ABSTRACT
Is there life after the lab? In 1987 I was about to find out. My daughter telephoned me from Middlebury one day and said, “The house two doors from us is for sale. You must buy it!” At first, I had no thought of moving, but contemplation of the future and several serious considerations moved me. Since my husband’s death, I had been living all alone in a house intended for a family. I had two studies, four bedrooms, a double garage (with an upstairs), a very large yard to keep up, and an uphill half-circle driveway that had to be plowed when it snowed. Although I had my lab, my department had changed greatly. My good friend Ulric Neisser had moved to take a professorship at Emory University, the Smiths had moved to Bowling Green University, the Ryans had gone to a retirement village in Pennsylvania, and Robbie MacLeod had died. My graduate students had become my best friends, but of course they completed their degrees and moved away to jobs. It is worth remarking, though, that one’s graduate students (and in my case, my husband’s as well) become one’s friends for life. They are younger than one’s colleagues, so they are still there to be enjoyed as the circle of older friends dwindles, but few of them were in Ithaca. Maybe it was time for me to make a change.
