Posts Tagged ‘hollins’

Why #cancersucks, the #TracyMafia rocks and the past month (or so).

April 17, 2014

In the most obvious statement, cancer sucks. I hate it. Aside from the most isolated research biochemist who has the social skills of a dead tree on the planet, who is going to run around saying yeah cancer! (The idea of doing that reminds me of a professor at Hollins who mocked Nancy Regan and her “Just say No!” Campaign because where we really going to tell our kids to go get high? He then paused and said that might not be a bad f’ing idea). I digress.

Tax day was the anniversary of The Marathon Bombings. Like many who live in and around Boston, I’ve begun to grasp what New Yorkers went through on September 11, 2001. The interwebs crawled with the more than normal narcissism of Bostonites and how other towns did things one way versus another. Whatever. Even growing up in the Chicago ‘burbs, the Boston Marathon has its aura. I mean, we run 26.2 miles to celebrate starting a country. We are slightly crazy. We don’t go through Lexington and Concord. Nope we wind through a few towns and turn left on Boylston to finish mid-block on the third Monday in April because you know, that makes sense. Oh, and you have to qualify by running an aged based time and even then you have to win the lottery. Uh, yeah ok, like I said it was the more than normal narcissism of Bostonites. Basically, we want to have a 26.2 mile drinking party and created an event that involves a baseball game getting out as the “commoners” are making that turn. That, my un-Boston friends, is the Marathon. And last year, 2 jackasses killed 4, injured hundreds and basically made this town turn into a giant how can I help on twitter feed. And ok, we’ll stay inside when you want to find the terrorists. (Seriously, it was strange, but live through a New England winter, it was a Nor’easter minus the snow complete with whackadoodle TV coverage). So yesterday when everybody started to descend on the city, I found myself in tears a few times.

I realized later that night: April 15, 2013 was the last time my mom was my MOM in that nothing can fix this but I need my mom sort of way. I was a few days out of a major shoulder surgery, in a bit of a narcotic haze and then they blew up our block party. And I freaked and started doing a lesson learned of 9/11 in texting, tweeting, facebooking: Mom and I are safe, didn’t go to the Marathon today. I played a twitter find shelter give directions with a California friend, called my sister to tell her to TELL the medium sized girls before turning on the car. And I cried, I was angry, I was scared. And I spoke in the strange half sentences like “Omg that is right by the place where, I don’t get it, I mean, it’s the Marathon” and my mom just watched the news and said they’d catch who did it. She could not say much to console me; she didn’t even try and for one of the rare times in my life, I was glad my mom was here because my mom told me they’d get the bad guys so everything would be ok (I’m going with the theory that the Percocet haze helped this work because the idea that I fell for it is lunacy!).

Somewhere along the line late last summer, I knew my mom’s cancer was back. I cannot pinpoint it, she said her reports were good but I did not like the way she looked. Or coughed. There was something off. And because I’m insane I saw a friend posting on FB about running his first marathon …. After picking up running as a lifestyle change after his second surgery for cancer and did anybody want to run the Philly marathon with him. Not for a cause but just to train and run. I laughed a bit as Tracy was pleading in his Tracy way and I finally said, hey I just registered for the half to walk it. The response from just about everybody: you’re NUTS. (Ha! I said nuts!).

You have to understand Tracy: he married a college classmate of mine. He then voluntarily attends class reunions. Of hundreds of screaming women who drink too much wine and act like idiots. I don’t think he’s missed one: our college doesn’t have a mascot. But our class has Tracy. We get our hair and fashion tips from him (and so do lots of other people). And bacon reviews. And there is something about not liking pie. As in the dessert but Whopie Pies are trick pies because they have frosting. Basically, he is the younger brother/older brother/best friend/half of the most positive couple you’ve ever met type of person. We chatted in Philly about his cancer, my mom’s cancer and how much cancer sucks.

And then my mom died. Who starts to reach out? While quietly finding out his own news? T and his wife. People who’ve walked in the shoes I stood in who had EVERY reason to make a quick hang in there, I’m here for you post and allow what they knew would come out to stand as the reason because we’ve known each other that long. But they didn’t. That’s why cancer sucks. Cancer doesn’t go out and use natural selection. Cancer can be so random, so unfair.

