A new blog

over at daysunmeasurable.blogspot.com

Because I'm not on sabbatical any more...

Science Safari, and the end of the blog.

Back from the big teacher trip around Utah. 12 teachers participated, and we went to the Delta Coal-Fired Power plant, looked at oil and gas drilling sites, visited with bio-remediation specialists, talked to the Governor's Energy Advisor and a rep. from Utah Physicians for a Healthy Environment. We built stuff and made stuff and learned stuff and looked at stuff and figured stuff out. Then I came home and slept for approximately 48 straight hours, with occasional breaks to eat or go ride my horse. These trips need two leaders. I've done the experiment now, and am certain of it.

My gut (!) tells me that it was a very successful trip. All the teachers were engaged, and active in the process, asking good questions and getting involved. I overheard several conversations about how they would use this information in their classrooms, and how cool their students would find it that they got to stick their heads (almost) inside the 3,000 degree boiler at Delta.

Today, I am delighted to find myself back at work with my friends---going to lunch, and catching up on all I've missed. It's good to be back. But it means the end of this blog! Maybe I'll start another one somewhere else. I'll let you know. Maybe it will be 'professor grrrl'. ; )

Science Unwrapped

So, up in Logan, they are doing something pretty fun. Once per month, on the last Friday, they have a public lecture by a 'local' scientist, followed by an activity for the public. They call it Science Unwrapped.

I was invited to give a talk about 'The Lives of the Stars'... no, not THOSE stars. ; ) The kind that fuse hydrogen into helium. Shane and I put our heads together, and came up with what I thought was a really fun activity. We modified the stellar evolution flowchart to be a little simpler (leaving out some of the intricacies about which element gets fused when), and then turned it into a scavenger hunt! They could walk around the quad, and fill in the flowchart as they followed the branch points to figure out the answers. Shane put the whole thing 'to scale' in time, so that people could really get a sense that stuff happens at the beginning and the end, but in the middle, there's just not much going on for a REALLY long time. He made up some spiffy posters and handouts---apparently, his copy center charges much less than ours. At the middle of the main sequence part of the lifetime, there was lemonade and cookies, which fits in with the current age of the Sun, and the fact that now, for this tiny smitch of time, lemonade and cookies exist in the Universe.

Anyway. A rousing success.

Today, I'm getting final details taken care of for this teacher thing next week. Hooray for Kinko's!

Yellowstone

I just spent the weekend in Yellowstone, where I gave two talks, and spent all day Saturday driving 'the loop', and stopping to see all the things. We saw a wolf! And so many bison. And a bunch of elk. And cranes and pelicans and too many wildflowers to count. We had a wonderful time. But here's what I learned about the talks...

First talk: science talk about the lives of stars. more or less a week of intro astronomy lecture compressed into an hour. I committed my usual nonsense, of making them 'Class, repeat after me.' and also participate in more meaningful ways, designed to help them remember that there are multiple ways for a star to die, and one of them is fast and 'loud' and one is slow and 'quiet', and a third is nothing really happening at all, just a fading away. This was very well received, and our friend Melanie, who has the ___fortune to be married to a dedicated amateur astronomer, claims she will even invite all her friends to come if I come back next year. Given that she is a potter, who has no interest whatsoever in astronomy, and hates to go to star parties, this seems like success. And that was all fine, and many people thought it was great. But I knew something different was coming. I could feel it percolating along under my conscious thoughts. Many people came back the second day, for:

Second talk: constellation stories. Ok. This is performance art, and not really science. I was really, really nervous about this. I've never done it without stars, so if it was cloudy, I didn't know what I was going to do. I've never done it in front of ~400 people, and I'd never done it in this type of venue, with mostly members of the general public, only a few of whom knew me and most of whom would be tired from a long day in the sun. But it went great. Better than great. It was inspired. I know, because I was there, being inspired by the venue, and the lighting, and the kids I kept dragging up on stage to help me act out the parts.

Before it was really dark, I started with a part about the tides, and had the kids up there 'dancing' the solar system, and figuring out why 'neap' comes from 'neafte' which is Saxon for scarcity. And some poor teenager was bored being the sun, and the moon and the earth had lots to do. Well, it's not always best to be the biggest and the brightest. Sometimes that means you have to just stand there and hold the solar system together.

