© Catherine Haslag
© Catherine Haslag
© Catherine HaslagMy Office
My Office
I have three offices – one on campus, one at my house, and one at a nearby coffee shop.
My coffee shop office is a round table with three chairs in the corner near east-facing windows. Before the pandemic, you could find me in my coffee shop office nearly every Monday through Friday for a few hours. I would get hot or iced tea (depending on the weather) and maybe a scone, pull out my laptop and headphones and get to work.
My coffee shop office.
I would see people I know and spend some time chatting with them as they came in for their respective coffee group or grabbed a refreshment during a break from work. It was a joke among the people who worked there, those who frequented the coffee house, and my friends that I should put a plaque marking that table as my office. I have received photos from friends on two different occasions showing me that they were using my office in my absence.
Then the pandemic came, and my office wasn’t safe for a while. I missed my sunny workspace and the people I saw there regularly. I went through withdraw during the lockdown and struggled to find spaces in my own home that could be my new “office.” I reorganized and repainted my home office to take advantage of the sunlight and view of the street. I sometimes worked at my dining room table or even the kitchen counter. These spaces allowed me to work, but they weren’t the same.
While the pandemic isn’t over, I do spend a little time in my office nearly every week. I sometimes have meetings there, or I might spend a few hours on Friday afternoon when the coffee house is generally slow. Of course, I still enjoy a hot or iced tea and maybe a baked sweet treat, but it’s not the same.
The space hasn’t changed, but I have. It doesn’t quite meet my needs like it used to. I’m not fond of the commotion of the coffee shop as much as I once did. Living along during a pandemic has shown me how much I need quiet and space from other people.
Now, I much prefer the desk in my home office. I can spread out my notebooks, computer, and papers while revising a lab for my classes, going down a research rabbit hole, or writing a new blog. But, I still enjoy a cup of tea, play music, light a candle. So, this is the workspace I need now.
Sometimes things change, and sometimes we change. I miss what was then and is no more. But, I am grateful that it existed and was there for me when I needed it. I hope it provides the space others need to do their work.
© Catherine Haslag
© Catherine HaslagUnanswered
I thought about you during yoga class tonight. Smiled as I remembered how we would leave work and head to have tea/coffee before yoga class. First classes with Beth and Tammy. Then eventually with Abbe at the old firehouse on Commercial. It was one of our rituals. You turned me onto this practice of dogs that face upward and downward.
Our lunches at Tea Bar and Bites was another ritual. We practically ran from the building on those days. Our little retreat from that toxic office. Our table was in the backroom, where we could talk privately. Then there was that period we ate lunches and played backgammon on a fellow yogi’s porch in Roundtree. I can’t remember her name. You taught me backgammon. I loved our games. I can’t bring myself to play now.
Our table at Tea Bar and Bites – a respite from a miserable job.
You showed me the little things in life that made it wonderful. Walks in beautiful neighborhoods, the joys of living simply. Good food. Soft sheets and towels. You said the things you touch should feel good. I still only buy things that feel good to the touch.
We met when I was a young wife, a new homeowner, and fresh to the full-time workforce. You were my friend who had “been there, done that.” Marriages, kids, jobs, life. You had seen a lot of life. You helped me see I deserved more from life. Gave me space to figure out what to do as my marriage disintegrated. Provided the wine, sympathetic ear, and friendship on many nights, I miss those conversations at your Stickley kitchen table where we talked about life and solved the world’s problems.
You encouraged me to find a new job. Move away. Gave me a kick in the pants when I needed it. Allowed me to cry when I moved to a scary new place and was overwhelmed by it all. We talked for hours on the phone nearly every night for months. Five hundred miles disappeared with a single phone call.
I know we had been drifting apart for a while. I know our friendship wasn’t what it once was the last time we spoke. I don’t know why you just stopped talking to me. Never returned my calls or texts. Our friendship ended in an argument in late 2017. Ten years of friendship ended in a heartbeat without an explanation.
The smell of cedar bows at Christmas in your home. The warmth of your hug. The joy of drinking wine and talking with you.
Your company was gone in an instant.
© Catherine Haslag
© Catherine Haslag
© Catherine HaslagJumper Cables
During my senior year of high school, I got my first car – a 1973 Oldsmobile Delta Royale in toad green. We called it The Toad. It was a hand-me-down from my Uncle Jerry. It was a boat, but it got me where I needed to go. This car offered several amenities to 18-year-old Catherine:
- bench seats in the front and back,
- a heater that could bake a turkey on defrost,
- a trunk that could carry numerous bodies (if necessary), and
- one of those old radios with the big silver buttons you had to jam in to make the station change.
Much to the horror of my stepfather, I could lay head-to-toe in the back seat, and neither my head nor feet would touch the doors. I was forbidden to take it on dates.
These jumper cables got me a parking spot and to class on time.