I think we both did a half marathon (I use the word ‘both’ so liberally) the weekend he let people know of the cancer returning. I was sick, I was pissed and the smart person wouldn’t have been at Hyannis. I do not know how he was feeling but there was a lamentation on not being under 2:00 in Rhode Island that same weekend. I will lay money there have been tears and anger and all of that: but the quintessential New England response was FU cancer. I have my family, friends and my very own mafia. I have to travel. I have to run half marathons (while trying to con my wife into one on FB) and I really want to run NYC (and probably secretly qualify for Boston because you know, I’m a Sox Fan).

I remembered Steven Colbert’s opening remarks on 4/16/2013: after running a marathon they went to give blood. That’s the type of person Tracy is. That’s the type of person his wife is. That’s how my mom was. There are people like me who float around in corporate America and then there are people out there advocating against the injustices that we layer or are layered upon us by genetics or circumstance. And when a person who works for the greater good is dealt such a blow, you want David Ortiz to say and FU for them. Because it hurts. It hurts where you don’t know it can hurt just when you thought you were done with the hurting.

Then you look back at the reaction to the news: Ok, I’ll deal with it. I’ll have surgery and in-between finding out and surgery, “squeeze” in 4 half marathon’s (including under the 2:00 barrier!) and a few 5K’s. And the other way: curl up at 3 am wondering if there is sleep, wander through a half marathon in a time that a snail would be embarrassed by and say it sucks as a mantra.

Today is not going to suck. Today the mafia don kicks cancers ass. Tomorrow, he starts training for Richmond (where we know he’s secretly going for a Boston qualifying time, a Ranger’s Stanley Cup and some free hair conditioner). And I’m wearing a blue shirt with tan pants. I will think about all of my friends whose shoes I’m standing next to in fighting the fight. I love you all very much.

#IntlDayAgainstHomophobiaAndTransphobia? Support a #ballez

May 17, 2013

Really.  There is a day (ok, several different days) that basically say it’s not ok to hate the non-heterosexual community.  I’m going to spare everybody my rant on that simply because I’m tired of writing it, saying it, and above all thinking about it.  Put it this way, every day, I’m reminded of how I’m “different”.  I’m over this.  Over it.  People blog about the sexualization/objectification of Disney FEMALE characters, has anybody looked at the images they present to boys?

Katy Pyle’s re-interpretation of The Firebird, a Ballez is MORE than just a queer ballet.  It is so much more than that.  This show re-examines how we present people.  Take a look at the picture below taken by Chrissy Pessango:

Chrissy Pessango Picture

Chrissy Pessango Picture

What do you see? More correctly, what do you see? Look at the different body types, look at the gracefulness each of these dancers holds.  Maybe one, ONE, presents the body type you would expect to see in a ballet.  One.  And here they are a dance corps, musicians who identify as non-heterosexual but teaching a much broader lesson: the presentation of the craft is the important part.  Shaking up gender expectations is huge: doing so with health body images? Well that’s nothing short of spectacular.

The show opened last night as St. Mark’s church (an Episcopal Church in NYC).  Yes, a mainline church supporting queer art.

The $10,000 Pyle is hoping to raise is to provide better pay for those who have contributed so much to this project.  Please help fully fund her.  The show is sold out.  The importance of this re-envisioning is not just important for the queer community but for every person.  None of us are that “perfect” image.  Pyle’s work is groundbreaking.  Pyle’s dancers are taking very real risks in their professional lives.  The church that is supporting them will undoubtedly draw (more) criticism.  That is the risk of being a ground breaker.

This is the link to the KickStarter campaign.  Please give what you can.  The project is so close to being fully funded.

And no, I was not paid to write this review (and I wish is I was in NY so I could go see the show!!!)

My take away from AWP and a mini-Hollins reunion? Travel as a Need.

March 10, 2013

Yesterday, I listened to writers discuss their craft at the AWP convention. I jotted down snippets on a legal pad out of habit and in the middle of listening to a panel discussion on writing in translation (for a very cool and free literary journal check out It really wasn’t about writing in translation but about bringing the writing to translation. I think. It’s not the fault of the presenters; they were muses at that point. I realized there was passion. Artists, in general, receive the stereotype of passionate. As some point, and with great apologies, I lost track of the discussion and realized what I was hearing was passion OF career, something that is and has been lacking in my world.

I’m done. Not in a suicidal rage done, merely done. At the point of exhaustion, I see what the causation. Living without passion is not living. It’s survivalism. I have a few things I have to get done (notably that pesky shoulder surgery in exactly 37 days not that I’m joyously counting down). And then I’m leaving. On a jet plane. Ok, there are some very real steps in between: sorting through a few decades worth of junk to what will fit into a small storage unit in the town my parents reside, figuring out the where I want to go, where I need to go and uh, how to translate “I’m deathly allergic to shellfish” in every language known on the planet. I plan on leaving in roughly a year after I’m done with my shoulder rehab.

