Three E’s: a paradigm

Years ago, when I was freelancing as a development researcher and writer, I helped the director of a new institute on children’s health prepare for a speech. I did the research that framed her remarks, which she wrote and ultimately presented to an advisory board. This was before the proliferation of Web-available information (in fact, Lydia was 8 weeks old at the time — 14 years ago!), and I conducted the research like a gumshoe, going stealthily from library to library, consulting periodical indexes, photocopying articles, and interviewing researchers.

At the Educational Development Center in Newton, I spoke at length to a library associate who first interviewed me, as a way of getting a bead on my questions and assignment. She asked me if I was familiar with the “Three E’s,” a neat way to think about public health problems, and she drew a simple diagram on the chalkboard in her office.

She explained that there are three kinds of approaches to addressing and attempting to solve entrenched problems, like teen pregnancy or gun violence: engineering, enforcement, and education. “Say you want to address rising teen pregnancy. An education approach would be to design a school-based curriculum at prevention. You might try to meaningfully inform teenagers about the responsibilities of parenting and offer them pragmatic advice about contraception. An enforcement approach would be to segregate pregnant teens from the main school program — this might be a disincentive to nonpregnant teens. The engineering approach would be the offering of Norplant, free of charge and through a school’s health clinic, to sexually active girls.” She added, “Whenever you can come up with an engineering solution to a health problem, it’s easier and usually more effective because it minimizes the human behavior aspects that enforcement and especially education rely on. Education is the hardest way to affect change.” Continue reading

– Open job ticket

Shawn, the electrician, comes in the front door lugging his toolbox and three light bars. “Are you excited?”

“This is the hard part,” I say. “We’re in the middle. So, er, no.”

Our kitchen has been undone since late December: food and dishes put away in boxes, tile ripped off the floor and walls, vintage appliances carted away, and cabinet doors unhinged and discarded.

We’re undertaking what I’m calling a recession renovation. (My phrasing is inspired by Marcia telling me she’s “recession reading”: getting to books she owns already and no bookstore splurges.) This project is not a total re-do; instead, it’s piecemeal. New this and new that, but some old remains.

Threshold (Jan. 2010)

New doors have already been hung on the old cabinets. New floor tile has been ordered. New countertop: Formica™ will have to do.

The project started. It’s underway. The last lick of paint is a long way off.

We’re in the middle.

I find the middle, of any creative project, to be a wide, rough patch (even this one, in which other laborers, and not me, are doing the lion’s share of the physical work).

Beginnings burst with energy. There is a decisive break with the old. The outcome shimmers ahead on a horizon only imagined.

Endings, too, gather energy to them. The finish line is in sight. Adrenalin surges.

The middle slumps. Continue reading

– At long last: grackles

At long last — weeks after I had given up the hope that I would see them this year — they returned.

As I stood at the kitchen sink, drank from a cup, and stared absent-mindedly into the backyard, I faintly heard a chorus of chattering. I heard it before I recognized it.

My attention tracked the origin of the noise. I went to the door, opened it quietly, and peered up at the old trees. Ah, they were dotted and filled with the purplish, black birds. Hundreds of them chucked like pigeons and squeaked like rusted gates. Hundreds. From the trees in the front of the house to the trees in the back, a crowd of them swooped, and the swooping felt like a huge quiet breath inhaled by the sky over my shoulder: a pause, a contraction, a gathering of force.

Usually, their arrival coincides with Columbus Day. This year, I waited and waited and waited, yet they seemed to have passed by without stopping for me, or perhaps they had not passed by at all, which made me wonder: what is going on in our climate?

The grackles are very late this year. Still, they have arrived and will probably stay for a day or two. While their gang sound is chilling and seems to bring a portent, I am relieved by their visit.

—-

P.S. This video was taken by me, on the morning of November 16, 2009, as I stood on our back steps and looked up at the trees in our yard and beyond to my neighbor’s red roof. As you watch, turn up the volume on your machine to appreciate the effect of a sky filled with grackle sound.

– Meager light

Photosynthesis, which occurs in plants, algae, and some bacteria, uses energy from sunlight to convert carbon dioxide into organic compounds. This is food, and plants need food to grow.

If you live in Massachusetts, you may have noticed that there has been what I would call NO SUNSHINE in all of June. Well, maybe there was one day, or two afternoons. Overall, though, there has been a noticeable lack of sun.

