Promoted
At the Duke Clinical Research Institute, I’ve been promoted to associate director of research communications and engagement.
This step up was one part of the vivid vision I created for myself last summer; I hoped to get this role before 2027, when I will reach my twentieth anniversary at Duke University. I wanted to apply what I’ve learned over the last few years, about being a better leader and coach, to this position in a department in which I have thrived since I joined in 2020. I’m grateful for the promotion.
A Chronicles rebrand for 2025
I’m excited to introduce a new brand for the Zuiker Chronicles:
The background
For many decades, my grandfather, Francis C. Zuiker, mailed his typewritten travel essays, which he called The Zuiker Chronicles, to his sons and daughters (and eventually his grandchildren). My father, aunts, and uncles followed with their own Zuiker Chronicles letters.
When I was in college and learning desktop publishing and newspaper layout with Aldus PageMaker on early Apple Macintosh computers, I designed an Anton Edition of the chronicles. Later, Erin and I sent our news from Vanuatu—Frank loved that I was a Peace Corps Volunteer just like my father and an adventure writer like himself.
We returned to the United States as the dotcom bubble was about to burst, but I dove into the web and created a website at zuikerchronicles.com (and zuiker.com) as a tribute to Frank the Beachcomber and to serve as a website community for the extended Zuiker family. Lots of other sites and social media tools made it hard to keep the family active on this website, but since those first days in July 2000, I have written a personal blog first at zuiker.com, then at mistersugar.com, and then again back here.
The first design for the Zuiker Chronicles website used an illustration of aspen trees that referenced the family campground in Wisconsin, which we called Raven’s Roost. From 2005 to 2015, I used a design featuring a raven and a font reminiscent of a vintage typewriter. The mistersugar brand, introduced in 2024, was based on a carved wooden pig that we brought back from Vanuatu.
Time for a new brand
I’ve wanted a new logo for the Zuiker Chronicles for years. As part of my vivid vision, I finally made it happen. At last summer’s Zuiker Family Reunion, two of my cousins got a Zuiker tattoo on their backs—they wanted to honor our grandfather, we found his signature at the bottom of one of his chronicles, and the tattoo artist in Breckenridge arfully recreated it on their skin. Jenny and Kathy almost got me to get the same the next day. I still might.
Home in North Carolina, a state from which many of Frank’s chronicles were written, I went looking for a local designer. But the community on Micro.blog connected me to Ning Kantida, a Thailand-based artist who likes to create letter designs. Ning was eager to help me create a new brand.
Turning to the turtle
For this update, I told Ning, I wanted to replace the raven with an Eastern box turtle to honor the land I live on in and to reflect my passion for recording the turtles I see on my walks in the woods—and to give a nod to my slow writing style. (See my turtle photos here. Uncle Larry sent me photos of tortoises he’d come upon while hiking in the West.)
I’ve written about sea turtles, too, and I have a carved wooden turtle bowl from Vanuatu. Once I shared a photo of that with Ning, we pivoted to using that to inform the logo.
So, we had grandpa’s signature and the sea turtle form. My last request was to have a element about writing: the previous brand referenced the typewriter, but I am constantly writing notes with a pen or pencil.
A professional
Throughout January, Ning methodically and artistically created the layers of the brand, with each emailed update wowing me with thought and detail. In my design brief, I had listed expected deliverables and I got what I hoped for, including the wordmark and logomark, color scheme and typography guide, and favicons.
Importantly, I also got a great partner for this project. I am delighted by the result. Thank you, Ning!
Next steps
I’ve already begun to code an updated Zuiker Chronicles. I hope to launch the new design in a few weeks. I’ll write up an explanation for that, too.
And, stickers.
Family reality
On my way to and from soccer Wednesday evening, I listened to Alternate Realities, a three-episode report from NPR podcaster Zach Mack about a bet with his father as to which of 10 conspiracy theories would come true in 2024. I found this to be an enlightening story. It’s a sad story, too. And it hit so close to home. Here’s the two-minute series intro:
Fussy and fit
Oliver is on a winter soccer team called the Spartans. They had their first match today as part of a tournament in Burlington. Oliver played on the defensive line and he was very strong, but the team lost and in the final minutes he seems to have broken a toe.