Then I told the story of the Seven Wives Who Ate Onions. But I had no stars, because it was cloudy. I asked, and there were many fans of the Pleiades and the Hyades, but most people didn't know what I was talking about. So I brought three kids up, to be Orion, Taurus and the Pleiades, all in their line in the night sky. Orion struck his hunter pose, and Taurus used his fingers as horns, and the girl did her best to be multiple personality-ed. And so. It was hysterical, and everyone laughed and applauded and the kids were great, and then I told the story in my usual way, with all the waddling around hugely pregnant, and the men all confused, and all the drama of terrible winters waiting oh so impatiently for the miracle of a green shoot coming out of the ground. And there was lots of laughter and applause.

And then I told the story of Ursa Major, and the long tail on the bear (during which it occured to me to wonder if we ask the question wrong-way-round, and should be wondering why modern bears have short tails). And I wound up with two kids up there, one of whom was Callisto, and one was Zeus. In the middle, I just about panicked, because I realized that these two little kids were supposed to fall in love and have a child, but the boy saved it all, and was a trooper, and it worked out great. Because when I said that 'Zeus had a secret, he ALREADY HAD A WIFE!' the little kid said 'This is getting better for me all the time', which was a laugh line I couldn't have made up myself. And there was more laughter and nuttiness. And Zeus, despite the fact that he winds up looking like a nimrod, was really happy to play the part, and will probably talk about it all the rest of his days.

And then I closed with the Clash of the Titans, which is my favorite story to tell, but I added in this new thing, where half the audience was the sea monster, saying 'roar', and the other half was Andromeda, saying 'Help me, help me, help me' in this tiny little voice. And it was probably the best performance of this story in 1,000 years. Because you don't get a better setting than right in front of National Park Mountain, and you don't get a better audience than people on vacation, and you don't get better lighting than a campfire off to one side, and you don't get a better background set of noises than those made by elk settling down for the night next to the river. And it was magical and wonderful, and I was on fire, and I hope I get to do it again, because if there's one thing in life that I really love, it's telling stories that have been told for thousands and thousands of years; since even before we knew how to write them down. And it's better than television, and different than a play, because it's different when it's live, and when it's a single person's take on a single story and what it has to tell you about who we are. Every day, I'm a different person, and so I tell the story a different way, and it means something different to the people who take the time to listen. We make something brand new out of the past, and fold it into our common experience, and carry it, like a child, held inside us, close under our hearts.

Bummer.

But not really. Er, only sort of.

So they were really pleased with the work I did. They called it 'creative' and 'clever' and 'well-written'. The editor said that the end-of-chapter pieces were particularly nice, and made him actually want to find out the answers.

However. The reason it took so long for them to get back to me is that they were unable to hammer out a compromise about the future of the book with the prior authors (not specifically related to me in any way, apparently). So the entire project is canceled. Which, if you think about it, means I dodged a bullet. They must be impossible to work with, if they couldn't even keep the project alive!

The editor is finding other work for me to do, because he wants me to keep some space in my schedule until their other astronomy textbook needs a new author (probably next year). Which is kudos for me.

So I'm bummed, but not as bummed as I could be... and at least it opens up the area in my head that I had been reserving for that project!

Still Waiting...

to hear from New York. This is two weeks past THEIR deadline.

8P

But in the meantime, we have family in town, and that's keeping us pretty busy!

Deadline? What deadline?

I eat deadlines for breakfast. and lunch. and dinner. and midnight snack. and the next day's breakfast...

I've been working more or less straight through since Wednesday to get this chapter finished up for the intro astronomy text. It took for flippin' ever (and much longer than expected) to straighten out all the details, like making sure the figure numbers were actually, you know, sequential. That's probably kind of important. And that the reference went to the correct figure. And so on.

But it's done. And I think it's really improved. Certainly, it's more fun and interesting. And the problems are much improved. I love writing problems. No, really. I do. I like to write problems that say 'Ok, now we've told you how it is. How would things be if it wasn't that way? What if I moved you over THERE? What if I change this one thing---how would the universe be different?' Maybe I read too much science fiction, but I just love figuring out how to get people to stretch beyond reality so they can look back and see how cool it is.

Keep your fingers crossed, because in spite of the stress of SO MANY details, I really had a blast working on it, and would like to get the contract.

Good Dogs!

