What is there worth doing that doesn't ask all I have?

Monday Update, "Engage" Edition

It is with a sigh of relief that we settle into the schedule that we'll maintain for the next several months.  Even yesterday, The Runner admitted that she felt like things are more in hand now than they were even a couple of weeks ago.  We spent most of Saturday doing yard work.  The Runner dug up, divided, and transplanted some overly large hostas, etc.  Fortunately, she enjoys such things.

It has been difficult to refrain from bragging on Number One Son.

The Youngest is suffering from a pulmonary infection at the moment . . . he had a hard weekend, which means he let The Runner have a full dose of the crankies.

Little Red is just Little Red.  Famous among students across this campus.

The meetings this past week have highlighted what I've thought for a while:  higher ed both in this state and in the country is going through a transitional period; priorities and methods are changing whether we want them to or not, and we haven't yet caught up to the new demands.  I have reasonable faith in the administrative leadership of this campus (or at least most of it).  I do not have as much faith in the leadership provided by El Presidente (my moniker for this year's faculty senate president). 

Attending that many meetings saps my energy like nothing else.

The renovation of the classroom space in our building is allegedly complete, apart from the fixing of the few problems that are sure to surface over the course of the next few weeks.  I like having better lighting and better desks for the students . . . I'm not as thrilled about the changed configurations of some of the classrooms.  I'll adjust, though.  I think it's just part of my teaching "style" that the setup of the room makes a big difference.

I'm enjoying a watch-through of Star Trek: The Next Generation, thanks to Netflix (which explains the picture above).  The Runner is surprisingly receptive, for which I'm grateful.

"Cheer and tune my heartless breast"

We all have trouble.  Such a banal statement.

When things go wrong, or when things fail to go according to plan, there is no real reason to be ashamed and abashed, really.  It comes to each of us, given enough time.  And even when/if it's a result of our own choices--so much the more reason for mercy.  So many who profess religious belief think that the point is the moral code.  But even a cursory reading of Romans, for instance, suggests that the moral code isn't the point at all, is it?  For who is able to live up to even his or her own professions of right and wrong, wise and foolish?  Don't we all end up falling well short?

How can anyone who sees himself aright stand in judgment of anyone else?  "who should escape whipping?" Hamlet asks.

That's why everyone needs to know that there are open arms, no matter what misfortune or foolishness we fall prey to.  Because we all do, don't we?

Adventures in Parenting, Vol. 28

Yes, this goon is apparently the smartest first-grader at MPS

The First Grade Open House was last night.  The Runner went while I stayed at home with the children.

According to Number One Son's teacher, he is the smartest child in first grade--by a long shot.  By one metric (and I'm not going to go on about this ad nauseum), first graders should be at 1 or 2 on a measure of reading ability.  He is at 23.  I don't know what the numbers actually mean, but the difference is instructive.

Everyone knows about him, apparently.  His teacher, Ms. M, says that she has had to correct him a couple of times when he has been sprawled out on the carpet--"because he's bored," she explained.  He has acted like school is boring these first couple of weeks (they are reviewing Kindergarten stuff). They have tagged him for the gifted program, but even by Ms. M's admission, that's not going to be super-substantial.  In other words, it's up to The Runner and me to decide how to push him enough, how to advocate for him, and how to allow him a proper childhood. 

Talk about an awesome, humbling responsibility.  And yes, I'm a little proud.

In which Piers writes something serious

This is also lengthy.  Pardon.

The disturbing thing about the meeting the other day, when I get down below the gut-level disagreement and discomfort with the tone set by El Presidente, is more abstract and ultimately more significant and far reaching.  The entire session was marked by one of the most basic problems I see even in my English Composition classes, and I am distressed that I didn't see better performance--better thinking--from my highly educated and credentialed colleagues:  there was a whole ton of assertion, and almost no actual argument.

I won't even go into the issues I have with the document that dominated most of our discussion, though it also exhibits the problem I identified above.  There are good things and silly things in that document, as is the case with any committee-created manifesto. 

But when it came to three discussions--one revolving around firearm legislation that will be revisited this year, and the other two about changing funding formulas to which we as an institution are answerable--I heard a remarkable lack of reflection or even curiosity.  In other words, I heard people interested in winning a battle rather than understanding what is true.

Example 1:  One of my colleagues opined quite loudly that the new funding formula will eventually be applied in such a way that university programs will be evaluated based on the income levels of their graduates.  And that certain departments (including his own) will eventually be stripped of funding as a result.  I don't know all the ins and outs of university funding, but perhaps he might have considered that this is the third funding formula that the state has used in the six years I have been at this institution (and he's been here for decades)?  And perhaps there should be a level of accountability if we wish to use state funds?  Perhaps it's not a terrible thing if a department has to make its case for its own significance?  I don't know.