I am a huge proponent of knowing needs versus wants. I need to travel. I don’t need Disney; I don’t need turn down service. I need my backpack, my passport and well, the aforementioned card that says please don’t serve me anything with shellfish. Travel, of me, is activism. It’s the part that allows me to say to the world “no, not all Americans are like that” and to hear “No, xxx really isn’t like that.” I need to see the world, to take in the sights, the smells and show, if even to myself, that the world is much better and far less hateful than media outlets make it out to be. Travel is my idealism. Travel is hard; there is nothing worse than being curled up in a hotel room, in a foreign country 14 time zones from home where you don’t know the language or anybody and are miserably sick (ok, there are a LOT of things that are worse) without a common alphabet in common to figure out what medicine you might be taking (Ah, Tokyo. I really want to visit you again!). There is nothing more wonderful than being surrounded by a gaggle for elementary school students in Hiroshima practicing their English in the shadow of the destruction your country created peppering you with questions because they’ve found a ‘real’ American from Boston (where apparently a Japanese player was playing for the Red Sox) to pepper with questions about baseball, Boston and lots of questions that were not on the list.

I know when I plan to leave. I don’t know when I’ll be back. But I know, for probably the first time, I will be following my passion. And (almost) everything else is irrelevant. Of course, all of this is completely dependent on my mother agreeing to cat sit world’s dumbest animal. Completely open to ideas on where to visit anywhere on the planet outside of Western Europe, good travel blogs and volunteer stops along the way.

Father’s Day, the 2011 version

June 19, 2011

So, in my now twice in my life Happy Father’s Day blog, I’m going to skip my normal disdain for the day (well, more specifically all Hallmark holiday’s – and I just learned this one was created by NIXON!) and smile.

My dad (and mom) are in a mini-van (ring of hell #1) with 3 tweeners (ring of hell #2) going to the CWS (return to ring #1) after going to Carhenge and other “tourist sites in Nebraska” (enter rings #2, #3 and #4).  For fun.  The kids are good kids, I don’t understand my father’s love of long distance driving (30 minutes, I’m done) and who buys a mini-van by CHOICE?  But they are having fun being with the 3 oldest grandkids, the grandkids appear unharmed from the pictures and are being tortured at Denny’s (yes, I went there)-as-a-resturant that must come with the grandparent license and I can’t wait to hear all versions.

The past year has been hard – from all angles.  Unemployment, illnesses, strange weather and a list of things have taxed and pushed.  At one point last summer, my dad swore to me I’d look back on 2010 and laugh (I’m not sure I ever will but I see his point).  A college friend posted this article from The Atlantic MonthlyI thought about it and realized the greatest lesson my parents taught my siblings and me is that we will fail.

How did we learn this lesson? My dad is 6 5.  When we were little (read 4 and 5), we’d engage in a 2-1 basketball game against our dad.  He’d block our shots (ok, we were midgets, block is a loose term, all he had to do was put a hand over our heads, I maintain he was trying to pad his statistics).  He’d shoot HOOK SHOTS (we stood no chance).  We’d play until we made a basket purely by luck.  We thought we “won” (we scored on dad) but we really learned.  We learned that sometimes you have to try a lot before you make a basket, we learned that sometimes a game ended before we could score, we learned (in retrospect) that sometimes failing is the best thing.  Painful life lesson best learned on the backyard basketball court.

I’m a t-ball purist.  I’m not sure letting all kid receive an award is the best idea: I was the worst player on my team until my sister joined.  She picked flowers in the field.  We were bad, we had fun and the other kids had to put up with us (I’m sure it was painful for the 2nd graders. . . ).  I do know that learning how to fail and failure being ok if the effort was there is a valuable skill (and probably is somehow related to continued creativity and imagination).

Happy Father’s Day Dad.  You taught us it’s ok to love to do something we are bad at for fun, that sometimes you loose and you were always up for coloring our food.  Now, if we could do something about your Phanatical Jayhawk addition, all would be right with the world.

50 Random Things About Me. . . .

April 13, 2011

So, a friend of mine made a list of 100 non-negative statements about her … uh, yeah. I’m not that brave. So, here are 50 random nonnegative (unless we pick opposite sports teams) about me.