An update about doggie boot camp, now that Smokey is well, and can actually leave the property... Dinner last night and breakfast this morning were not delivered until they were polite. Such a shock! Their little faces when I kept putting their dinner back in the pantry as soon as they broke their 'wait' were hilarious. This is not the way they expect things to go...

This morning, I walked the two-headed monster down to the pond and back. By the end of the walk, I had TWO slack leashes, and could just look around at the birds and the sunshine. Our "meet and greets" need practice, though. Poor Smokey is just so interested in people! He breaks his "sit, wait" as soon as they speak to him. But, given that we are now convinced that he was only about 7 months old when we got him, I am pleased with his progress. He only jumps up in front of people about half the time now (and rarely actually on them).

They are back to only being allowed out in the backyard one at a time, unless I'm right there with nothing to do but pay attention to them! While on the one hand, their running around kills some energy, on the other hand, they just get more hyped up. Not to mention completely filthy. Good thing we have a porch we can close them into!

I'm pondering some agility training for both of them. They could use a job where they can learn to work together... at something besides stealing my sandwiches off of the counter!

Perfecting New Mexico Green Chile

So here's what we've learned so far...

Anaheim peppers ARE the correct variety.
They grow just fine here in Utah, and they are always available at Carlos'.

Once you've got some in your hand, here's what you do:
Fire up the grill, as hot as you can make it.
Layer the chiles on the lowest rack.
Close the grill, and wait patiently.
Turn them when they start to blacken and blister.
Then turn them again.
Keep doing that, until they are totally black and blistered all over. It will look like you did it wrong, and you'll be nervous.

Dump the hot chiles into a heavy paper or plastic bag, and close it up tight.
Then leave them there. Once they are cool, you can put them in the fridge, but don't peel them yet.
Wait a couple of days. (This is very hard, because you want to eat them right away. But they need time for the roasted flavor to get into the 'meat' of the chile.)
Open 'em up and slip off the peel, which should just fall right off, practically.
Enjoy deeeeee-licious NMGC goodness, layered into everything humans can consume. Especially green chile-goat cheese-breakfast burritos. And cheeseburgers. And ham sandwiches. Who'm I kidding? I'd just about eat the plastic bag, and call it a sandwich!

Oh, BTW, don't let the dog get them off the counter while your back is turned. BAD DOG.

Sorry!

Sorry, all, that I left you with that last, discouraged post! I'm feeling much more upbeat now, mostly because I've been busy playing outside in the bright Utah sunshine.

The new garden is in (almost 150 square feet!), the dog has recovered from his pneumonia, I've been building things, and making things, and learning things, and starting new projects (including, possibly, a new textbook project).

And our boy Barack has been busy making me proud. The new fuel efficiency standards are just a kick in the pants. And I can't believe he goes and watches his girls play soccer. The leader of the free world makes time for his children. It almost makes me want to have some. Almost. ; )

It probably helps that I've limited my NPR consumption in recent weeks. It's all very informative, but I'm feeling a little jaded about having too much information that you can't do anything about.

Discouraged

Today, I met with a group of teachers that I'm taking on my summer road trip about Energy Issues along the Wasatch Front. (That was not the discouraging thing!) But while I was talking about my own biases, in the interests of full disclosure, I explained that as a scientist, I believe that data trump everything. And I believe this so strongly, it's such a deep part of my being, that I don't seem to be able to even imagine seeing the world any other way. So I had this in my head, and I was trying to imagine what it would be like to not believe in graphs.

And then, in the car, NPR had American Routes on, and sometimes I don't like to listen to that. So I flipped around the channels, and ran into KSL. Where some lunatic was talking about global warming and climate change, and how they don't exist. And he was saying that 15 years ago, everyone was predicting an ice age (which is false), and then he trotted out this thing that George Will said in his column, that there has been no warming in the last 12 years. But that's been shown to be false, and George Will just got his facts wrong, and the Washington Post just refused to correct it, even though they admitted it was incorrect. But here's this guy, carrying along this false idea because George Will said it. And the interviewer was just eagerly lapping it all up. Probably because the truth is so desperate?

And I was suddenly not only raging, but seriously discouraged. Because getting to work on this problem (and the related King Rat of all the other appalling problems facing us today) is so imperative, so crucial, and so obvious to me, that I can't even comprehend how someone could fail to see it, much less argue against it.