Back at home, while I used the last of the daylight to prepare the spot where I’ll be building a new chicken run, Erin made shrimp scampi as consolation meal for Oliver. After dinner, I grabbed a jar of my cherry pie filling and whipped up a cherry crisp. I followed the apple crisp recipe in Betty Crocker’s 40th Anniversary Edition cookbook—I think Erin’s mom gave this to me and Erin when we were married in 1996—and was intrigued by this note at the top of the instructions:
Apple Crisp is an American classic that uses our abundance of native apples in a luxurious-tasting, no-fuss dessert. During World War II when food rationing was in effect, this patriotic crisp was featured as “easy on shortening and sugar.”
When the cherry crisp came out of the oven, we took bowls of the deliciousness upstairs to finish watching The Six Triple Eight about the 855 members of the all-Black battalion of the US Women’s Army Corps that managed a backlog of 17 million items at the end of the war. I salute their skill and accomplishment, their pride and perseverance.
I’m under no illusions tonight: it’s been a pleasant Saturday for soccer and a peaceful evening for history and sweets, but there is a battle raging for fairness and equity.
Another marker
On Saturday, Erin and I attended the unveiling of a second marker to recognize the horrible history of lynching in Orange County, North Carolina (and across the United States of America). This marker, next to the historic old courthouse in Hillsborough, pays tribute to Washington, Thomas Jefferson and Daniel Morrow. They were killed in 1869.
This marker, and the one in Carrboro that honors Manly McCauley, are the work of the Orange County Community Remembrance Coalition in coordination with the Equal Justice Initiative. Erin serves on the OCCRC and we visited EJI and the Legacy Sites last year.
The ugly face of racism is before us again, and still. You may take away the language of fairness and love, but we will not give up this fight.
Tattered and blue
In his blog post yesterday, Studio Notes #19, Dan Cederholm links to a video interview of the actor Walton Goggins talking about a few meaningful objects, including a particular favorite book.
I nearly jumped out of my seat when he held up a blue, tattered, paperback edition of Herman Hesse’s novel, Siddhartha. It’s also one of my favorite books from a time when I actually read whole books. I have that exact same paperback. And it deserves a re-read.
I also have a copy of Siddhartha, and still the folded pink detention slip that a high school teacher gave me at the time I was first reading the book. I blogged about it in 2006.
My other favorite paperback, this one with a cover in lighter Carolina blue, seems to have gone missing; I must have lent One Hundred Years of Solitude to a friend or relative in the last few years. I purchased a used copy recently and planned to read it again (fourth time?) but I think instead I’ll read the shorter Hesse novel about contemplation and listening, which feels like it will pair perfectly with Pico Iyer’s Aflame (as I suggested in this recent post, I did get back to the bookstore to get this).
While I was reading Cederholm’s post, watching Goggins’s interview, and holding my 1980s copy of Siddhartha, I also was waiting for a dear friend to arrive in Chapel Hill. Khaled Khan, my high school friend and Colorado hiking partner, had let me know he’d be at UNC-CH with his family for a tour of one of the graduate schools. They came by the house for afternoon tea, and I smiled.
The river dries up
I was bummed to read Dave’s announcement today that he’ll soon shut down the two public instances of his excellent Feedland.
I’ve been using that for the last couple of years to read a host of blogs and news sites; for the moment, you can see the feeds I follow at news.mistersugar.com.
I’ve also used Feedland to offer the Duke River of News, a collection of news feeds from across the university and health system. There’s a way for me to run Feedland on my own server and I may try to attempt that, and if I do get it running, I’ll use it only for my river of news. I’ll most likely end the Duke river as I’m not sure it’s been much use to anyone for quite some time. (I will offer the opml reading list to my communicator colleagues.)
Anyway, my thanks to Dave for this valuable tool (and its predecessors).