Example 2:  Several colleagues expressed the fear that if guns are "allowed" on university campuses, "people are going to be shot."  Now, I don't have all the information, but the following might be questions we would want to answer before we proclaim that there will be Fallujah-style running gun battles in our hallways:

• To whom would the legislation apply?  Permit holding faculty & staff?  Students?  Everyone? 
• How frequently do permit-holding gun owners pull handguns on other people, or shoot them, or even attempt crimes with their legally-owned weapons?
• Is there a mechanism in place to stop a student or employee from carrying an illegally-held concealed weapon into class or into a faculty office?  What is that mechanism?
• What is the ratio of firearm-related crimes when legal and illegal holders are compared to each other?
• Is it possible that administration and campus safety oppose the initiative because it makes their lives simpler from a bureaucratic/institutional standpoint (which may be enough reason to oppose the initiatve) rather than a safety standpoint?
• Is it in fact true (as is often claimed) that in a standoff situation, a law-enforcement officer would be unable to tell who was the aggressor and who was the law-abiding citizen acting in self-defense?

I do not know answers to these questions, but I'll bet those answers can be discovered.  These are the kinds of things that need to be investigated if one is going to make anything more valid than an emotional pronouncement.  We may find guns and gun-holders to be icky, which is fair, but that's not the same as an argument against proposed legislation.

Example 3:  there will be a lot of discussion this year about the "Responsibility" of the state to "Fund Higher Education."  Apparently, the way this will be approached is by attempting to bully the state legislature into doing what they "should do."  You'll note that there is no argument being made here, nor is there a sense (and this was addressed by a colleague during the meeting) that in order to put more money toward the university, money is going to have to be taken from somewhere else.  Let's not even address the thornier problem of whether or not the "traditional" four-years-directly-out-of-high-school model actually applies

I don't know answers to tough questions like these.  It seems that some of my (usually quite vocal) colleagues, however, are so sure that they do know the answers that they fail to recognize the importance of making the argument.  They are sure that anybody with half a brain thinks as they do.  This set of ideological blinders is one of the most unattractive, even destructive, features of academic life.

In which Piers wonders if he has landed in the Twilight Zone

Today's meeting was a surreal experience.  I don't know when I've been so dumbfounded.  I can't say more, because I don't want to get myself in trouble (I know, I know . . . hasn't stopped me before . . . ); I was utterly disheartened when I walked back to my office.  Still wondering what hit me.

Monday Update, Nose to the Grindstone Edition

One week of first grade down . . . only several dozen more to go.  So far, there's not much in the way of intellectual challenge:  the sight words he is supposed to practice this week include I, can, we, like, see, the, go, to, have, a, play, white, orange, yellow, and green.  This week's math review includes practicing counting objects to 10 (The Runner had him use strawberry frosted mini-wheats) and using words like more, fewer, less than, greater than.  Needless to say, his major concern is not exactly the homework.  It's more about how his friends are acting . . . he doesn't have any friends from last year in his current classroom.

We made a quick trip to Nashville over the weekend.  I spent all day Saturday in the Brentwood Public Library, grading papers and figuring final grades for my summer session.  The boys swam, went shopping, generally ran amok with their cousin DTE. 

Speaking of grades, I had to give a "B" as the class grade to the student who'd been applying all that pressure.  In his mind, he was going to be able to counteract the failing grade in Math with an "A" in his English class, and thereby stay in school for another semester.  Today, after the posting of the grades, I got a series of panicked emails, the last of which said he just couldn't go on without understanding what he did wrong to fail out of college.  I resisted the temptation to retort, "you want to know why you flunked out?  It is because you FAILED the developmental/remedial math course THREE STRAIGHT TIMES!!"

I have meetings to attend all this week--was in meetings from 7:30 to 3:30 today.  Classes start next Monday.  At some point, I should probably get things like syllabuses together.  I'm swamped.

Adventures with Students, Vol. 34

With the end of the term comes the grading of exams and papers and portfolios, wherein I attempt to gauge each student's gained knowledge.  Sometimes it is not so easy.  As Exhibit "A," herewith a partial list of misspelled words in the exam I am currently grading:

"castal" (castle)
"destoryed" (destroyed)
"mirrow" (mirror)
"shas" (sash)
"threw out" (throughout)
"is" (his)
"bannishing" (banishing)
"unperdictuple" (unpredictable)

August Angst

The Runner astutely observes that I get very anxious this time every year.

You'd think after teaching for 10 years (!) I would have gotten over that.

In the immediate future, i.e., this weekend, I have about a zillion things to do.  One step at a time, right?

hup! hup!

Today, while I was dealing with my classes, and student conferences, and so on, the department had its annual "retreat" (which is this institution's code word for "really long meeting") . . . and now the suite is buzzing, minus one of my favorite colleagues, who moved to a different institution over the summer.  Lots of heat being generated . . . not sure about the amount of light.

Sigh.

The gauntlet of meetings starts at 7:30 on Monday morning.

In other words, time is catching up.  Better start pedaling a bit faster.

ADDED:  I just realized that I said essentially the same thing that I did yesterday.  Guess that shows what's on my mind, huh.  Either that, or I'm scatterbrained.  Maybe both.

In which Piers realizes that time flies

Two days from the end of this summer term, and I've taken care of most of the class stuff--but then there's the rest of it that I've barely touched.  The office suite was full of returning colleagues today, many back in the office for a workshop on some electronic writing textbook stuff.  I should not be frustrated with my lack of "progress" in other areas, seeing as I've made the best of some pretty rough circumstances at the office (constant jackhammer-style noises from construction, for instance).  I just wish I felt more prepared for the large tasks awaiting me starting on Monday.