1) I love to travel. My must go to before I die list stands at India, back to China, SE Asia circuit, Trans-Siberian Rail, New Zealand and Australia. Winning the Lotto would help this addiction.

2) I’m a good cook. I’m a really good cook when I put my mind to it – pretty rare – but a good cook.

3) I can travel for 3 weeks including a laptop and CPAP in a backpack the size of a carry on.

4) The aforementioned backpack is the only piece of luggage I own.

5) I once got stuck in the Paris Metro gates with the backpack while on crutches after having my hip reconstructed. It was pretty funny.

6) I’m wildly sarcastic and sardonic. 

7) I have Halloween cats named Jackson and Lafitte.

8) I love college sports.  Doesn’t really matter the sport … there is something about the passion.

9) I have 8 friends who are published authors.

10) I’m terrified of the dentist.

11) I’ve had surgery 31 times (hence the blog name).

12) I’m on the fence about the Kindle or other such book readers. Something about the feel of paper.

13) I actually have written a real letter in the past year. And mailed it.

14) My shower curtain has dancing monkeys on it. Ok, it seemed like a good idea at the time.

15) I’m left-handed.

16) I totaled my car while moving cross-country.

17) I recycle.

18) I’m fiercely loyal to my friends … but if you cross me?

19) I vote in every election.

20) I believe in day baseball, the Cubs winning the World Series and Santa Claus. Well 2 of the 3.

21) I go to church, uh, once a year.

22) I try to remember that most things aren’t as important as we make them out to be.

23) I think Oreos and Diet Coke make a perfect dinner. 

24) Occasionally, I like to splash in the big puddles.

25) I prefer tea over coffee.

26) I read just about everything . . . except vampire and romance books. Which is odd because 2 of my friends have published books in those genres.

27) I’ll defend just about anybody’s right for free speech … even if I disagree with them.

28) Casablanca is my favorite movie.

29) I enjoy watching people … we can learn so much by just watching.

30) I’m not as outgoing as most people assume I am; I’m actually pretty reserved.

31) I’m allergic to shellfish.

32) I dyed my hair brown once … it turned out orange. Whoops.

33) I love my 3 nieces and 3 nephews more than anything else on this planet.

34) I love red wine.

35) My favorite item of clothing is my Ohio State hoodie … it replaced my GAP hoodie.

36) I try to laugh as much as possible.

37) I support as many local businesses as possible.

38) When I swim laps, I sing Bon Jovi in my head.

39) I am amazed at my friends and family who can parent, work and find time for themselves.

40) I try to remember my Grandmother’s favorite question “what did you learn today?”

41) I have had bone grafts from cadaver donors . . . I hope I can make the same choice if ever presented to me.

42) I once threw a pan away after a cooking experiment.

43) I have a bobble head Jesus and Moses action figure doll.

44) I’m a slightly rabid basketball fan.

45) My mother’s name is misspelled on my birth certificate.

46) Every year, I really think the Cubs are going to win the World Series. One year, I’ll be right!

47) When I play tennis, I sometimes switch hands with my racquet.

48) I’m afraid of ice storms.

49) I graduated from Hollins College.

50) I’m pretty sure peanut butter is the world’s most perfect food.

No Baby? No Problem!

April 2, 2011

Usually, it takes me until my first cup of coffee is finished to be completely offended. Today, it took exactly the length of time to read the following 2 paragraphs:

“Women are programmed to be caregivers and nurturers. Give my girls a couple of dolls, and one will be the mom the other will be the daughter, frequently disregarding the obvious gender of the doll. Before a woman becomes a mother, she will coo over her friend’s newborn; and in that lilting, high-pitched voice say, “Oh, I want one.”

 Give a boy child a couple of dolls, and they are liable to decapitate, dismember, or bury it. Prior to fatherhood, most men dread a baby. Responses I have heard include “It smells”, “It’s noisy”, and “Don’t hand it to me. I’ll drop it and break it.” Men are programmed with single-syllabic functions that run along the lines of “hunt, kill, eat, mate, sleep.”  Their responses are biologically simple.”

Seriously? I’d like to sweep the comments under the musings of an uneducated Neolithic person. Unfortunately, I attended college with the writer.  In full as much disclosure as I want over the internet, I will say I attended Hollins College (now university) which is a women’s university (ok, that sounds dumb, another reason I’m still against the name change) in Virginia.  Funnier yet? The last time I spoke with the writer, she was on this “empowered female” tirade. One more time: we do not get equality by belittlement. 