One step ahead of the other
I keep telling myself to get back to blogging each and every day, but there’s just so much distraction all around. It takes just one step to get going, and then focus to just not stop. So … on the Uwharrie Mountain Run last Saturday, a perfect morning to run—rainstorms across North Carolina the night before, but clear skies and temperatures in the 40s—I missed most of beautiful hills and woods all around as I kept my eyes on the rocky path. I chose to run the 8 mile race this year. I finished at 1 hour 53 minutes. (In 2020 I ran 8 miles at 1 hour 45 minutes; in 2018 the 20 miles at 5 hours 3 minutes; in 2002 I ran 8 miles but cannot find a record of my time.)
Be less boring
On my way to work this morning, I retrieved the Jan. 27, 2025 issue of The New Yorker from the mailbox. At my lunch break, I took that issue with me on my walk to the Durham Food Hall, where I sat with a cappuccino and slice of coffee cake, and I settled into this essay by Daniel Immerwahr, What if the Attention Crisis Is All a Distraction? It’s an interesting take on the age-old tradition of crying danger at new technology—TikTok, television, the iron stove, novels!—and what our abilities to focus may be doing to ourselves and to society.
Just last night, I’d sent a message to a colleague offering to lend my copies of Deep Work and Slow Productivity, both by Cal Newport. Those are just two of the many books and podcasts and articles I’ve studied over the last year as I’ve changed the ways I’ve worked and played. I’ve also finally started to read my copy of The Power of Habit, by Charles Duhigg (mine is an advanced reader’s copy that I received at ScienceOnline 2012).
I starred this paragraph in Immerwahr’s essay:
[Chris Hayes’s] illuminating backstage account of cable news describes thoughtful journalists debasing themselves in their scramble to retain straying viewers. Garish graphics, loud voices, quick topic changes, and titillating stories—it’s like jangling keys to lure a dog. The more viewers get their news from apps, the harder television producers have to shake those keys.
A few days ago, I’d complained to Erin that I disliked how NPR news programs come back from station breaks with some version of “Elephants in Africa are…but first we’re going to hear from Senator….” I guess that’s the ‘quick topic changes’ mentioned above.
Another Immerwahr sentence: “When someone calls for audiences to be more patient, I instinctively think, Alternatively, you could be less boring.”
Last week, in interviews for a promotion, I was asked to briefly describe my career journey. Both times, I realized, I didn’t do the best in answering, so I dropped into zuiker.com/zen/ to draft a script for next time. Through habit, I’ll be ready with an answer.
In college I studied communications, then worked as a features writer in Hawaii and as editor of an arts and culture magazine in Cleveland.
After Peace Corps service in the South Pacific, I became an early blogger, web content strategist, and organizer of online community.
I earned a masters degree in medical journalism from UNC-Chapel Hill, worked on an AIDS-related global health project, and then joined Duke University, where I coordinated internal communications for the health system, lead the Department of Medicine communications activities, and now work as a communications project manager and team leader in the Duke Clinical Research Institute.
Along my journey, I also organized an international science communications network and won awards for the Voices of Duke Health podcast.
I am in my 25th year blogging at zuiker.com.
Holding up a lantern
The inauguration was yesterday. I was horrified. I watched it because this is my country and that’s what I believe I should do. I’m not going to live in the dark.
Also, Sun Tzu says to study your enemy.
Scheme so as to discover his plans and the likelihood of their success. Rouse him, and learn the principle of his activity or inactivity. Force him to reveal himself, so as to find out his vulnerable spots.
I’m angry at my family members for voting for the criminal, and I’m opposed to most of this administration’s policies—ironically, I’m for upholding our immigration laws and protecting our borders, including honoring our commitments to providing amnesty and safe harbor, just as I am for upholding our laws about storming government buildings and evading taxes and stealing classified documents.
I needed to keep my head clear of the pull of negativity.
So, I tried something new.