In which Piers ponders codes of behavior

I have a student I will call "Mr. Hat," because he wears a hat, and because by doing so I can protect his privacy.  He is taking summer classes.  One of them is our "Math 080," the "developmental" math class.  This is his third time to take the course, and for the third time he is failing it by a long shot.  Mr. Hat has complained to me ad nauseum about his performance in the course and how it's putting his college career in jeopardy.  I have repeatedly exhorted him to do whatever it takes to pass that class--go to the math lab, impose a Facebook blackout, etc.  He has taken none of my advice, and his results have been such that he is now giving up on passing the math class (there are only three days left in this term).  His solution?  He needs to get an A in my class.

Do you see what happened?  Because he has refused at every step to take responsibility for his own actions, he is left with "no option" but to "hope" that he makes an "A" in my class.  If I give him the A, there's a possibility that he can come back next term.  If he fails to earn an A, or if I don't "give" him one, then the hammer has fallen and his academic career is in ruins and he won't be able to provide for a family and so he won't be able to marry his girlfriend as soon as he'd like, etc., etc., etc.  All because I didn't see fit to give him an A (which isn't a grade I give out very often).

For pete's sake.  I try--oh, I try.  I give every student the benefit of the doubt.  I work as hard as I can to offer counsel, support, and encouragement.  I live by a code of being the best I can be, of never resting on what I've done, and of showing others respect & kindness.  I examine my life constantly to see if I'm on the right path.

I expect that others will do the same.  But here's the thing:  there are plenty of those others who won't.  They will take what I can give, and then take some more, and then take some more, and then, when the reservoir is empty, when I can do no more, I become the one who let them down.  It's the curse of being the good guy:  when you dare to assert that you too have needs, it's like the roof is caving in or something.

...can you tell that today's been kinda crappy? 

Monday Update, First Day of First Grade Edition

What we spent the weekend doing:  whatever Number One Son wanted.  That put us in Paducah at Ya-Ya's Island, and at Noble Park, and then eating dinner at Pizza Inn.  The good thing is that a pizza buffet is an awfully easy way to satisfy three little boys.

With the start of the school year comes The Runner's return to her usual schedule.  Most importantly, that means she's back to running with the two little ones.  There has been some added tension in town since an attempted attack on a runner last weekend, but she's strong and smart.  I mean STRONG--that double jogger with Little Red and The Youngest One weighs a ton.

Speaking of the regular schedule, Number One Son was back at Little Ninjas last week.  The building they are in has really weak a/c, so on a week when we had temps topping 100, it was an oven in there.  The martial arts thing is making us wonder about the usual soccer season:  is it prudent to have him do both?  I'm interested in him sticking with the martial arts; The Runner would rather him focus on some team sports. . . how much driving around are we willing to do, seeing as he'll also have church activities two afternoon/evenings per week?

First day of first grade.  He was completely hyper last night, and up before we were this morning.

The Runner watched the older two boys in the yard yesterday and commented:  "Little Red is going to be so lost tomorrow."  I'll be interested to see how it has gone today.

I have had the pleasure of dealing with some surprisingly bright students this summer.  I've also had the pleasure of dealing with some extraordinarily difficult ones.  The Runner has reminded me, bless her, that I can't help everyone.

Another pleasure at work:  they have been drilling so loudly that it is hard to think.  They went from 7:30 - 3:30 on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday last week.  I may be weak-minded or something, but I find it almost impossible to accomplish anything in a situation like this.

I got another one of my long-wished-for objects this past week:  A Namiki Falcon fountain pen, unique in modern pen construction because of its flexible nib (it's possible to find more flexible nibs if you special order or buy vintage). 

Adventures with Students, vol. 33

There is an upside to teaching the way I do--i.e., in a sort of manic, freewheeling, free-associating sort of way.  Most students seem to respond well to the amount of energy I'm pouring into the class, which is especially important when "selling" writers and ideas that they've been tortured with/turned off from.  A common response is, "I thought English would be boring!  But it's not!"  So I chase rabbits, make slightly off-color jokes from time to time, tell stories about my cats and my children (and occasionally The Runner), and generally perform.  All the while, I try to take seriously every student comment and question, and am happy to stop mid-stride to deal with an upraised hand.

Like I've said, most students respond well to this style.  Some, however, take it as license to say whatever they wish.  This is particularly troublesome when the license-taking student is either dumb as a stick, or unable to filter between brain and mouth.  I've had both kinds this summer.  Yesterday, for instance, I had to warn the men in the class (the difficult ones are both men) to not respond out loud to what I was saying, because "the ladies in here will absolutely kick your ass.  And you'll deserve it."  It worked, because it came off as a joke.  The thing is, after a certain number of stupid/silly/gauche questions or comments, I'm at my wit's end to figure out how to shut them up politely.  Most people are self-policing at least to a certain extent; frankly, a lot of times we rely on everybody sort of agreeing that they can go so far but no farther.  If the agreement breaks down, the class is that much harder to manage.

I try to keep my rebukes relatively jocular, which seems to be working okay for now.  The other option is to teach in a way that seems to close off honest responses.  I don't want to do that.

