My mother Mildred Gersh (1921-2016)

This is how I will remember my mother: smiling, cheery and ready for a game of bridge, canasta or Jeopardy on television.  She had been a New York Board of Education school teacher (6th grade) who rose in the ranks from sub to full-time to District 11 Reading Coordinator to Assistant Principal. She was very proud of her career and her publications.  She edited one of the first primers that characterized boys and girls in equal roles - the burgeoning 1970s feminist strategy to achieve gender parity. An early feminist she was.  I remember attending one of the first NOW demonstrations with her in NYC.  Before she left Florida "to go North" to assisted living in New Rochelle, she cast an absentee vote for Hillary Clinton.  (She loved Hillary - while I loved "Your Guy" [Bernie Sanders].)

My mother lived Hadassah.  That's not a typo - she lived it and loved it (most of the time). She belonged to Hadassah Chapter Orah-Sunrise in Broward County, Florida.  In recent years the membership dwindled to such a degree that their chapter had to merge with Hadassah Florida Broward. Things were never the same, she said during my last visit to her condo apartment in Phase IV - all pink and mauve and almond Formica to go with her summer-y, tropical retirement.  Last fall, she had ceased to contributed her reports on the state of Israel and international relations.  She was no longer in charge of the educational programs for meetings.  In the photo above, she was ready to leave the apartment for a Hadassah Luncheon. It was mid March 2016 during my Spring Break.  She returned from the luncheon with a pendent bestowed on the women honored at the luncheon.  On Sunday, May 20, 2007, she was selected by Orah-Sunrise Chapter as their "Woman of the Year" for the annual Hadassah Regional Luncheon, celebrated along with her sister Hadassah chapter honorees for that year.  (It was one of the few Hadassah functions I agreed to attend thus far.  She bought lifetime Hadassah memberships for all the Jewish women in her family.)

She also loved to knit and crochet, especially for her family - from the newest arrivals (either by marriage or birth) - to the oldest son-in-law.  Among her greatest fans and collectors, her granddaughter Natasha models her Hanukah gift for December 2014 in a photo sent by email to Grandma's account.

The arts were nurtured by both my parents, who enjoyed dance and classical music concerts, theater, museum exhibitions, and books. My mother kept up their Florida subscriptions until 2015.

The last photo of Mom in United Hebrew Rehab/Nursing.  It was on Thursday, August 4, 2016 - her birthday.  She was 95.   My cousin Lydia and I spent the late afternoon with her.  I regret that I didn't take a photograph while she was dressed in her lovely floral blouse and navy pants. She wasn't comfortable during the early part of our visit, but she smiled and asked questions - expressed interest. She seemed genuinely pleased by the birthday cards we read to her one by one.

Lydia arranged her birthday cards on the little bulletin board next to her bed.  The Yorkie is Zachary, my cousins Wendy and Arthur's dog.  She loved all the cards.  And we loved sharing her birthday with her.

My mother died on Saturday, August 6th in White Plains Hospital.  She had been taken to the hospital on Friday, August 5th, the day after her birthday.  She contracted a uti - and was delirious.  I visited her in WPH that evening and the nurses assured me that the antibiotics would kick in soon - she would recover.  She didn't.  Her heart stopped around noon the next day.  And my heart stopped too when I found her about 1 pm.  I wasn't ready to good-bye.  

Too short a stay with us.  Too long in discomfort.  I miss you, Mom - may you be now at peace in a comfy chair, like the one I remember you sitting in when I left you in Florida on June 4th - in the pink and smiling.

Sandwiched - written July 6, 2016

Written July 6, 2016:
I am a sandwich.  My mother is 94 and my daughter is 24.  When I call my mother, she recites her physical problems, going into detail.  When I call my daughter, she recites her existential problems, going into detail.  I am a sandwich, servicing both with a patient ear and sympathetic sighs.   "Yes, it's horrible for you.  I agree - this is very sad/terribad/the pits."  

I am also a sandwich between by my sibs.  The middle child between a domineering big sister and self-center younger brother.   To my extreme horror, the two decided to move our mother from her glorious condominium in Florida to a hotel-room size apartment in an assisted living residence in New Rochelle.  I am heartsick.   My mother needs twenty-four hour care.  My sibs did not sign up for this. She loved her caregivers.  Now she is lonely and very depressed.

Isn't this elder-care abuse?   My sister has power of attorney and her son is a lawyer.  My brother is an MD, who drugged my mother into submitting to their plan.   (It was called "anti-anxiety" measures.)

My mother just called me to say that she can't find her blue blanket.  She is alone.  No one is answering her buzzer.  She hasn't been alone in her Florida apartment since September.

The four adults (my brother, his wife, my sister's son and his wife) -  who put her into this predicament - live 15 minutes from her new abode.    I live 35 minutes by car on the other side of Westchester.  But she called me at 9:30 pm this evening, because she is afraid to "bother" them.

Oh yes, it is horrible for her.  It is very sad/terribad/the pits.
I wish I were able to take my mother back to FL and make her feel better again.

Settling for Less While Trying to "Have It All": The Adjunct is Also a Mom

All right - I am stupid!  I admit it.  It was stupid to accept becoming an adjunct professor (now referred to as "contingent faculty") way back before my daughter was born.  We were about to move to Providence, Rhode Island so that my husband could begin his gig in the Physics Department at Brown University.  With incredible, wonderful luck, I phoned the Music and Art Department at Simmons College to ask about possible openings.  Miraculously the chairperson,  the amazing and inspiring feminist art historian Alicia Faxon, was available to chat.  She suggested that I call one of her part-time faculty members for advice.  This Canadian had just learned her visa would not come through in time for fall semester, and - voilà: I had an interview to teach the "History of Women Artists."  (Teaching "Women as Art and Artist" at NYU came in handy for this opportunity - thank you, General Studies Program.)   In September 1989,  I become a full-time "part-timer":  a freelance adjunct professor and art historian/critic for hire.