Normally, I’d smile and nod at something this horrifically stupid but I am SO OVER my “fulfillment” as a woman needing to include a child, that a man cannot be more pro-child than a woman, and this feckless idea that all women coo that I might just scream. Literally.

Let me be clear: I’ve NEVER wanted a child. I would not be a good parent, I don’t particularly care for the newborn of the species and I really only like kids once they are interactive. In a now infamous moment, I once tried to bribe my then 4 month old niece into taking a bottle by offering her a horse, a car and a college education: to quote my sister “only my sister would try to bribe an infant”.

The writer continues, “He [brother in law] devoted himself to them with the haphazard parenting that men excel at: half dangerous, half clueless, and frequently mitigated by my sister without him being aware of it. “ REALLY? Men cannot be responsible parents? Can only parent when subjugated to the manipulations of a woman and are too stupid to realize it?

I am simply stunned that in 2010, a woman stoops to such a level as to belittle men. I know gay male couples who joyously embrace parenting – or is that a façade? I know people of different ethnicities, sexual orientations, socio-economic status who do or do not want to parent. It has never been as simple as “It is because person X is a male/female”.  Nobody should be forced to parent when they do not want to: we know how to prevent pregnancy. A couple is as complete without a child by choice as one is who makes the choice to have a child. A child cannot complete a couple and to think so is dangerous. Marriages are hard enough before you add the strains of parenting. Having a child to “save” a marriage is as brilliant of an idea as well, mixing gasoline and a match. 

My 5 year old nephew asked for a baby sister for his birthday. But I suppose that shouldn’t count: his father is an amazing parent as is his uncle.   And neither of those two acts in a “half-clueless” manner; and neither are manipulated into parenting by their wives.  I wish the writer was so enlightened.

There are times after having fun with my nieces and nephews; I float the “what if” but it is quickly quashed: it is the remarkable co-parenting by my siblings and their spouses that gave me wonderfully inquisitive, interactive nieces and nephews.  I know I do not posses that skill set. I know that I do not want to parent. I was the girl that gave her sister the dolls and found a baseball instead. I am insulted – by extension – that there must be something wrong with me for not wanting a child.

 My only hope is that since the posting was on 4/1 it was an attempt to be a “funny” April Fool’s Day posting. But then again, if an idea of humor is by minimization of another, well, that is not funny either.

Another week. . .

January 22, 2011

Ok, I *left* the Great Lakes reason for one thing: the weather. One too many winters of a few feet of snow and wind chills in the -20 range made me think “really? do civilized people live here by choice?” (I never changed my sports team alliances!) but the winters I can do without. . . . so I sanely lived in Colorado and now Boston instead.  In the past week, I braved 3 rush hour storms: a Nor’Easter, an ice storm and a “small” snow squall of 8 inches. Ok. One week? I mean, the past 5 years have had mild winters, we didn’t need it back in a week! :)

Lots and lots of snow piles!


Jan Nor'Easter #1


It’s been pretty mundane…reflecting on the death of Jake Wheeler: a long time beloved professor of Hollins University/College and how much of an impact he had on a small women’s college in the south. He taught you to think and in many ways, those of us who were privileged to know him still draw from his work, be it through shaping the focus of the school, being a professor or his general optimism even in the face of personal losses. UCLA might have had John Wooden, but they obviously had the second pick.

Seeing the news about Pepsi’s Challenge program and it’s problems does actually upset me. It was such a good idea that was ruined by the masses and the voting alliances, lying to other groups that you were voting for them and the inherent greed that brings out the nasty side of people.

And then, somewhere, the news of Rep. Giffords being moved to rehab lifted spirits for a few hours. Believe what you choose, or choose not to believe, but I think the healing thoughts of hundreds of millions of people had something to do with her recovery so far.

College Sports

January 1, 2011

Penn State VB

So, another January 1st, another day of college football and the celebration of the bowl season, college athletics and the positive side of sports (I don’t want to get into all the violation craziness): the sheer joy of victories, the real tears of upsets.  2010 should be remembered in NCAA world for two historic markers: the UConn women’s improbable win streak ended at 90 in basketball,  and the Penn State women’s volleyball team had an over the top win streak of 109 ended then went on to win their 4th straight Division I volleyball national title.

There will always be debates about parity in women’s athletics versus men’s athletics, that it’s “harder” to win 30 games men’s hoops than women’s hoops but the reality? A 30 win basketball or volleyball season is to be celebrated: without debate of gender.