Monday Update, Tenured Edition

"Truly, you have a dizzying intellect."

That's right:  today it's official.  I'm now a tenured associate professor of English.  Whoa!  Step back!  I'm pretty hot, huh?  I'm accepting congratulatory gifts, etc.

The story of the past week has actually been "Fluffernutter," the little grey and white kitten The Runner rescued middle of last week.  We enjoyed having her inside with us (kittens are a laugh-a-minute, which is how they trick us into keeping them when they become cats)--that is, until she started leaving little presents under the bunk beds and behind the TV.  And then The Runner started having some real allergy problems.  Fluffernutter is now an outdoor kitty. . . and she's not too fond of being out there.  Simon the Watermelon Kitty isn't fond of it either.  Everybody is just going to have to adjust.

As I sit here in my office, the noise of a drill is reverberating through the suite and through my skull.  It has gone on all day.  Between noise like this and the effective closing of the library, it has been next to impossible to get any work done around here.  Am I happy about this?  No, I am not.

An interesting moment from the weekend:  I caught Number One Son trying to deceive Little Red by essentially lying to him about what he was doing.  As he did it right in front of me, I was obligated to beckon to him and shake my head, and growl, "you're not going to lie to him."  Number One Son then went to pieces, saying that he was the worst kid in the house.  I called him over and had him sit in my lap* while I explained to him that I wasn't saying he was a bad kid--just that he didn't need to lie to his brother . . . that reminding him of what he should & shouldn't do isn't the same as telling him he's good or bad.
(*note:  having Number One Son sit in one's lap is more or less like holding a board.  Not cuddly.)

Speaking of Number One Son, it was related to The Runner yesterday that he was the topic of conversation among some people at our church, and the report was that "he was by far the smartest child in all of kindergarten last year."  I wish he would read more, but I'm guessing that I'm not going to put that pressure on him.  He's only in first grade, after all.

This is the last week of summer schedule for the children.  The Runner rejoiceth.

So much depends on what you're expecting

You adopt kitty thinking this:

You end up with this:

Adventures in Parenting, vol. 27

Yeah, she was about this impressed.

Yesterday, as The Runner is applying a bit of pressure on Number One Son to actually pick up the play-doh from the carpet:

The Runner:  "Come in here please."
Number One Son:  "uuugghhhh what is it now??"
The Runner:  "excuhyooose me??"

me:  shaking my head.  Son, you never want to hear that phrase from a woman.

Adventures with Students, vol. 32

I don't want excuses.
Neither does Capt. Reynolds.

 
Yesterday I had a short conference with a student who has been a bit of a thorn in my flesh . . . the poor guy has several issues making it very difficult for him to be successful in college.  Among them is his inability to pass the remedial math class.  This summer he is taking it for the third straight semester, and it isn't going well.  After getting his latest test grade (31%), he was feeling awfully sorry for himself.  I asked him if he really needed to be in college, if the math is giving him this much misery.  He vehemently listed several reasons he needed to be here.  I then said, "in that case, you have to make this work, whatever it takes.  One thing you have to do is stop using Facebook until you've passed the class."  He kept trying to change the subject, mutter about not knowing how he can do it.  I kept reiterating, "you have to."  

I don't usually speak so bluntly, but he had finally gotten on my last nerve. 

In which Piers wonders, "what the heck?"

This picture was taken mid-March 2009.

Why didn't y'all tell me I looked so terrible??

(on the upside, it's fun to look at older pictures of Little Red)

Monday Update, Get Those Kids Out of The House Edition

The children went to swimming lessons today; Little Red has essentially recovered...and we knew when we saw that he ate like a horse yesterday.  Number One Son is still a little wan.

This was the weekend of trying to reclaim some sense of order in the yard.  The project continues, but now it's a matter of shrubbery massacre.  Let me take this opportunity to point out that it's hot.

This may be shocking (it is to me):  I've had this unaccountable itch in my fingers this past week to do some bike tinkering.  But there aren't any problems to fix, and I don't want to inadvertently create any by taking things apart and putting them back together. 

I tried to smoke a boston butt on the grill yesterday.  I give the outcome a "C" . . . need to tweak the rub and find a better way to create the smoke.  But hey, even mediocre bbq is better than none at all.

I'm wondering if perhaps my tendency to pour myself out on behalf of all sorts of other people has backfired (feel free to disagree with the premise of this sentence if you wish), left me without the resources necessary to see to the things that actually matter.  It could be that one of the things that I'm having to learn is where to most profitably spend myself.  I don't have the reserves I once did--and don't have the hope I once did, either.

It is difficult to see, these days, how not having a cruel or heartless streak is working in my favor.  The same goes with this mind that will  --  not  --  stop  --  turning  -- stuff  --  over.

Little Red fell asleep like this yesterday afternoon.  After "naptime" was over, of course:

In which Piers pulls out of that nosedive

I don't mean to complain, but the children are lucky to be alive after this past week.  Lots of patience exercised, and some tempers lost.  Little Red, speaking of losing, has a flatter tummy, poor guy.  He was still awake at 10:00 last night, curled up in our bed (!), "reading" The Runner's copy of The Noticer.