Two years after I started teaching at Simmons (and again teaching the "History of Women Artists"), I was pregnant with my daughter. Who could have prepared me for the enormous transformation from careerist to mother? No one.  I hadn't a clue.  Good fortune brought sage women artists into my life, like the highly accomplished Tayo Heuser.  I was teaching, reviewing exhibitions for Art New England and co-directing the Bannister Gallery at Rhode Island College with the multi-talented Alexandra Broches (best known as the founder and former director of Hera Gallery, one of the first women artists coops).  These exceptional women discussed the influence of motherhood on their work, the sense of "a death of the self" as they had been before children came along.  I listened. I tried to imagine myself in their place. However, the authenticity of such feelings cannot be truly claimed before that precious wonder arrives: beautiful, helpless and fascinating. The greatest show on earth - from dawn to dusk and then some. I absolutely fell in love with my child and being her mother. 

Fortunately, the mothering experience has served me well as my students became more and more needy and demanding.  Mea culpa - I was part of the Millennials' parenting that delayed their maturation process. We just wanted to mother too long. 

Being my daughter's mother became the center of my life - my compass and my priority.  Teaching, research, writing and curating had to fit around this center.  It wasn't an "either/or": I did "want it all" and tried to "have it all": a satisfying motherhood, spousehood and career.  Unfortunately, "all" does not come in equal measure - some less, some more.

Do I regret my stupid choice?  Naw, even though it is depressing to review the residual effects - 

Yes, I earn very little money.

Yes, I write books that earn even less.

Yes, I have very little savings for my retirement.

Yes, I feel like "low-person" on the academic totem pole.

Yes, I commute hither and yon in wind, rain or snow (but I do like those "snow days" - amen to that).

On the other hand, when it comes to motherhood, there are rarely any "do-overs."  With that in mind, I feel extremely fortunate to have . . .

• Attended Halloween Parades, Mother's Day breakfasts, Open Houses on Election Day and holiday card-making at my daughter's schools.
• Arranged my hours to get my child from school or home to after-school activities so that she was able to pursue ballet, horseback riding, reading clubs at the library and her bat mitzvah classes.
• Planned and hosted birthday parties, Halloween parties, and the like, with all the joy of creating invitations, cakes, and crafts with our guests.

Sure, the so-called "smart" person does not always make "smart" choices.  For this mother, adjuncting was smart enough. Not brilliant, but practical.

On this occasion, I would like to thank my husband for his unwavering faith in my research projects and goals.

I would like to thank my parents for being proud of my work - even if they never read my books (they are boring, I know).

And I would like to thank my beautiful daughter, the light of her parents' life - and apologize for passing on the writer bug.  Ack!   It's a gift and a curse.  May you find joy beyond the struggle to get the words right. May you find solace in knowing it's worth the pain and the aggravation.

And to all the adjunct professors who juggle courses, commuting, family and research projects: rise up to defend your dignity. We are not abject worms placed in feeder-fish positions to serve the tenured faculty.  We are the clever ones, who prioritize in favor of the people we love, the students we serve, and the projects we believe in.

Hold your heads up high - and say: It is worth it!

We are all Millennials

I gave birth to a Millennial.  I know that because The New York Times, The Washington Post and Fortune Magazine told me so.  My child is between the ages of 21 and 30, 24 and 34, and 18-36.  My nephews are Gen Xers - 10 and 16 years her senior.  Their children are Gen Zers (which means they learned how to use smartphones before they were potty trained).

But I have news for you - we are all Millennials in today's world.  Oh, yes -  we want what we want when we want it.  A Burger King, Starbucks and Build-a-Bear lifestyle. Nest Security "curated" from a smartphone. We are all impatient to get it right - to make it work for ourselves, our way.

Have you noticed that all the brotherly and sisterly love we embraced during Pope Francis' trip evaporated in the next traffic jam or "detained" subway service?  We are all Millennials: in a hurry, overbooked and underpaid for the nearly unlimited access we give to each other (time-wise) every day (texting, FB and networking obsessively).

One of my students expressed the mood of our culture in one word: expediency.  Right on, Kassandra (her real name).  We are all time-hacking, in one way or another, to fit into 24 hours more activities than can realistically be accomplished - well.   (Oh, you say, you can do it?  Hmmm . . . check in with your children, boss or clients about that? How many times were you late? Cancelled? Or unprepared? Not fast enough, my dear?  Not efficient enough to transition from one task to another? Did you not get the memo that multitasking is a myth promulgated by MBAs in Management Training?)

The younger Millennials, 20-somethings, are not that different. Not really. They are overextended and anxious about what to prioritize: work, love or play.  They too are  fighting to just keep going, one step at a time. To feel authentic, strong and ready to take on the world.  They yearn for a better future, like the migrants/refugees from Syria, Afghanistan, Libya and so forth, who are waiting to dig their heels deeply into a stable existence - a place to call home.  We feel for them as they suffer through their arduous journeys.  And we can identify with them to some extent, as we all are struggling to improve a global culture fraught with dislocation and disconnection.  Almost all of us benefit from the wonders of the internet and mass communication, but most of us are deeply dissatisfied with the status quo.  We want to move on from this point in human history.  (I think the Pope's visit brought that into clear focus.)

We are all Millennials - seeking a better life than we have now.