And Now For Something Completely Different

I have a strange feeling that the dogfighting thing and my obsessing about love and it's meaning, have driven some people out of my arms and into the blogs of others who write about cooking on a budget or weaving a blanket with three strands of human hair, a candlewick and carpet fibres retrieved from your vacuum cleaner. I've never been much of a practical sort, in that way. I mean, I've built fences, replaced an entire section of roof, chopped trees down (though I learned recently, a backhoe can accomplish in 2 minutes what I was doing over months by hand). I have painted houses, laid concrete and sanded floors. But don't ask me to hang a picture straight, or look at wiring, plumbing or anything that might exert my brain. Including reading instructions accurately. I think if it doesn't say what you need to do in the first two lines, it is time to move on with the project. If it goes wrong - that's when you go back and read past the first two lines...ooooh, you were supposed to turn the water off first....ohhh.

Odd, that I trained as, and became a stage manager, where detail matters. Strange that I became a photographer, where seeing detail matters. Very odd that I can write hundreds of words, which hang together pretty well on the first try, in a matter of minutes, that I will go back over a piece of painted moulding to get it as perfect as I can. All this tells me is that I have no idea what I am good at, and what it is that fails me. I do know I have always envied those who do one thing exceptionally well, especially those who know what it is they do well, and are able to live their lives doing it.

My Dad was one of those. Couldn't wield a hammer to save his life, but  spent the majority of his life engaged in the business of architecture. First as a journalist for an architectural journal in Paris (after leaving Nazi Germany), then a shortlived episode as an architect in Palestine (he found out he was not a Zionist), then as a teacher in Kuala Lumpur, and finally becoming famous as an icon of the architectural history world back in the hometown that had expelled him - Berlin. Buildings - the design of them, the functionality of them, the ugliness of them, the preservation of them, the meaning of them, the destruction of them, the teaching about them, the writing and lecturing about them and the sheer beauty of them. This was breakfast, lunch and dinner for Julius.

And being a child of his meant subservience to the cause. He once told me that he should not have had children. He didn't say this to be cruel. He loved all three of us in his way. And especially, in his latter years, he would proudly introduce me to the ex-students and colleagues we might meet. Perhaps it was that my books sold more copies than his. And my older brother Alan sold more books than both me and my Dad combined. Living in a family where competition was the undercurrent, took it's toll. I wonder if I might have been happier remaining an Assistant Stage Manager (that's when you check all the props are set) until being promoted to a Deputy Stage Manager (that's when you 'run' the show from the prompt book) and then, close to retirement, becoming a Stage Manager (that's when you get to yell at your underlings).

But the need to 'prove' that I wasn't a total failure has been a pounding jackhammer in my brain for over 40 years. At the dreaded boarding school where I once sliced through my wrists in six inches of lukewarm water, I became enthralled reading about the adventures of Egyptologists, battling the dark forces of grave robbers while protecting the pyramids and tombs of Pharaos and figuring out the mysterious secrets of the Sphinx. When in Berlin, I sat gazing longingly at the spectacular figure of Nefertiti, in the Egyptian Museum in East Berlin. Back at school, in a history class, the teacher asked whether anyone wanted to be a historian. My arm shot up. Somehow she didn't see it. I wiggled my hand furiously. Finally, she looked at me. 'Yes, Jill', she asked, with that leaden tone of one who could not show more disdain if she tried. 'I want to be an archaelogist' I said brimming with pride. The class tittered. Those whose school ties were on straight, or who wore their hair in pony tails, snickered over the piles of books on their desks. The teacher looked me in the eye, before turning her head and as she did, muttering 'Perhaps something less ambitious'. I was 12.

Make the best of what you've got, right? What did they think I had or didn't have, or more importantly, what did they know about me, that I didn't know myself.

I finally was thrown out of the boarding school. Maybe I'll write about that another day. After my Dad's death, I found the letter written by the headmistress telling him they could not keep me a moment longer. 'What will become of Jill?' she asked, and not rhetorically.

I didn't become a historian that's for sure. Even though history remained my favorite subject throughout my troubled and tormented school daze. If anyone out there finds themselves needing an extra pair of hands digging up a dinosaur in the desert, please call.