Yesterday afternoon I was wandering around in the yard and heard a loud cheep near my feet.  I looked down, and there in the grass, looking petulantly at me, was a fledgeling Robin (yes, just like that one).  I wondered if it were injured or abandoned, but after bringing the boys out to look at it, we discovered that it was perfectly capable of hopping all around the flowerbed.  And so it did.  I'm guessing I just startled it by showing up.  The Runner reported that the puppy next door had been nosing around our bushes earlier in the day, and had been suffering the assaults of dive-bombing mama bird.

Speaking of little creatures, Simon has now brought at least two mice up to the house for our examination.  Didn't think he had it in him, but I guess he feels like he needs to pick up the slack now that Sock The Garage Kitty has left us (*snif*).

Our garden is not succeeding this year.  I don't know what we did wrong when we did the planting, but it's just not thriving, even though we've had plenty of rain (well, up until this past week).  Which is okay, I guess.  I don't feel so bad about ignoring it in this heat if it's not producing much of anything except cayenne peppers (which we planted by accident and are too hot for us to eat). 

Teaching summer classes is a challenge because it's hard to get the timing right . . . when you've calibrated your approach for a regular semester, it's difficult to adjust to the variable times required during the 1.5 hours/day, 5 days/week schedule.  I've already had to significantly adjust my approach in the composition class. 

I don't think people like me have any business going around in pro racing kits, but I'll admit that the Leopard Trek kits are pretty sweet.  Birthday present idea, if you're wanting one.  The non-pro level stuff is actually reasonably priced.  It wouldn't be a waste:  I averaged 17mph on my ride this morning.  That's faster than I've been in a few years.  It's not fast, mind you . . . just fast for me.

Monday Update, tonsils edition

It's not the surgery, it's the aftermath.

Piers and the Youngest One had a fine time at home while the others were in Paducah; as a matter of fact, he has been more solicitous of my attention than ever before.  This morning, he cried because I had to hand him over to his mom.

Little Red has decided that I'm the one who needs to sleep with him ALL THE TIME.  And of course, given that we're trying to get the boys to rest, I've obliged.  I have a feeling that it's going to be a hard reckoning with reality next week.

Classes started last Tuesday, so we're a week in.  I currently have a stack of papers to grade and a couple of classes to prepare for.  To say that things have gone according to plan would be a gross exaggeration.  I know I always have unrealistic expectations, but this is ridiculous.

Don't get the idea that I'm repining at having to help the children (and their mother) with the recovery--I'm just bemused at how thoroughly it has turned the household topsy-turvy.

Hot weather saps the will, and when the children are sapping the energy at the rate they're doing it, it's a remarkable thing that anything gets done at our household.

In an attempt to shine some sunlight in the house, I bought Mario Kart Wii for the family.  It has been a lot of fun, though (as I should have known), it hasn't really helped the moods all that much.

vroom!

I have vivid memories of visits to the Tropical Hut supermarket near where we lived in Quezon City when I was a child.  They had a toy counter outside, just in front of the main entrance.  Arrayed in neat rows behind the glass were boxes upon boxes like the one above (I am almost positive that was the name of the company).  I'm sure we bugged my mother to death over those little cars.

This comes to mind because Little Red has started carrying around fistfuls--or shirtfuls--or bucketfuls-- of Hot Wheels and Matchbox cars.  Apparently, this is the same age where Number One Son got all interested in Thomas the Tank Engine.  For Little Red, it's cars.  Honey was nice enough to get him a new carrying case today, so he doesn't have to use the bucket anymore.

Needless to say, The Youngest is not allowed to touch them.  Or even come within a 10 foot radius of them.

Things that are Awesome, Series B, Number 3

The Park Tool PCS-10 Home Repair Stand.

One thing I learned fairly early on in doing some of the basic maintenance I was doing on my bike:  It's really hard (not to mention ineffective) to work on a bike by using the old method of turning it upside down on the garage floor.  I couldn't clean it very well, and even adjusting the seat was a big deal.

I tried hanging it on the bike carrier on the back of the CR-V, but that didn't work very well either.

Enter this tool--and it's heavy, stable, strong enough for anything I might throw at it, and it seems like it'll last forever.  Having quality tools makes these jobs easier.  And as a bonus, my bike is cleaner than it's been since I first bought it.

Things That Are Awesome, Series B, Number 2

fortunately, if you buy the right shoe, they throw the left one in for free.

The Clarks Desert Boot.

Incredibly comfortable shoes that get better with time . . . and go with just about anything . . . and are relatively cheap.

"Piers," you might say, "what with the leather bike saddle and the steel frame and the vintage-style shoes, one might think that you were showing signs of being one of those 'no school like the old school' sorts."

And you might be right about that.

Man is a giddy thing

In medieval/renaissance physiology, following Galen,
the liver was often thought to be the source of the emotions.

It has taken a long time to accept and/or articulate this, but I've discovered one of the things that has bedeviled me as an adult:

I'm a romantic at heart (truly . . . though it shames me to say so).
I'm also a relentlessly analytical thinker.