The young women playing high school and college sports today are the daughters of Title IX.  They didn’t grow up when young girls playing a sport was an anomaly. Drive through the suburbs of Chicago, Dallas, SF, Denver on a Saturday: just as many pig-tailed girls playing soccer, t-ball, basketball as boys.  When I signed up to play t-ball at 5, I was the first female to ever play for the park league in my medium-sized Chicago suburb.  The next year, my sister was the second.  My oldest niece plays 3 sports and is widely thought of to be the best athlete in her school.  She asked if she could play football, and was told yes.  She would have been the starting quarterback but alas, discovered that her other passion, cheerleading was FOR football (sigh).  She doesn’t know an era where young women cannot receive college scholarships for athletics or academics.

From Division III swimmers to Division I fencers, most play for the love of the sport, with little opportunity after college aside from rec leagues, teaching others and the lessons learned from playing a team sport, being part of a team in predominately individual event sports and the dedication and time management to be a student-athlete.  Like any other group, there are a few that break the rules but there are so many more that compete to compete.  And yes, it’s still fun to discover that a friend of yours holds the college record at your school 20 years later.

What makes the dominance of Penn State and UConn in their respective sports so amazing is that for the first time, there was a glare of a spotlight, there was expectations of “never loosing” and there were grown men and women as well as children watching.  For the first time, two sports showed the fulfillment of Title IX.  Their accomplishments were celebrated on ESPN, national media outlets and on their college campuses.  The “streak breakers” of Stanford (for both!) had a 4 year undefeated dual meet swimming record of its own back in the mid 90’s.

Sports and the lessons learned in competition carry over.  And as the Penn State campus celebrates its 4th straight volleyball title, and as UConn learns from its defeat by Stanford, the greater lesson should be learned.  Throwing, spiking and passing like a girl? It’s something to be celebrated.  Just as the bowl season is to be enjoyed: it takes commitment, dedication and a passion to play at the collegiate level.

Kick back and enjoy watching your favorite team and sport. But remember, these really are just kids playing for the love of a sport.  And somewhere, I am certian, John Wooden enjoyed watching the fall sports season.


November 10, 2010

For the past twenty hours or so, my mind has been with one person that I probably have not thought about in probably 20 years.  Not out of malice or because of an issue, but simply because she and I while we knew each other by sight in college, probably would not recognize each other today if we were to pass in an airport.

She lost her husband, suddenly and without warning. They have young children. There isn’t anybody to rage against or yell at: it was “one of those things.” When I close my mind I can see her as a college sophomore with a smile on her face. I haven’t seen her since then but the community that forms out of Hollins never ceases to amaze me.

I did the “normal” post-modern thing of sending her a Facebook message and expressed my sympathy.  What I saw on her wall was amazing: names of women I haven’t heard/thought of for years doing the same. We are sorry for your loss: know we are here for you.

I remember a few things from my orientation: one was being told that these would be my friends for life. What do you know when you are 17? Very little. I remember hearing it again at graduation and being told we were leaving but the community would remain and thinking, huh? (pre internet era!).

I’ve run into a few alumnae from a few different decades on airplanes since I graduated. The community does remain. There is a common link; the traditions, the changes, the quirks. And for a moment yesterday, I remembered somebody at 19 (including the fashion) and thought she doesn’t deserve this. Nobody does.

I hope she and her family can feel the strength, love and support in the day, weeks, months and years to follow. I know she will smile again, and laugh again without guilt. But for today, I simply wish I could hand her a magic wand, for the one last conversation I know she wishes she could have.


October 28, 2010

The great spirit Tinker awakes once a year for Hollins University students and jealous alumnae worldwide. On campus? A free day! Krispe Kreme donuts and breakfast in your pj’s. After climbing Tinker Mountain a feast of fried chicken, Tinker Cake (of course!). Classes are cancelled. Some time in October (only rarely in November and one odd time in the spring, but we won’t GO THERE). After the first frost. But when?

Then you graduate. And sadly, most bosses frown on Tinker Day. The further you get from your last REAL Tinker Day, you yearn for the Krispe Kreme and the magic Tinker Day Fairy that takes away work for a day. You know, things like this:

Just so many dishes!They never end. . .

It’s sad really. . . there are not Tinker Days for Alumnae. Or are there?

Thank you magic Tinker Day Fairy!Really! Thank You!

No! Thank you! Give to the Annual Fund and maybe next year, the magic Tinker Day Fairy will visit you!

And even leave you a note!