Author Archives: Barbara Ross

WebCT Reunion–West Coast Version

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For those of you who may have missed it in the Comments, Mr. Morrison posted the following about the upcoming WebCT Vancouver Reunion:

” To all those from Lynnfield/Boston who only visited Vancouver and did work… and yes I know who you are… you might want to visit Vancouver in mid August. Sat Aug 18 there will be a WebCT Vancouver reunion. Vancouver is at its best in August, so well worth a visit. And of course you’ll get to see the folks still living in Vancouver. Chloe is organizing, but I can pass your email address onto her if you don’t have hers.Of course as you know her first and last name and her account is on gmail, you can figure it out…”

WebCT Reunion Party!

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Seventy-five people attended the big WebCT Reunion Party last night in Boston.  It was wonderful to see everyone from around the country and the world–current Blackboarders, people working for alliance partners and people from the Boston area who have moved on to other things.  Everyone from WebCT seems to have landed on their feet and then some.  It was especially great to see former Vancouverites John Morrison and Jonathan Abourbih and current Vancouverites Phil Chatterton, Jason Hollins and Scott Stanley.  I wish there had been a way to teleport even more Vancouver people here!

Lisa had a mild panic attack in the morning that the party was going to be a dud, but whenever you get a few ex-WebCTers together, yackety, yackety, yackety yack.  I never moved out of a corner of the room all night.  There were people I saw across the room I wanted to say hi to and missed–we were all so busy talking.

The big news of the evening was that former WebCT Lynnfield employee and party animal Somen Saha is on his way to becoming a Bollywood star.

 This one is my favorite

But they are all well worth watching–here, here, here and here.

Sheila has also already uploaded her pictures here.  Ignore the funny hats Carol, John and I are wearing, since apparently wearing funny costumes is still required of us in July.

Thanks to Blackboard for having BbWorld in Boston so we had this chance to get together, and thanks especially to Lisa Philpott, Sheila Mehta-Green, Sarah Burke and Isabella Hinds for organizing.  I’m sure it was a lot of hard work, but so worth it!

BTW==I got lots of requests for more blog posting.  I will definitely give it a try, but blogging is something I do when I’m procrastinating, so I try not to do it too much.  What is harder to explain is what procrastinating means in the context of my stated goal of “doing nothing.”

Update

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Kate has left Creativ & Company and has just started a job as the assistant to Jill Seelig, publisher of O, The Oprah Magazine.  Rob is still working as the production manager at Leaders magazine, so both kids are, as my nephew Daniel says, “Magaziners.”  Bill is still hard at work at Sage Systems, and I am doing a little consulting, but still am mostly just writing and hanging out at home.

Look Before You Leap! The Worst Book I’ve Ever Read

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I don’t buy or read self help books as a rule.  It’s not that I believe I’m perfect, or that I’m beyond help, it’s just that in my limited sampling of the genre, I’ve found either platitudes or lunacy, but nothing particularly helpful. But in January, I was in the doctor’s office and I picked up a Newsweek and read about Leap! What Will We Do With The Rest of Our Lives?  It purported to be a book about what people do at that point in their lives when their kids are gone and work is a less central concern.  I thought, damn, I need to read this and then I ordered it from Amazon.

 

There were some warning signs.  After I’d ordered it, I read a review that said the book didn’t really address the mass of people for whom money, or lack of it, will be a central preoccupation of older age.  And the NYT review was awful, but as is so often the sad case in these days when the ad pages are so far down, the review came out after the publication date.  The book, as it was, was already in the mail.  I was doomed to read it.

 

Here is the primary message Leap! for how to deal with life beyond children and work:

 

Be rich.  Not just regular rich, but crazy, crazy rich.

 

Being crazy rich will allow you to spend a lot of your time gazing.  The interviewees in Davidson’s book gaze out their windows toward the Pacific from their condos in Maui, toward the Atlantic from their homes in Nantucket and toward the mountains from their ski lodges in Vail.  Had I but known what an important activity gazing would be at this stage in my life, I might not have settled in Somerville where gazing is viewed with suspicion by the neighbors, whose houses are a mere ten feet away.