So I went and bought stuff to make home-brew beer and I came home. And I puttered around with my vegetable starts and checked on the asparagus bed. And I picked my dog's nose (poor Smokey and his pneumonia). And I turned on the radio, and it was the 'plague report' about the swine flu in Mexico. So I turned that off, and listened to DMB instead. But then it was the dodo song, and so I turned that off too. And I went out back and checked on my chickens. And then I came back in and I made a big chart on a big piece of newsprint of all the things I'm afraid of, and then I shredded it and put it in the chicken coop for them to shit on.

And now I feel better.

A little.

What I've been up to...

just to catch up, a little...

I've given a couple of talks---at USU, at ATK, and am getting ready to meet with the teachers for the summer class. This means I spend a lot of time on hold with the power company in Brigham City, among other things. ; )

I'm organizing lessons again. Which is not as much of a drag as it sounds, now that I've made everyone else responsible for themselves.

Our new pup has pneumonia. Poor little tyke. I got him an emergency roast beef sandwich today, because he was so pathetic. We've been working on him for the last ten days, and now have pulled out the big guns, antibiotically speaking. I just wish he would be able to breathe through his nose.

Trinkie and I are sneaking up on a reliable canter pirouette. If only all our tests consisted primarily of collected canter... we'd clean up.

We have a new fence to keep the dogs and the chickens separate.

We have newly re-upholstered chairs.

We have starts for the garden. Lots and lots of starts for the garden. Pretty soon, J's going to start complaining that I moved his cheese, and put baby tomatoes on it.

We have an asparagus bed! Now THAT is a commitment.

I have shredded years and years of old bills, bank statements, etc. We now have a filing system. With things in their files. With labels.

We have a new chicken coop. I cleaned out the old one. It wasn't nearly as disgusting as you think.

We have turned the compost heap, sorted out the brush pile and the woodpile and the compost pile.

We are about to have a new picnic table.

We have a long-term landscape plan, which includes tearing up the old driveway, and replacing it with plants. Nobody should have more driveway than house.

Phew.

Off to water the asparagus...

Smokey

Mom! Calm down. Lots of people have two dogs. Now we do, too. It's ok! Really.

This is Smokey. I was thinking of a puppy, since I have time at the moment. But then I saw this dog on the internet at the shelter in Park City. And he'd been at another shelter for two weeks. And black dogs, for whatever reason, are nearly unadoptable. And everyone wants a puppy. But maybe nobody wants this dog. Except maybe us. And then he leaned against my legs in that completely endearing way that Aussies do when they want you to take them home. So we did. He's got the twinkly toes. He's got the soulful eyes. He's almost got the eyebrows. He sleeps at my feet while I write in my blog. He's got the softest fur imaginable. And he and Captain think this is the best thing that ever happened to them.

Oh, and he needs to be taught to NOT chase the chickens. But he'll get that figured out. Soon.

Synchronicity

Yesterday, I went to give a talk at a nearby University. While I spent time thinking about it ahead of time, it took me all of an hour to prepare for this talk, and I wasn't nervous at all. In the middle of the talk, someone asked me about astroseismology and whether one of the oscillation modes could be responsible for the phenomenon I was trying to explain. Not that long ago, this would have made me nervous, and worked up. But I just said, 'I'm more or less completely ignorant about astroseismology, but I would guess that...' and it was fun to talk about. And fun to think about. And fun to argue about.

I was thinking about this afterwards, wondering what's different. Then, this morning, I was catching up with fellow bloggers, and find that it takes 10,000 hours to become an expert, and yes, I probably have much more than that invested at this point, and so of course I feel like I can admit ignorance, defend my ideas, discuss new ideas thoughtfully and generally just have a good time giving talks. Even to physicists. Because, apparently, I'm an expert. Huh.

Subtle changes

Before I went to Socorro, I'd developed a bit of a wind phobia. Sometimes the wind here, near the mouth of Strong's Canyon, is pretty extreme. It has been known to blow the Adirondack chairs right off the deck.

But Socorro might also be called Sirocco, because it's really windy all the time there. So much so that people build adobe walls around their houses to keep their stuff from blowing away.

After about three months of cowering at night in my A-frame, I started to get annoyed. The fine desert grit blew right under the door and through the window frames. It got in my food, it got on my toothbrush. It coated the floor and the bathtub and made mud when I showered. Then, after about another month, I stopped noticing it all together.