The two do not play well together, and what's more, I don't trust the former quality at all . . . yet it has the far greater power to push me down the stairs, take my lunch money, key my car, etc.

I realize that in some ways I'm just rehashing an old saw about human life.  We all face the same issue.  In my case, I have just realized that I can't work hard enough to make the pieces fit...there will always be that ragged seam.

Just like there is in all of us.

So I guess it's not much of an insight after all.

Monday Update, sans training wheels edition

1.  The big event of the week has already been announced:  On Thursday evening, The Runner asked me to take the training wheels off of the bike . . . and then she worked with him for about 15 minutes . . . and at the end of it he was wobbly but training-wheel free.  Since then he's asked me to ride with him two more times--we've gone out to the big park and done loops.  I knew he was excited because he couldn't stop chattering the whole time we were going.

2.  I finally got my bike seat figured out!  It involved purchasing a proper binder bolt, but I trust we shall not have the seatpost slippage blues any more this summer.  I worked on the bike while using my brand new work stand.  Yes, I know:  you're asking yourself, "there is such a thing as a bike work stand that you can spend money on to purchase?"  And my answer is, yes, yes there is.

3.  Took a day trip to Paducah today to do a little shopping, a little bike store browsing, a little taking of the children for lab work and pre-op consulting.  As it turns out, the children weren't needed at the hospital . . . the only thing they did was interview The Runner about allergies, health issues, etc. . . . i.e., stuff that could have been taken care of by phone.

4.  Heat indices for the past three days have topped 110 . . . and wet-blanket humid.  The kind of weather that saps all your energy.  Did that stop me from entering the great unknown (and surprisingly hilly) area between Martin and Dresden on my bike this morning?  And then thinking I was hopelessly lost only to find myself right at Court Square in Dresden?  No, no it did not.

5.  Vacation is over.  Starting tomorrow, I teach summer school, which will blend seamlessly into the 10 days of meetings before the Fall term starts.  In other words, I'm pretty much booked until December.

bull's eye

From an essay called "Comfortably Alone":

As a shy person, I’ve believed for most of my life that being among new people required an elaborate social disguise, one that would allow me to feel both present and absent, noticed and unnoticed. I’d yearn for some sort of social recognition without the bother of having to be recognized, without that oppressive pressure to live up to anything that might get me attention in the first place. So I’d find myself executing oblique tactics — being stingy and stealthy with eye contact; wearing a mask of deep concentration; staring at an underappreciated object in the room, like a light fixture or molding — in hopes of discouraging people from engaging me in actual conversation while still conveying the impression that I might be interesting to talk to.

The problem with polite conversation, I thought, was that it required the orderly recitation of platitudes before one can say anything interesting, let alone something as original and insightful as I wanted to believe myself to be. I couldn’t bear it. I had an irrational expectation that people should already know what I was about and come to me with suitable topics to draw me out. Rather than attempt agreeable chitchat and compromise my “authentic” identity with false congeniality, I would isolate myself, hoping that withdrawal would make me come across at a glance as mysterious and different rather than rude and feckless. If I had to volunteer talk about my tastes, interests and opinions out of context, they might be exposed as somehow wrong or worse, as not especially distinctive. And even if I hit it off with someone, my ineffable singularity could have easily vanished in the consensus of compatibility. I’d rather my self-importance remain undisturbed by anyone’s curiosity about me than risk seeming ordinary to myself.

This gave me my basic framework about how to behave in social situations. The possibility of discovering genuine connection with other people receded to fantasy; I could only try to make it through without embarrassing myself. Shyness had made me so deficient in empathic experience that I could only view social life in terms of risk rather than opportunity. The best way to manage that risk, I thought, was to be unapproachable but legibly fascinating at a distance, to present myself as an object to be read but with a message that’s inscrutable and fleeting, one that could convey the complexity of the real me without reducing it to something superficial. I could not get past the wish to broadcast my identity without having to interact with anyone.

(the remainder is about how Facebook and other forms of social media cater to and transform the above impulse)

"So Moses returned to the Lord and said,

...Alas, this people have sinned a great sin; they have made for themselves gods of gold.  But now, if thou wilt forgive their sin--and if not, blot me, I pray thee, out of thy book which thou hast written."  (Exodus 32: 30-32)

I don't understand the genre of praise music (or even hymns, really) that emphasize the cuddly, avuncular God that wants to sit us in His lap and tell us a story.  In fact, what the scriptures tend to reveal (and I'm looking closely at every verse until I've read the whole thing) is that it's a pretty terrible, conflict-ridden, soul-searing experience to fall into the hands of God.  Moses, for his part, argues and argues with Yawheh and despite all his striving is denied entrance into the Promised Land. 

We do ourselves a disservice when we try to make God a reconstructed 21st-Century man.  He is a consuming fire, even in the person of the Christ.

The shufflers

I suppose every town has a few.  Today I passed two of ours:  a couple of lumpy-shaped older men--not old enough to be called "elderly," but certainly past middle-age--who shuffle around town a good deal in various stages of dishevellment.  One likes to think of mature adulthood as a time marked by dignity--but that doesn't seem to be the case with these gentlemen.  Today, the one had on jean shorts and a t-shirt, and was making his way down University Street holding a half-empty bottle of Diet Coke as he peered through his thick smudgy glasses at the sidewalk.  The other passed me in the grocery store, his short-sleeve button down shirt crammed with ball-point pens in both chest pockets--probably at least twenty in total.  He was wearing a little girl's backpack, polka-dotted pink. 