 

Besides underestimating the importance of being crazy rich and gazing, there are several other things I failed to do to prepare myself to be fulfilled in late middle age.

 

—I failed to make friends with Carly Simon in the 1970s.  If we had been friends in the seventies, then I could call her up now and ask her how she handled losing her record label, battling cancer and dealing with the neighbors at her townhouse in Louisburg Square asking her to stop all the singing.  Since we weren’t friends, I think Carly might find it annoying or even psychotic if I called her and in any event, I don’t think finding a new producer and a new record label are what’s going to fulfill me.

—I failed to get married for a second or third time, which precludes me from now making the incredibly life-affirming and love-affirming choice to marry for a fourth.

–I failed to attend a tantric sex seminar in the 1990s with my much younger lover with whom I have nothing in common and whom my children hate, so now I can’t go back there with lots of scary questions about elder sex.

 

Enough about what I didn’t do.  Here are some things that Leap! breathlessly reports on that Bill and I are unlikely to be doing in the next decade.

—We won’t be adopting a baby at 60.  (That is we won’t be adopting a baby when we are sixty, not when the baby is sixty, which arguably might be fairer.)

—We won’t be living in a commune in Costa Rica.

—We won’t be taking tango lessons for the opportunity to feel up total strangers.

 

Real jobs, mortgages and grown children make no appearances in Leap!  Besides the need to be crazy rich, the central tenet seems to be that boomers will roll back the clock and turn their sixties into the sixties, though potentially with more Viagra and less LSD.  No thank you.

Davidson wrote the book when she couldn’t get work in Hollywood, despite her credentials as a producer of Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman. (Imagine!)  Her kids had gone off, she says, to college (though the book reads more as if they had gone off to another planet) and the aforementioned younger lover had shuffled off as well.  Toward the end of the book, Davidson goes to India on a volunteer vacation to teach orphaned children.  Half the other volunteers take an instant and violent dislike to her, and though they are written as small-minded and mean, it is hard not to have just a little sympathy for them.

 

I was reading the book at the hair salon when one of the hairdressers approached me to say that she’d heard about the book and wondered if it was good.  I told her it was the worst book I had ever read.  “You certainly have read a lot of it.” She looked at me accusingly.  I explained that at first I kept reading to see if there was anything at all helpful in it, then I kept reading because I was mad I had paid for the hardcover, and finally I read to the end just to see how really bad it could be.  Joe Queenan has a paean to bad books in this week’s NYT book review, but sadly, Leap! didn’t even register on that scale.  I was kind of mad at Newsweek for reporting on the book like it was something serious, but I’ve since discovered they have this whole boomer section, etc.  Eeeyou!

Anyway, don’t buy the book.  Don’t have some sort of retro moment (or senior moment) and steal the book.  If you see it on the shelves, treat it like it’s radioactive and stay very, very far away.

On Broadway

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Bill and I had a great time Thursday night at the world premiere of On Broadway at the Somerville Theatre as a part of the Independent Film Festival of Boston.

We were lucky to be invited because Terrence Hayes, son of Bill’s long time business partner Richie Hayes (both Bill and Richie have emphasized the need to always include the word business) was the cinematographer.

Written and directed by Dave McLaughlin, On Broadway tells the story of Jack O’Toole who is moved by the death of his uncle to write and mount a play in the back of a pub.  Joey McIntyre stars and is really, really good, forcing me to re-examine my opinion about everyone who has ever appeared on Dancing with the Stars.

The story is a serious one about the power of art and dreams, but the movie also includes great comedic turns by Lucas Caleb Rooney, Dossy Peabody, Will Arnett (who plays the brother in Arrested Development–no not that brother, the other brother), Robert Wahlberg (who is Mark Wahlberg’s brother–no not that brother, the other brother–btw did you know it is illegal to shoot a movie Boston without including at least one Wahlberg?) and Mike O’Malley, as Jack O’Toole’s brother, the Father.  It was particular fun to see O’Malley because he gave the commencement address at Kate’s UNH graduation last year.  Bush 41 and Bill Clinton are doing it this year, so Kate is a bit chuffed, but honestly having talked to lots of parents who sat through lots of speeches, it’s hard to believe any were more appropriate, heartfelt and entertaining than O’Malley’s.  It’s one of those things where I didn’t know who he was when he gave the speech and now it feels like he is everywhere.)