We've got a bit of wind here at home tonight, the kind that used to make me cower under the covers.

It sounds like the sea.

Random Findings...

On Friday, I was cleaning out the furnace room. We store our outdoor gear in there---snowshoes and skis and tents and sleeping bags and, well you get the idea. It occurred to me that some shelves would be helpful. So I was putting them in.

I bumped a shelf into the duct work, and a little metal rectangle, a bit larger than an index card, fell down onto the floor with a loud clatter. I gasped because I thought I'd poked a hole in the duct, and stood on tiptoe to look at the duct work. And I saw this piece of brown paper. Which, naturally, I pulled on. It was a paper bag. Whatever was inside was heavy. As I pulled it toward the edge of the duct, a perfectly ordinary quarter fell on the floor. My brows furrowed and my heart thumped. I pulled the bag out, and held it in my hand for a long moment. A moment fraught with this much sheer, unexpected possibility had to be shared with someone else. So I brought the bag inside and put it on the kitchen table. Then I went out and did a bunch of other things while I waited for J. It was 3:50, and he was supposed to be home at 4. I kept wandering through the kitchen to stare at the bag until 4:40, when he FINALLY came home. At that point, I was coming in from the chicken coop with four eggs in my hand.

I said, "Come on! I've got something to show you! I didn't open it yet, because I wanted you to be here! Four eggs! Look!" which, naturally, made no sense at all to him.

As I was putting the eggs in the fridge, J casually opened the bag. I was telling him all about it, but I don't think he heard me, because I had to tell it again later. Inside the bag? More than $1000 worth of silver coins (according to wikipedia).

I told the story again, dragging J out to the furnace room, where he looked all over for other hidden treasure.

Naturally, the response has been mixed---from disbelief to amazement to envy. But the most interesting one is the response from a friend of a friend, who warned us that we shouldn't talk about it. We should keep it quiet. We shouldn't mention it out loud. Because the old owners might come and want the money back. Or get a court order to tear the house apart looking for more. I think less than charitable things about his view of the world.

Which brings me to another random finding, this one inside my own head. Apparently, I have a sincere faith in the Universe's own peculiar brand of justice. If anyone showed up with a court order to tear my house apart over $1000 in coins, I wouldn't even have to do anything. Likely, the big pine tree in the front yard would fall on their heads, and drive them like a nail down into the sewer line. So I'm just not worried about this. Instead, I'm just childishly excited by the buried treasure that I found, and I'm having fun making up stories of how the money got there. All the sudden, I'm living in Nancy Drew's or Trixie Belden's universe. How fun is that?

Is this when to say 'when'?

I find myself in a spot that's unusual for me. I'm uncertain. And because I note that it's unusual, you know I usually just plow ahead, without worrying too much about the consequences. But, at the moment, I find that I'm dragging my feet on a project that I wouldn't usually drag myself to. Instead of getting to work on it, I find myself vacuuming. (!) Washing dishes. Doing laundry. All things that are necessary, and so I can convince myself that they need doing RIGHT NOW.

So here's the thing. I'm looking at this grant proposal, which, if we got it, would be huge. Enormous. Challenging and of national impact. I would more or less devote myself to this effort for the next four years. Everything else would take a backseat, because running this effort would be a full time job, in addition to the half time teaching load that is more or less necessary to keep my actual job. Not to mention committee work. And research with students. Ah. And so there I see the problem, even as I start talking it out, I see what's bothering me. More than 150% time for the next four+ years. Given that 100% time at my job typically means many more than 40 hours per week, 150+% time typically means... well, no time for anything else. Not only that, but I'd be working 150+% time for 130% pay.

Having just done pretty much that for two years, I can tell you that I always felt like I wasn't giving adequate attention to ANYthing I was doing. I always felt a little bit behind. Always not quite ready for class. Always not quite having the homework done before I assigned it. Always having emails piling up, reports slapped together, some purchase or requisition not quite properly tracked or accounted for. Always leaving my tack uncleaned, my clothes unwashed, the dog unwalked, and the bed unmade. Is it too much to ask to have time every day to pull the comforter up? Some days, I didn't have time to take a shower.