My Uncle Dick gave me some equipment for Christmas that year that every car owner needs: jumper cables. These weren’t any run-of-the-mill set of jumper cables; they were 20-foot, heavy-duty jumper cables. At the time, they seemed like overkill. Wouldn’t 6 or 9-footers work just as well? Over time, I came to appreciate the wisdom of this gift.
I never lived more than a few blocks off campus when I was in college, but sometimes I still needed to take my care to campus. If you arrived after 9 am, it was hard to find a spot. It was common to see people driving through the lots, stalking a student who was headed back to their car. If you followed them and patiently waited, you would be rewarded with a parking space.
I often used this tactic to find a parking spot. One day, I saw a woman headed back to her car. I rolled down my window and asked where she was parked. She motioned towards her car. I followed her and waited patiently for her to pull out of her space. I waited and waited. Finally, she got out of her car and walked over to my window. She had left her lights on, and her battery was dead. I couldn’t pull in close to her car because the spaces all around her were occupied. All she had was a set of short jumper cables. However, I had my trusty 20-foot jumper cables. I pulled up behind her, took out my cables, and we had her car started in no time. When she left, I took her parking space. My 20-foot jumper cables got me a parking space, and I made it to class on time.
Those jumper cables have had a home in every car I’ve owned. Over the years, they jumped the vehicles of friends, strangers, and my own during a polar vortex in January 2019. There were piles of snow everywhere, the coldest wind I have ever felt beating on me, and I was parked nose-first into the space, but the cables still did their job. I never worry about reaching the battery because the cables are always long enough.
There are times when we need to be thrifty and times when it’s worth it to invest in a better quality item. So my advice is to always spend the extra money on a pair of heavy-duty, 20ft (or longer) jumper cables. You will not be disappointed.
© Catherine HaslagUn
I live life by the semester as a college teacher: fall, spring, and summer.
It’s generally an excellent rhythm for me. I have time and space to work on new ideas for my classes in the summer. This is important because it’s hard to work on new ideas for courses while teaching. Then, in the fall and spring, I put those ideas to use and focus on working with my students.
This fall was the first time I wasn’t giddy about going back to school. It wasn’t the usual fresh start I previously relished. Usually, I enjoy the buzz and energy of the new school year, but not this year. This August felt more like a trudge into the repetitive and mundane. I wasn’t starting as my usual, fresh from summer self.
This semester has been one of the hardest of my career. I see the exhaustion in my students and feel that same exhaustion in myself. So many mornings, I have said “Good morning” at the start of class and received silence in return. The students I see are shell-shocked and burned, even at 9am. This doesn’t bode well if they have later classes. It’s hard to keep students motivated when they are already running at less than half a tank. It’s even more complicated when your tank is low as well.
I know my students and I aren’t the only ones who feel the weight of it all. We are about to enter year 3 of a pandemic with no unified approach and no definite end in sight. Our country is divided as it has been for more than 150 years. Misinformation runs through the internet and cable wires like wildfire, adding to the mess. We went on as best we could with life as usual, but this is a time of the unusual, the uncertain, the unsettled, the uncomfortable, the unrest…this is a time of the un.
There is no semester rhythm in the time of the un.
Next week, I will give finals, figure grades, and make a game plan for the short break between the fall and spring semesters. This is a time to rest and prepare for the spring semester – when I will do my best to deal with the un of life…and hope my students will too.
Oscar
His name was Oscar.
He lived at Westphalia Hills for some period of time that covered at least the end of November 2019 to the very beginning of December 2019. I don’t know exactly how long he was there, just that his stay overlapped with my uncle’s time there in hospice.
Photo obtained from Shutterstock.
I encountered Oscar every time I entered the complex. Oscar wanted someone to help him back into bed and he wasn’t shy asking for help to reach this goal.
His ONLY goal.
And he pursued it with single-minded dedication.
This was my only interaction with Oscar. He would politely ask me to help him back to his room. Then he wanted help getting into bed.
This wasn’t a dirty request. He wasn’t being inappropriate. He just wanted to be in his bed…and stay there.
The first time I went to find a nursing assistant to help him, I found out this was Oscar’s game. He roamed the building all day looking for someone to take him to his room and help him into bed. But the staff didn’t want him in bed. They wanted him out and active, even if his only activity was finding a way to get back into his bed.
You always knew where Oscar was. You either heard him asking for help (Oscar wasn’t a quiet guy) or someone yelling at him to get out of their room. Oscar often rolled into the rooms of other residents. I still remember the day he ended up in the room of a pair of ladies. You would think a fox had just gotten into the hen house based on the commotion that erupted.
I tell this story not to make fun of Oscar but rather to share the comic relief he provided to me and my family at this time. As we were watching my uncle take his final steps from this world, we had Oscar’s antics as a distraction. We shared stories about what he was up to each day and what trouble he caused. He provided levity during a very heavy time. Oscar will never know how he broke the tension of a very difficult time for us.
I don’t know who Oscar was before or after those three weeks, but I am grateful for the encounters we had.
I think of him often, smile, and hope he achieved his goal.