I wonder how thoroughly they are "present."

And I think, too, of all the many ways a life can go wrong--how even the strongest character can be derailed.  We are so, so fragile.

Some friendly advice

Out of human authors take these few cautions, "know thyself. Be contented with thy lot. Trust not wealth, beauty, nor parasites, they will bring thee to destruction. Have peace with all men, war with vice. Be not idle. Look before you leap. Beware of 'had I wist.' Honour thy parents, speak well of friends. Be temperate in four things, lingua, locis, oculis, et poculis [in speech, in going about, in looking, and in drinking]. Watch thine eye. Moderate thine expenses. Hear much, speak little, sustine et abstine [bear and refrain]. If thou seest ought amiss in another, mend it in thyself. Keep thine own counsel, reveal not thy secrets, be silent in thine intentions. Give not ear to tale-tellers, babblers, be not scurrilous in conversation: jest without bitterness: give no man cause of offence: set thine house in order: take heed of suretyship. Fide et diffide [trust and mistrust], as a fox on the ice, take heed whom you trust. Live not beyond thy means. Give cheerfully. Pay thy dues willingly. Be not a slave to thy money; omit not occasion, embrace opportunity, lose no time. Be humble to thy superiors, respective to thine equals, affable to all, but not familiar. Flatter no man. Lie not, dissemble not. Keep thy word and promise, be constant in a good resolution. Speak truth. Be not opiniative, maintain no factions. Lay no wagers, make no comparisons. Find no faults, meddle not with other men's matters. Admire not thyself. Be not proud or popular. Insult not. Fortunam reverentur habe [bear fortune modestly]. Fear not that which cannot be avoided. Grieve not for that which cannot be recalled. Undervalue not thyself. Accuse no man, commend no man rashly. Go not to law without great cause. Strive not with a greater man. Cast not off an old friend, take heed of a reconciled enemy. If thou come as a guest stay not too long. Be not unthankful. Be meek, merciful, and patient. Do good to all. Be not fond of fair words. Be not a neuter in a faction; moderate thy passions. Think no place without a witness. Admonish thy friend in secret, commend him in public. Keep good company. Love others to be beloved thyself. Ama tanquam osurus [in loving remember that you may one day hate]. Amicus tardo fias [form friendships slowly]. Provide for a tempest. Noli irritare crabrones [do not stir up a hornet's nest]. Do not prostitute thy soul for gain. Make not a fool of thyself to make others merry. Marry not an old crony or a fool for money. Be not over solicitous or curious. Seek that which may be found. Seem not greater than thou art. Take thy pleasure soberly. Ocymum ne terito [do not grind clover]. Live merrily as thou canst. Take heed by other men's examples. Go as thou wouldst be met, sit as thou wouldst be found, yield to the time, follow the stream. Wilt thou live free from fears and cares? Live innocently, keep thyself upright, thou needest no other keeper," &c. Look for more in Isocrates, Seneca, Plutarch, Epictetus, &c., and for defect, consult with cheese- trenchers and painted cloths.

--Robert Burton, Anat. Mel. 2.3.8

there. that should keep us occupied for a while.

From January 7 to June 29

I received a letter today at work.  Relevant text below:

The board of trustees at the University of Tennessee, upon my recommendation and that of President _______, has approved your promotion to Associate Professor with tenure in the Department of English and Modern Foreign Languages at The University of Tennessee at Martin.  This action was taken at the Board's June 23, 2011, meeting to become effective August 1, 2011.

I'm gonna be crazy and go ahead & refer to myself as an associate professor a whole month early.

Monday Update, Early Summer Edition

Discovered an itty bitty bike down in the shed the other day; we'd forgotten that we had it.  It appeared to be the perfect size for Little Red.  And lo!  It came to pass that a helmet was bought for him, and he did ride.  We took them to the Brian Brown Memorial Greenway yesterday afternoon, and they had a blast.  Number One cheered Little Red's progress, even.

A disproportionate number of morning thunderstorms threw a wrench into my cycling training this weekend.  In fact, the storm yesterday morning was so bad that it caused a two-hour power outage (memories of Manila!) . . . we had church in the dark. 

Spurred by who knows what demon or angel, we overhauled the garage on Saturday.  You probably wouldn't be able to tell a big difference, but it's a lot cleaner now.  And what's more, I've even created a small work table for myself, and that's a good thing because I needed to change the tube in my back tire yesterday and it took half the time it usually takes--mainly because I have a useful surface to work on now.

I've decided that it would be fun to continue tinkering with bicycles until I really learned how to work with them.  Thinking about keeping an eye out for a real beater or two of a bike and trying to rebuild it for The Runner.  Or maybe even for Number One to graduate to. 

I realize, upon looking above, that all four items so far have to do with bikes.  Whoops.  I guess that tells you where a lot of my energy has been devoted this summer.  I have really pushed myself to stay active and productive.  For the most part, it has worked pretty well.  We'll see what happens when I start teaching next month.