And then today, on Radio West, comes this guy: Tom Hodkinson, who wrote 'How to be Idle', and he talked about the Western obsession with work. And he said, 'What if you woke up every morning and thought, 'What shall I do today?'' And I was struck by that. Because here I am on sabbatical, having done some really pretty important work for the last five months. By all rights, I should spend the next five weeks trying to figure out what I would do if I didn't HAVE to do anything. Instead, I'm beating myself up over not really feeling all that gung-ho about taking on a future four years that are going to put me in the same position that made me need the sabbatical so desperately in the first place.

But then, I think about what it would mean to the University and the Department to have this grant come in. It's not everyone here that knows how to do this kind of thing. And I can see it all laid out in steps ahead of me. First, we'd do this, and then we'd do that, and then we'd do this, and then we'd have a finished product that was better than anything that currently exists, and it would really be a big help to teachers everywhere. And I have a big enough ego that I think that maybe we are the only ones who COULD do it. And I have a small enough ego to think that this kind of grant-getting is the most useful thing that I contribute. And I think about what would it mean to have this kind of influx of cash in the current economic climate.

But then I heard this story about someone who got facilities from the University---new space for new offices. But no furniture. Seriously. Not a chair. Not a pencil. Not a stapler. Nothing. And I've been promised that 'we could find the space'. But I never asked about furniture. Because why would I, right? What good are offices without desks? Grant agencies don't pay for furniture. That's supposed to come out of the overhead. That's obvious, right? But in the last grant, I was scavenging furniture from surplus. Do I really want to go through all that sort of thing again?

And maybe I should just worry about keeping the job I already have. I mean, I really, really love my job. Would I love doing this other job as much? Would it be as valuable as being in the classroom? Would I ever find time to walk the dog or ride my pony?

So mostly, I'm just wondering if I've gone completely mad... I guess I feel that applying for the grant means stepping off into a whole other career, in addition (not instead of) the one I already have, and I'm not sure I want to go there. On the other hand, we probably wouldn't get it (those are the odds). But on the other, other hand, if we did, it really would mean a commitment of cosmic proportions, for at least four years. And if I'm not sure I want to make that commitment, should I waste everyone's time by applying?

And isn't this, maybe, one of the whole points of a sabbatical, to step back and try to get some perspective on what you do every day, and what it's good for, and what it's about, and why you do it, and how you could do it better, more authentically? And to try to figure out, maybe just a little, when it's time to say 'when'?

Or maybe I'm just thinking too hard.

Small things #15:

1) Rolling over in the night and finding J there.

2) Captain, wanting morning pets. And then hopping down to let us sleep in until 8.

3) Being reunited with friends on our deck for a random Friday celebration, and laughing so hard our stomachs hurt. I am so blessed in my friends.

4) Hours-long phone calls to my mom, which likewise make my stomach hurt from laughter.

5) I began drafting the landscape plot of our property today. And I remembered the 'two-arc' method of drawing an irregular quadrilateral, (using only side lengths and diagonals!), from high school geometry. Did I EVER think I'd need to know that? No. It is such a sweet surprise to have a problem and then find in your mind all the pieces that build a solution.

Small things #14:

1) The way my pony calls for me as soon as she hears my voice. I have a special nicker all my own, different from the 'treats' nicker. What an enormous privilege that is.

2) Sore muscles. From having fun outside, not from being locked in the gym.

3) USU Extension, which is teaching me landscape design, for only $100!

4) Toy time with Captain. He's so painfully cute about this.

5) A cleanly swept porch.

Home

I've been home for a week now, and things are finally starting to settle down a little, so that I have time to check in here. Between going to get the ponies, and getting them settled in, and re-learning how to sit on my re-trained pony, and touching all my stuff, and checking in at work, and calling all the people who need to come and do things, and talking to my mom on the phone for THREE HOURS, and having sore muscles, and losing and finding all the bits of paper that document all my activities, and actually cooking food, and actually going out to not-Mexican restaurants, and taking the dog for walkies, and training him not to pull on the leash or chase chickens, ponies or children, and getting bikes tuned and assembled, and dropping off and picking up dry cleaning, and doing laundry (in the house!), and cleaning floors and washing dishes, and planting seeds, and learning how to live with someone else again, and getting new glasses, and signing up for landscape design classes, and cleaning up after the annual disaster known as winter, all I can say is...

I'm so happy to be home. But I'm not sure how I'll ever have time for a job. How did I ever fit it in?