I'll talk about them in a new way. Or at least a way that is particular to my view of the world.

Okay. That's all I can think of. It may actually be time to start blogging now.

Criteria

I am a researcher. It is in my job title. It has been for quite awhile. I've been a research assistant and a research associate. I work in an office with "Research" in the title. I'm actively (some days) engaged in my own scholarly research as an PhD candidate. And, now that you mention it, my research is actually on the behaviors of other researchers. Yikes. I even have a preferred (and, as I've been told, proper) way of pronouncing the word. It's re-SEARCH, not REEEE-search. Just FYI.

So I spend a lot of time thinking about how we measure things. About definitions and goals and outcomes and objectives and criteria. I think about how we operationalize things. I think about common themes. I think about how it all fits together. And this little blog is no exception.

As I mentioned in the kick-off post, I didn't want this blog to turn in to some hodge-podge list of stuff. I don't want it to be a collage of things clipped from magazines and decoupaged onto construction paper. I want it to be MORE than that. Whatever MORE is.

And that's where my brilliant-beyond-brilliant husband came into the picture. Holy crap can that man brainstorm. Wow, is he amazing at generating ideas and making sense of them all. Before I could even imagine writing a paragraph, let alone a sentence, he encouraged me to generate a huge list of all the things that came to mind when I thought of writing a blog like this. And then as we poured over the list, he kept asking me "why this? why that?"...and from all of that hemming and hawing, we came up with a list of 6 criteria.

Ultimately, no matter what we're talking about in life, my rationale for loving/valuing/celebrating most things can be sifted and winnowed down to approximately 6 things. These are the things that will be the criteria for my blog posts. If I take the time to talk about something, it's going to fall in to one (more likely, many) of these categories:

• I love things that are rife with pure, unabashed glee.
• I appreciate in others, and strive for personally, optimism and enthusiasm about one's place in the world.
• When things contribute to the public good, my heart sings.
• Maybe it's being an oldest child, or spending too much time in school, but true wisdom and intelligence really humble me.
• There is virtually nothing in life that can't be laughed at. Humor, especially smart humor, makes my world go 'round
• Above almost all, I value sincerity. The starting-to-turn-yellow pages of my Random House thesaurus (with the GRE words highlighted in pink) also refer to it as "free from pretense." Or unaffected. Or real, honest, natural, genuine, authentic, ingenuous, earnest. Yes. Yes to all of them.

And there you have it. Now we can finally get started!

Lighting Candles: Celebrating contributions wherever we may find them...

I've always wanted to have a blog.

...but I felt like I couldn't start one until I had a good idea.

Or at least a "good enough" idea.

Sort of like buying a fancy, new journal and then being too afraid to put pen to paper, lest you muck up the first page. Or, worse yet, suddenly realizing that your brilliant musings [gasp!] are actually quite mundane. Or the sadness of starting out strong and filling a good dozen pages full of ideas and ramblings...in flowy, urgent script...only to give up or run out of time or ideas or ink. And then you're left with this mostly empty volume. Can you just start writing in that same book again? Even if it's months or years later? Even if you've since graduated or broken up or quit or...or...or. Do you have to go buy a new fancy, new journal? AUGH. So stressful.

And that's how I felt about blogging. I don't feel like my life is interesting enough to sustain a blog. Or even if it was, I'm not sure my Midwestern/Ronning roots would allow me to be egocentric enough to tell you all about it (though I'm sure some of you would dispute my feigned humility here). I feel like Facebook status updates are my ideal medium. Pithy. Fleeting. Just enough room for short bursts of wit. But an entire blog? Gah. That's a lot of pressure.

Until it hit me. What I really, truly want to talk about...and bear with me while I get to the point...

So I try really, really, REALLY hard to be a positive person. I consider my earliest role model in this endeavor (familial relations aside) the wonderful, emotive, refulgent Anne of Green Gables, brought to life by L.M. Montgomery. In fact, as early as my middle school years, I remember turning Anne into a verb. As in, "I'm gonna Anne-of-Green-Gables mean-old Mr. So-and-So who teaches science" or "That crabby lady who comes in to the Next Door Cafe every morning? Well I've been Anne-of-Green-Gablesing her for months and now she's actually pretty sweet." This has been part of my M.O. for years.

Of course it's easier to sustain that when your greatest obstacles are 7th grade science or the 5:30 a.m. waitressing shift on Saturday mornings. It's no news to any of us that life gets harder as we get older. Sarcasm becomes cooler. Cynicism is a survival mechanism. And sometimes, let's face it, life just sucks more as it progresses. Or it has more opportunities to suck. Or something like that.

So I try to be positive. I try to look for the silver lining. Which doesn't mean I can't bitch and moan with the best of them. Which doesn't mean there aren't ideas and people that I can't or won't stomach. I mean I have to be sincere about my feelings, right? And if that means I'm crabby or displeased or stressed, so be it (I once had a boss tell me I had the worst non-verbals ever. "Try. Please just try not to look so pissed off" he said to me after a conduct hearing in the res halls where we'd listened to 3 stupid punks lie their asses off). I guess the point is that after a "reasonable" amount of time, it's time, as my dear mother says, to "Snap out of it." Just a side note about Mom and "Snap out of it"...Dad said it best when he summarized, "Your mother has always been great about helping you kids with your problems...and then telling you when you were over them." There was always a moratorium on crankiness, whining, self-pity in the Ronning household. And Mom had the timer. When it went off? You're done.

Anyway, where was I? Oh. So I try to be positive. I try to focus on the positive. I try to celebrate the good in life...searching for and honoring little bits of happiness every single day. Making the choice to recognize all the literal and figurative beauty in our often-challenging lives. This is one of those traits or characteristics that I actually hope others notice about me. I don't know if I'm always successful at it, but I hope I am. I do try so hard...most days. :)

This idea of celebrating positive things helped me arrive at and articulate the mission of my blog. I wanted to blog about people and places and things that deserved recognition. I wanted to honor things that bring me joy. But I didn't want to do it in a rain-drops-on-roses-and-whiskers-on-kittens kind of way. This isn't a "best of" list...this isn't a "today I'm happy about blahdy, blahdy, blahdy" (though I think those are all wonderful lists to make or daily emails to exchange). This is trying to be something a little...I don't know...deeper? More substantial?

I wanted to blog about things that have struck a chord with me and why I believe they are so critical to my little world (or hopefully even OUR little world). I wanted to spend time thinking about how these things--be they huge and significant and amazing or teeny and tiny and local--contribute to the betterment of my life. And maybe even your life too.

The title of my blog "...and her glow has warmed the world..." comes from an Adlai Stevenson quote about Eleanor Roosevelt: "She would rather light candles than curse the darkness, and her glow has warmed the world." I do not, in any way, liken myself to Eleanor Roosevelt (and let's face it, the other Ronning daughter was named after her...not me). I do, however, think the idea of spreading joy and possibility, instead of yelling in (or about) the dark, is an admirable way to progress on life's journey.

I hope you'll join me on this journey...one that strives to honor various people and places and things that have, in my humble estimation, brought a little more light to our world.