The movie started late (apparently because no one in either Boston or Hollywood can master the concept of come in, find your seat, and sit in it) which provided plenty of opportunity for rubbernecking.  Most of the cast were there.  Watertown girl Eliza Dushku provided a little glamour with a truly spectacular dress.

I have to say the movie is beautifully shot and looks far, far more expensive than it was.  McLaughlin and Terrence took material that could have been quite stagey-looking and instead gave us intimate shots, crowd shots, tons of locations and wonderful, loving sweeps of Boston.

Anyway, I recommend On Broadway.  Thursday night was sold out  (since McLaughlin is one of 11 children, McIntyre one of 9 and Wahlberg one of 9, it’s amazing there was room for anyone else in the theatre), but there are still seats for Sunday.

I Am Lost

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 I am taking a new writing class, one that focuses on constructing scenes.  I like the one below because it works on a lot of levels and has the advantage of being absolutely true.

 

I am lost.  At twenty-five, the age when most lawyers begin their first jobs, I have left my job as a paralegal.  I am making my living as a free-lance title examiner, spending my days tracing other people’s stories through big dusty books.  For some reason, one of my lawyer clients has decided to use my services to deliver subpoenas.  The assignments he chooses for me are not difficult or dangerous.  As mortgage interest rates rise to 18% and my title business slows, I see no reason to say no.

Except that I am terrible at the job.  In an age before Google Maps, I have no sense of direction and hate talking to strangers, particularly in situations that betray my ignorance.  I will drive forty miles out of my way rather than ask for directions.

This morning, I have used town maps to find my way to a suburb south of Boston, an area where I have never been.  As always in Massachusetts, the streets are a maze and street signs are minimal.  Am I on Acorn Street, Acorn Terrace or Acorn Circle?  The numbers on the houses are hard to spot as I cruise by.

Eventually, I decide I must be close.  I abandon my car to search on foot.  It is late spring, mid-day.  The high sun focuses everything with bright intensity.  The lines of the houses are too sharp, the treeless suburban lawns glow an iridescent green.  The streets are deserted.  Not a car goes by.

A postman comes around the corner.  He is tall, in his summer uniform, graying red hair receding under his cap.  His mail bag looks heavy, but he moves with big, confident strides.  I long to ask directions, but can’t.

“Hi,” he says, saving me the trouble.  “What are you doing here?”

I explain about the subpoena, how I can’t find the address.

“So is that what you want to be, a lawyer?” he asks, squinting the manila envelope I hold out in my hand.

“I don’t know,” I stammer.  “It’s hard.  Unless you go to a top school, there aren’t that many jobs.”

“Nonsense!” he admonishes.  “You can’t think that way.  The cream will always rise.”

He pushes his cap back on his head and uses a handkerchief to wipe the sweat from his brow.  Then he points me in the right direction and sends me on my way.

Ed Yeung

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My thoughts were in Vancouver yesterday with the family and friends of Ed Yeung who were attending his memorial service.

Ed was so much a part of WebCT.  His job might have driven other people crazy. He often had developers, support and even sometimes marketing going around and around on an issue while customers clamored for answers.  Ed patiently and cheerfully wrote draft after draft, always coming out with something that was both clear and accurate.

It was a tribute to Ed that he was not just well thought of in Vancouver.  He was also liked and admired by his colleagues in Boston.  It was amazing how Ed worked so collaboratively and productively with people he never met face to face.

Like many of Ed’s work colleagues, the last news I received from him was an update from the website LinkedIn saying Ed had taken a job as a Learning Specialist.  I remember pausing during a busy day and thinking, “That will be perfect for Ed.  He will be good at that.”