Comments

[Deb in Minnesota]

Jill, I'm still here and reading your blog. Smile. I've just been busy getting ready for the upcoming fall academic term.

Regarding that teacher who showed disdain for your dream to be an historian. I sometimes wish for a special place in hell for adults who dash children's ambitions and dreams so cavalierly.

If I could talk with your old teachers, I'd let them know they need not have worried. Because Jill turned out just fine!

I had a couple of friends once who spent part of their summers volunteering on dinosaur digs in Wyoming. This was their working vacation.

[susie fought]

I wonder, is your blog a chick magnet? Seems like it would be...

[Jill]

Susie....are you calling my wildly intelligent, intellectually superior and highly evolved readers 'chicks'? tsk...tsk...
truth is, I wish it were. I failed miserably at online dating because I couldn't stand the whole business of creating a 'fake' online persona where each bio read like the back of a romance novel. I mean....you like sunsets? Wow, me too...we must be perfect for one another. Now, I'm taking the 'whole truth and nothing but the truth' approach. I think my readers check in to make sure I haven't totally lost it......

[Deb in Minnesota]

Hahahaha Jill! I tried the online dating thing too. And I couldn't stand the "I just want someone to cuddle on the couch" profiles. Icky. I think my profile was too honest for people. That is, I let them know I am a wee bit loca.

Consequently, it's just me and the cat for now.

[Jenny]

A lot of teachers felt the need to say something about me aswell.
One was afraid to go on a school- trip with me, cause he thought I was a bad person who could harm him (I was 12)
and when I was 17 and told my teacher I wanted to become a writer or journalist she said: "don´t even try, you´ll never manage to be as good and intelligent as your father is"
TEACHERS ARE A GOOD REASON TO BE IN THERAPY FOR YEARS!!!
However: I´d love to join you if someone offers you a dino- digging- job, I like the idea of hot sand and exitement.
Never forget you are a rolemodel to me- so don´t be to hard on yourself, I need you to be positive.
Love

[Jill]

Hey Jen!
Therapy ain't so bad! Mine breaks up my work-day...once a week! And I am positive. Completely. Trust me....especially because I have two incredible nieces.
Being a Posener has it's moments. And as we are having this conversation in public, I have been waiting and waiting for you to put some photo albums up on your myspace for MONTHS! Where are they? 'Cos you are a f---ing great photographer!! And let's go dig some dinos.

[gwnn]

. . . i imagine that you would look quite lovely in your Prof. Leakey digging duds. i would bring the cool drinks and you could bring the shovels.

[Jill]

mmm...would I be Roger Leakey, Maeve Leakey or the wildman of fossil hunters, Richard Leakey?
You've inspired me girl with no name - I'm gonna blog about fossils, jawbones, Richard Leakey...and...jeez...now there's a competitive family...

[Deborah]

The truth, whole and nothing but...works for me. Even if you lost it, that would be fine too.

[Jill]

Well, I do lose it. Often. The whole truth? The truth seems to be we can't always be loved by those we love, or love back the ones who love us, at least not in the way the stars need to be lined up just right for it be 'perfect'. So, it never is...and as my friends tell me, 'JP there is nothing wrong with being 'comfortable'. Ah, that elusive quality. Comfort. It will forever be out of reach, I believe. Hence, the need to 'collect' - as big a reservoir of 'love' as I can, so that even with some spillage, I feel the sense of it.
And work is the same. What would 'comfort' have looked like to me? A 'job', 'going to work','retirement'? Hell, now I'm not sure whether to laugh or cry!! I know there are many like me, in perpetual emotional motion...never settled, never at rest. Tough, but oh well, what can you do, right?

[nina]

Funny but one of the people I thought of immediately after the dog fighting came to light was you...

What IS to become of Jill? Jill became and continues to be part of many people's living history through her words, insight and pictures... and for those who know her personally her friendship. (just venturing a guess there)

I have no real idea if you would look good in digging gear but I do have a good imagination and suffice it to say I am a happy chick...er...woman.