Free 3D printing at the Co-Lab Studio is just one more perk of my job at Duke University. I’ve known about the lab for years but never tried it. In a Discord group someone linked to the design file for a simple shade for the Sofirn BLF LT1 Anduril 2.0 Rechargeable Lantern (I have two in orange, picked up on a great sale last year). I followed the Duke instructions, uploaded and sliced the file, picked a printer, and watched as the shade grew. On my way home from work (downtown, about two-and-a-half miles from campus), I stopped by the studio to find the green shade on the table of completed projects.
At home, the shade fit nicely onto the lantern. I would have used it in the woods just now as I walked down the hill to meet Oliver walking from his friend’s house across the creek, but a beautiful snowfall is covering Chapel Hill, and the hillside is shimmering. I could hear Oliver across the way, exclaiming his joy. Alongside Erin yesterday, he had watched a lot of news coverage of the inauguration, so he understands the significance and the danger and the need to keep aware. His awe and joy as we scrambled up to our house shows the strength we have to weather what’s ahead.
When grief is on the mantle
Erin and I are still working our way through Lockerbie. I vaguely recall how the trial ended so we’ll watch to the end.
I also have a memory of a postcard in a Ziploc bag on a mantle in Baltimore.
A year or so after college, I visited a friend of mine who was a living in that city as a volunteer. He and I stopped to check on a townhouse that he was looking after while the occupants were away, and he pointed to the bagged postcard, telling me it was retrieved from the wreckage of Pan Am 103.
I’ll have to check with my friend to confirm the details of that memory. I do know I’ve thought about that many times, wondering about the grief that comes from sudden and unexpected tragedy, and whether peace comes ever for the loved ones who look at the postcard every day.
A job to die for
I took a break from blogging tonight to watch The Devil Wears Prada. Had never seen that (that I remember) but I hear references to it all the time. The takeaway: whatever job you do, do it with integrity. Amen.
Edited the next night after I thought more about two specific scenes.
In Paris, Andy tells Christian she can’t give in to his advances because she’s had too much to drink and she’s not capable of making good choices, and the lout keeps going. That’s absolutely wrong. This makes me angry.
In a less consequential exchange in a NYC street, Nate answers Andy that he’s been making port reduction sauce all day and he’s “not in the Peace Corps.” This made me chuckle. I cherished my bottle of port on Paama Island, and the pork in plum sauce is one of the more memorable, and storied, meals of my time as a Peace Corps Volunteer.
Connoiseur of Silence
Last night, at the reception for Kelly’s book reading, I told a friend that I’d taken an eight-day silent retreat when I was in college (naturally, I’ve blogged about that). Silence is on my list of 2025 goals, part of my move to focusing on words that start with s. Strength is another. Subtlety. Skills. Smarts. Tonight, on my way home from soccer, I caught the tail end of Terry Gross’s Fresh Air interview with Pico Iyer. They ended with talk about silent meditation at a Benedictine monastery (Iyer) and a Zen monastery (singer Leonard Cohen). Iyer described Cohen as a “connoisseur of silence.” Lovely. I happened to see Iyer’s new book, Aflame, at Flyleaf last night, but I passed by since I haven’t finished reading his previous book. Now that I know what Aflame is about, I will circle back to get it.
After Fresh Air, President Joe Biden gave his farewell address from the Oval Office. (NYTimes has transcript here.) It was a strong speech even if he faltered a bunch. I liked the focus on the Statue of Liberty and the fact that it actually moves.
Like America, the Statue of Liberty is not standing still. Her foot literally steps forward atop a broken chain of human bondage. She’s on the march. And she literally moves. She was built to sway back and forth to withstand the fury of stormy weather, to stand the test of time because storms are always coming. She sways a few inches, but she never falls into the current below. An engineering marvel.
The other day when I was testing the scanner, one of the random slides I pulled out and scanned was the image above, a photo my father must have taken of the Statue of Liberty before I was born. (This scan shows dust and more; I’ll stop by the camera store later this week to get supplies to clean this old film.)
After soccer, I returned home, showered and dressed, then waited for the UNC men’s basketball game to end. Oliver was at the game with three friends, on tickets Oliver won as prize for selling the second-most amount of fancy popcorn in the high school athletics fundraiser. The Tar Heels handily beat Cal, and pickup along Manning Street amid the crowds went smoothly.