When I left WebCT, Ed wrote me a note saying the thing he most remembered was me quoting Dorothy Parker, “What fresh hell is this?”  Indeed.  A world without Ed is hard to imagine and a much diminished place.   He closed his note by saying, “I will miss you.  In fact, I miss you already.”  Now I am the one left missing him.

Household Deities

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Lots of religions have the notion of household gods–deities who aren’t in charge of the vast universe, but who tend to small things like broken dryers and clogged sinks.  Even the Catholic saints take on additional duties, like finding your car keys or selling your house.  Perhaps the impulse to wish for extra support, not just with the big things, but with the small, is universal.

 

In the past few weeks, my household gods have failed me completely.  Perhaps they’ve withered from lack of attention like all my plants eventually do.

 

In any case, I’ve endured visits from both Roto-rooter ($337.00) and the heating guy ($287.00).  For three weeks a smoke alarm with a dying battery beeped somewhere deep in the recesses of the house while Bill and I took turns searching for it.  And Bill spent all of last Saturday going from hardware store to hardware store looking for salt and a tool to get the ice off the front steps.  They face due north, get no sun at all, resemble a frozen waterfall and are just as easy to climb.

 

After each little hiccup, I am afraid to think that this run of –what?  It’s way too much to call it bad luck—maybe bad inconvenience—is over.  I am eyeing our cars and the rest of our major appliances with suspicion.

 

Perhaps I will begin a program to attract new household gods, but where do they come from?  Can they be purchased like warrantees or do they have to be lured?  Maybe an ad in the personals–

 

Wanted:  Minor god to sweat the small stuff for us.  Comfortable home, at least when the heat and toilets are working.  Inhabitants are friendly and mellow—except when they are not.  Only independent, self-sufficient deities need apply.

It’s Too Soon To Tell

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One of  the things I have been doing with my time off is taking writing classes and seminars.  Some have been skills based–workshops in doing revisions for example, but others have been more focused on being creative and generating new material.  Often the exercises in these classes involve writing to prompts.  For example, the class may be given a word or phrase, a physical object or photo or even a piece of music and then a very limited amount of time–say 10 or 15 minutes to write. It’s interesting to me that my production in these situations has been equal parts memoir, essay and fiction.  I have completed a couple of pieces I started to prompts, but mostly for me it’s a limbering up exercise and an opportunity for collegiality I find I need now that I’m not working.

Here is a piece that I wrote in response to the prompt, “Finish the phrase, ‘It’s too soon to tell.

It’s Too Soon To Tell

It’s too soon to tell
Will he have his mother’s fine skin,
His father’s auburn hair,
His Uncle Charlie’s protuberant ears?

It’s too soon to tell

Will he have his grandmother’s gift for music

His grandfather’s way with words,

Cousin Violet’s wonderful laugh?

 

Will he run races like his Uncle Pearce?

Build great cities like his Cousin Neville?

Or write software like Rita’s daughter Lil?

 

It’s too soon to tell

Will he have Aunt Clea’s love of the bottle,

Uncle Henry’s black depressions,

Cousin Mortimer’s passion for unsuitable women

Or Cousin Jasper’s for unsuitable men?

 

Will he know great love?

Will he go to war?

Will he know want, or will his pockets always be full?

 

This much we do know

He smells like heaven

His smile lights up the sky

His cry breaks your heart

And he holds each of us in the palm of his hand

 

Because we can’t wait to discover

The oh, so many things

It’s just too soon to tell

The Christmas Letter

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Ah, the annual Christmas letter, subject of so much derision.  I actually started sending one 12 years ago, ignoring the negative press.   I reasoned that  if I loved getting them from people, it was okay to send one, too. Since then, I’ve received a lot of positive comments, and people who get them one year and not the next (I usually don’t send them to folks we’ve seen through the year and who generally know what is up with us) often ask where theirs is.  So I persist. (But then, I also sometimes make Christmas fruitcake, so I may be the ultimate Christmas contrarian.  Or Cliche.  Or contrarian cliche.  Anywho…)