And, yet, my sunflower plants, along with the grass, hydrangea, hosta, ajuga, clematis, and all else that is green, have grown steadily. The tallest ones are up to my hip. In a rare and transient moment of June sun, Eli took their picture:

sunflower plants, 6.16.2009 at 6:25pm

sunflower plants, 6.16.2009 at 6:25pm

Their continued growth is evidence that something continues to happen even though I might say that growing conditions are limited or unfavorable: wet, dark, cold.

What meager light we’ve had seems to have been enough.

Maybe it’s worth us remembering in our own lives that, even when conditions seem limited, subtle processes continue to unfold and yield good things: ones we don’t force, ones that surprise us.

– Incomprehensible

EconomistJune13CoverThe June 13th issue of The Economist is on the kitchen table, and Grace, who loves magazine covers, is examining it. I’m puttering around the kitchen. She asks, finally, “What does it mean?” So I lean over her shoulder and take a stab at explaining the visual metaphor: “Right now, the world is experiencing huge financial problems, created by people who are adults now. However, the problems are so huge that it may take 30 or so years to solve them, and the people who will be most burdened by these money problems are babies now.”

Grace responds, “I still don’t get it.”

Jimmy has entered the kitchen and offers a more concise explanation than mine: “The world is in debt right now, and the people who caused the debt are Mom and my generation and the Baby Boomers’ generation. However, the people who are going to pay for this debt are babies and children right now, like you.”

Grace looks again at the cover. “I still don’t understand.”

Honey, you shouldn’t have to, I want to say, but there is nothing more to say, because she is only nine years old.

– What are you letting go?

balloonOn Saturday night in Berkeley, after trying (without reservations) to eat at Chez Panisse (the upstairs, less expensive café part), Betsy and I walked along the block for a while before deciding on Café Gratitude, a raw food vegan restaurant that practices sacred commerce.

Our young server, Natalie, with her bangs and long black braid, bright eyes blackly lined, and pink glossed lips, gave us a tour of the menu and recited a bit of Gratitude’s history. Before she left us to ponder food choices, she asked us the question of the day: “What are you letting go?” Natalie opened her hands, palms up.

Betsy replied with her own question: “Do you want us to answer you… ?”

I interjected, “—or just think about it?”

Natalie seemed to take a step away. “Whatever you want,” she said and continued to smile. “I’ll be back.” As she walked off, I noticed she wore cool black boots with her black clothes. Continue reading

– Dehumanized

spiderYesterday I graded papers at my dining room table all day, and then last night too. I had to push myself: it’s a special challenge to stay motivated and energized lately about teaching tasks that are difficult even in normal times. (And these are not. As one of my MIT colleagues wrote to me recently in an e-mail about layoffs, “Stupid economy.”)

Same thing this morning — pushed self up and out of bed at 6am to make a worksheet for a peer review exercise. Left house at 7:30am to give Eli a ride to his early class and then head to campus myself.

On the way, I listened to the radio station already on: WBUR, the local NPR affiliate. News, news, news. As I pulled into the parking lot, this story by Carey Goldberg came on. In her own voice, she describes getting laid off from the Boston Globe, where she was a part-time science writer, and she reflects on how paradoxically painful it was to hear her boss and colleagues say, “It wasn’t you.” We like you. Continue reading

– A huge disconnect

"At the Edge of the Quarry," July 2008

"At the Edge of the Quarry," July 2008

There is much beauty in the world and its people.

(Dear Reader, I beg your patience. In this post I’m going to attempt to start at beauty and end up at crisis. At this moment of beginning, I’m not sure I’ll find the path.)

There is much beauty in the world and its people. That is what I feel and what I believe. I would say, too, that beauty is what I see around me; it is my nearest and often most vivid experience. Children, what grows from the ground, surfaces, words on pages, good hearts. Beauty is real to me.

Last week I was in San Francisco, the first time since 1987, and I stayed with my friends Marcia and Steve, who live near the Presidio. On my first evening there, Steve and dog Henry walked me up there to look out over the city and across to Alcatraz and Angel Island, the Bay Bridge, a cemetery, the Golden Gate. We walked through cypress and eucalyptus trees that composed a woods both magical and spooky, and everywhere in the air was their scent.

Good words fail at these overwhelming moments. Continue reading