Oliver and I home now, drinking tea: Yunnan Golden Tips Supreme, from Upton Tea Imports. Oliver was interested in how to brew tea, so I showed him the expensive golden leaves and compared them to my other go-to teas, a Moroccan green mint and Hong Cha Mao Feng (also from Upton). We shared a bar of milk chocolate.
Redefining waste
In a post last September, I mentioned Truffles and Trash, a new book by our friend Kelly Alexander. This evening Oliver, Erin, and I returned to Flyleaf Books to hear Kelly talk about her field work in Brussels and how her research focus shifted from the value of black truffles—she worked in the kitchen of a top restaurant, where she noticed all the food being thrown out—to how she might redefine what the sheer volume of food waste means.
It was an interesting, informative, and uplifting story. Kelly highlighted the European Union and Belgian policies that focused attention and resources on the topic, and she talked about some of the local innovators who created the volunteer kitchens and restaurants to feed the hungry.
Kelly was joined tonight by Sera Cuni, a chef with restaurants in Chapel Hill and Pittsboro. Chef Cuni is also the founder of Feed-Well Fridges, a nonprofit organization that takes some of the unused food, makes it into meals, and places it into public fridges in the community.
Just last night, Erin and I were watching the new miniseries Lockerbie: A Search for Truth. There’s a scene in the 1980s English kitchen, and we noticed the small fridge, so diminutive compared to the nice fridge we have in our kitchen.
Long ago I wrote this blog post, Up high, down low, about a time I was hungry and asked to be fed. Six years later, I wrote this post, Box of hungry. It’s about hunger close to home. Rereading these, I know I haven’t done enough to remember my past, reduce waste, share wealth, give attention. Hearing Kelly read from her book tonight is reminding that I can help. Indeed, I have an obligation to do so.
Malia in Madrid
Malia spent last semester in Madrid studying with American University. She checked in with us nearly every day via text, FaceTime, WhatsApp, and email to tell us about her experiences, ask questions or get help (often about the iPhone and cell service), or let us know where she was traveling next. Nearly every weekend she seemed to be going to another place in Spain or country in Europe, sometimes as part of the program and often to visit her friends studying in other cities. I honestly couldn’t keep up, and while I was a bit nervous for her safety, I also was confident that she’d make the most of every location.
When Malia returned home and unpacked, she gave me the football jersey I had requested from Atlético de Madrid, and under the Christmas tree she put gifts of small jam jars and bottles of olive oil from markets in Europe and gifts for her sister and brother. She also handed me a small crinkly brown bag filled with postcards, one from each of the places she’d traveled.
In the hubbub of the holidays, and our own family trip to the Caribbean, I didn’t take the time to look at the stack of postcards until we were back home.
Once I did, I realized that she’d written a note on the back of each card to tell us what she’d done in each place — enjoyed the views from Santorini, admired the artwork of Antoni Gaudí in Barcelona, eaten a lot of cannoli in Roma, hiked volcanoes in the Canary Islands, visited the Van Gogh Museum and Anne Frank House in Amsterdam, thought of our new house as she looked at the amazing tiles in Porto, enjoyed Geneva and the French town of Annecy with her friends, and felt the history of Valencia and Sevilla and Cordoba and Toledo.
And her writing was beautiful and full of feeling.
I don’t think I can accurately put into words what this experience means to me. I went into study abroad expecting to challenge myself and step outside my comfort zone but I wasn’t sure how much I would grow. I have learned so much about myself during this experience. I have been lucky enough to travel to multiple different countries and cities. And most of all, I’ve gotten to fall in love with Madrid.
In five months, Malia packed in a lot of travel and memories. When I finished reading the set of messages, I had tears in my eyes. This pack of postcards was a beautiful and thoughtful gift to give me and Erin. We are so glad that she made the most of this opportunity to study abroad.
Mostly, I’m proud that Malia’s handwritten messages conveyed her wonder about this world and her sense of good fortune. “I’m beyond grateful for this experience,” she wrote in her final card.
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