 

The rap on the Christmas letter is generally two-fold.  One is its impersonal nature, which I have to admit does give me pause–though in the age of the word-processing, it seems just a little crazy to write the same thing over and over. The other is its relentlessly positive spin. (Though we do have one friend who writes a consistently noirish Christmas letter, which is hilarious and just a tiny bit creepy.) Anyway, some really sad things did happen this year, including the passing of our family friend, Michelle Wilson, which was hard for all of us, and particularly so for Kate.  Bill and I both endured predictable business challenges.  Kate and I wrestled with transitions.  But hey.  That’s life.  And if our stories define us, then there are worse things to do than look back at the end of year at all the good things that have happened.

 

And so, without further pre-amble, here is this year’s entry.

 

December 5, 2006

Dear Family and Friends,

Happy Holidays.  Here in the Northeast, it’s been a little difficult getting into the spirit, since we haven’t even had to wear our winter coats yet.  (And yes, we do realize how annoying that statement must be to family and friends in the Midwest and Pacific Northwest.) None-the-less, we are baking cookies, putting up decorations and generally carrying on, because we know the days are flying by and the holidays will be upon us, even if the temperature outside indicates otherwise.

We have had an eventful year, indeed.  Kate returned from Australia last December as a very happy Christmas surprise for her Mom.  She graduated from the University of New Hampshire with a degree in English in May.  Now she is living in Soho and working five minutes away from her apartment at a small marketing firm called Creativ & Company.  In typical Kate fashion, she went to New York on a Tuesday, interviewed for the job she would get on Wednesday, found a friend of a friend to room with on Friday and an apartment on Saturday.  Of course, her apartment is the size of a dinner plate (you literally have to back into the WC, because there is no room, um, to turn around in there), but she is loving every minute of her New York adventure.

Rob is also still in New York, living in a really great brownstone in the Sunset Park area in Brooklyn and working as the production manager at Leaders magazine, a publication so exclusive you don’t subscribe, you have to apply.  This job represents a huge step up in responsibility for him and he is daily wrestling with software and design challenges, but is enjoying himself along the way. The most hilarious part for his family is that he has to wear a suit and tie to work everyday.  Quite a change from the look he was sporting when he came off the Appalachian Trail last year!  He and long-time girlfriend Sunny Basham are really taking advantage of being in the city, visiting landmarks and museums, trying different restaurants, and even volunteering at the Park Slope co-op.

Bill is, as you might imagine, very happy with the mid-term election results, particularly because software from his company, Sage Systems, powered successful grassroots campaigns in Pennsylvania, Ohio, Massachusetts and several other states.  He was working 24/7 right up through Election Day, and I can’t say much has changed since. But I do know how things are with a start-up at this stage (and yes, it does feel like some sort of cosmic payback).

As for me, we completed the sale of WebCT to Blackboard, Inc. in February and I stayed on for six months of “transition” until the end of August.  Since then, I have been mostly goofing around, writing, cleaning out closets and generally whittling away at the list of things I was going to do when “I had the time.”  In November, my short story, “Winter Rental,” was published in Seasmoke, an anthology of short stories by New England writers. It is amazing to me that I started this Christmas letter when I was on a break between Information Mapping and WebCT twelve years ago.  Now here I am again, and still no idea what I want to be when I grow up.

The extended family is well. Rip and Ann’s son Hume graduated from George Washington University in May (same weekend as Kate) with a degree in civil engineering.  He is living in northern Virginia and working in a prestigious management training program.  Like me, Ann is on a work hiatus, which led Bill to point out that though the young graduates are getting jobs, the older generation seems to be giving them up, proportionately—a bit of a zero sum game.

Our house in Somerville is finally done—or as “done” as anyone else’s house.  This year we completed the landscaping, so we are quite settled in, tucked up for the winter and wondering what the future will bring.

We hope this letter finds you all well and you have a wonderful holiday season. We close once again with hopes for peace.

Bill & Barb