Adventures in parenting, vol. 26

 
 . . . in which Number One and Little Red discover the vast difference between Phineas and Ferb's world and our own.  The cartoon features two (step?) brothers who each episode construct gigantic contraptions and structures, usually in response to something needed by a friend or family member (the subplots involving Perry the Platypus aren't really important now).  Here, a picture of the stage they built for a reunion concert of Love Handel. 



So, the boys have been determined that they could do something like that--build a stage, have a concert, create a lake and then a castle, etc.

Expectations: 

Reality:

This was the sum total of the work we got done this afternoon.  Number One expressed dismay at how hard it was to hammer nails into wood.  We agreed that maybe the cartoons make things look a bit easier than they actually are.  Total number of nails hammered by two boys:  8.

This should cover all the other--

Poorly done, Tar Heels.

Ramses is not impressed.

Revoking an emeritus professor's network privileges simply because he was embroiled in a conflict with a really annoying guy.  The excuse is "misuse of university network resources," but that's thin gruel, especially when it refers to one link on the professor's web page.

Poorly done.  I'm a big fan of the city, the university, the faculty, the sports teams, and Chancellor Holden Thorp, but not impressed this time.

Adventures in parenting, vol. 25

Ever since the children watched me put my bike together, they have been fascinated by the few hand tools I have. There have been many occasions for them to use the tools to work on their own riding toys, etc. 

Thanks at least in part to some cartoons they've been watching recently, Number One Son and Little Red have both decided that they need to do some major building projects in the back yard.  Among them:  a waterfall; a stage; a castle; a canyon; a zoo; and so on.  Number One even drew plans for them.

This picture represents their first effort--it's a "cannon" for the "pirate ship" in the back yard.  I asked about it, and the comment was that building things with wood and nails is a lot harder than it looks.

**

As a bonus, Number One also wiped out while riding his bike on the running trail this morning.  He got road rash and everything.  The Runner made him get back on the bike and do the whole circuit again, just so he'd know that he could do it without crashing.  I told him that it was great that he got some scrapes from riding his bike--that everybody falls off a bike sooner or later.

I've got a drinking problem

Adventures in parenting, vol. 24

Every day is an adventure.

Joseph's Story

"Joseph in Egypt," Jacopo Pontormo (1515-18)

Genesis 41:46:  "Joseph was thirty years old when he entered the service of Pharaoh king of Egypt."

Think about how long it took for Providence to reveal itself.  Think about how many years Joseph languished, not knowing if or when his sufferings were amounting to anything.  A sterile, sunday-school reading of the text might focus on Joseph's preternatural faith, or his abilities with prophecy--but in concrete terms, think about the length of time between his involuntary trip to Egypt and the time his brothers came to him for famine relief.  Think about how pointless it all must have seemed to a young man enslaved, imprisoned, and then apparently responsible for agricultural and financial policy throughout Egypt.

I wonder if, when he assures his brothers that their old trick of throwing him in the well was just a piece of God's plan to help them weather the famine, he's amazed himself at how it all seems to make sense all of a sudden.  After such a long time.  No wonder he wept.

Plans A & B

This is the way the world goes, isn't it?  I've spent a great deal of energy since the end of the spring semester in an attempt to take on some new projects, to make some adjustments to the way I've been spending my time, and so on.  More and longer bike rides.  Keeping more active during the day.  Refocusing and doubling down on my research. 

Vacation was awfully nice, even though it did make for a small hiccup in my ongoing projects (I toted the bike to FLA so that I wouldn't utterly lose momentum on all my tasks).  Now that I'm back at work 3 days a week, I find that the combination of the library closure and the construction on my office building makes it almost impossible to concentrate on any serious work for any extended period.  I'm impatient to feel like I'm making progress--not just recovering or treading water or putting out fires.

But I guess we shouldn't spend too much time waiting for circumstances to show their favor.

Things that are awesome, series B, volume 1

The Brooks B17 Bicycle Saddle.

This is the saddle that came included with my new bike, and it has the reputation it does for a reason . . . it's incredibly comfortable, even in jeans (since I'm not exactly going to be commuting to work in a pair of bike shorts).  When it comes time to replace the one on my other road bike (after 64 miles on that one the other day, I began to understand the difference between saddle and saddle), I'm thinking I'll go with another Brooks product.  These aren't the cheapest products around, but they last forever.  I'm a new fan.

In which Piers makes an interesting discovery

When we returned from the trip to Florida, I found a small dirt-dauber nest in my car (I'd left the windows down since it was in the garage anyway).  When I broke it open, I was surprised to find that it was full of spiders!  Turns out, that's what these insects do:  they pack the cells full of spiders for the larvae to feed on.  Gruesome, huh??  I showed the boys, and there were two reactions:  one of them started stomping on them, the other picked a few up to look more closely. 

Finisher!

In which Piers builds a bike.

I got my bike from Fed Ex just as we were getting back from the Florida trip.  The plan was to do the SuperTrek ride today, then build the bike tomorrow as a treat.

But I couldn't wait.  Apart from one bent part, it went quite well.

pictures and brief story here.

Hopefully it arrives today!

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