Monday Update, Old Pig & New Carpet Edition

No, not in pain . . . just singing happy birthday to us.

So, we had ourselves the 6th Annual Hawks Road Hawg Roast on Saturday.  A full accounting of the festivities would have to describe the midnight trip to the ER by Little Red and The Runner (they were there until about 9:00 am); the concurrent trip to the ER by Honey and Papa (imagine The Runner's surprise when her mother was wheeled in while she was dealing with Little Red); an unexpected conflagration; and Number One Son's birthday party which was held directly before the Pig Pickin proper.

I'm not sure which was the bigger hit:  the pork (which was good, I thought), or Fluffernutter (who had a blast).

It was also a pleasure to watch Number One Son run around for hours & hours, thoughtlessly enjoying himself.

We (he and I) had a birthday on Friday.

Today, and continuing through the rest of this week, there is new carpet being installed in my house (and it's about time, too).  Who knows what shall be found when the old carpet and pad are removed?

Finished the latest by my favorite contemporary author yesterday.  Enjoyed it immensely.  

Traditionally, the weeks following the Pig Pickin have us rolling up the sidewalks and hunkering down for the winter.  We cannot do that this year--too many ambitious plans for the yard.  Too many things still to take care of.  Plus, it looks like the grass is gonna have to be mowed at least one more time.

Actually, there's a hell of a lot to plan for now that we're reaching the end of October.

This is the last day I can legitimately refer to this.

So.

Adventures in Parenting, Vol. 32

From the paperwork that was sent home with Number One Son today. 

Monday Update, Getting Ready for the Pig Pickin Edition

Fall Break was not much of a break for me, but then again, that's not all that surprising, is it?

The weather has turned fall-like just in time for this weekend's event, for which we continue preparations.  As usual, though, most of the work has to wait until the day before/day of.

We have literally no idea how many people are coming.  Not sure we did the best job in the world getting the word out.  Facebook obviously no panacea.

Got official word yesterday:  Fluffernutter is a SHE.  So if we should give her a real name, it will have to be a girl's name. 

The really busy phase of the fall season is about over; after this weekend's Big Event (no tee shirts this year) there's just Halloween, so we can hunker down a little more and watch more TV. 

Speaking of which, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine is finally available on Netflix!  I'm so excited!

There are times when there is so much going on that I find it almost impossible to concentrate on anything.  This is one of those times.

In which Piers Ponders Pants

 I want these herringbone slacks.

I like this company's style, and the fit of their pants.  I'm getting to the age where any old pair of old navy or gap khakis will not quite do the trick.

but at $200?  hmmmm. 


They are nice pants, though.

"Look sir, look sir, Mister Fox sir!"

In which Piers needs his fall break

pressure??  What pressure?

In which Piers tries not to roll his eyes

 In a meeting yesterday, the consultant/facilitator uttered the following words & phrases approximately a dozen times each:

"Steering Committee"
"Task Force"
"Initiative"
"Strategic Goals"
"Move Forward"
"Incentives"
"Facilitating"
"Process"

There is an art in saying so little while using such impressive verbiage.

Hard Play; Good Lines

 Thou shouldst not have been old till thou hadst been wise.
(1.5.40)

No, you unnatural hags,
I will have such revenges on you both,
That all the world shall--I will do such things--
What they are, yet I know not; but they shall be
The terrors of the earth! You think I'll weep;
No, I'll not weep.
I have full cause of weeping, but this heart
Shall break into a hundred thousand flaws
Or ere I'll weep. O fool, I shall go mad!
(2.4.276-284)

Poor naked wretches, whereso'er you are,
That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm,
How shall your houseless heads and unfed sides,
Your looped and windowed raggedness, defend you
From seasons such as these? O, I have ta'en
Too little care of this! Take physic, pomp;
Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel,
That thou mayst shake the superflux to them,
And show the heavens more just.
(3.4.29-37)

A serving-man, proud in heart and mind; that curled my hair; wore gloves in my cap; served the lust of my mistress' heart, and did the act of darkness with her; swore as many oaths as I spake words, and broke them in the sweet face of heaven; one that slept in the contriving of lust, and waked to do it. Wine I loved deeply, dice dearly; and in woman out paramoured the Turk. False of heart, light of ear, bloody of hand; hog in sloth, fox in stealth, wolf in greediness, dog in madness, lion in prey.  Let not the creaking of shoes nor the rustling of silks betray thy poor heart to woman.
(3.4.83-93)

When the rain came to wet me once, and the wind to make me chatter; when the thunder would not peace at my bidding; there I found 'em, there I smelt 'em out. Go to, they are not men o' their words! They told me I was everything. 'Tis a lie, I am not ague-proof.
(4.6.100-104)

A follow up to yesterday's video

This one is from a few years ago.  When Little Red was, well, littler.  That child has the most uproarious laugh.

Monday Update, What Do You Mean Another Cat edition

I was working on grading a paper yesterday afternoon, when Number One Son burst into the house and shouted, "Sock is back!"  I followed him outside to find Little Red sitting in the middle of the yard with a black and white shorthair in his lap.  It was not Sock.  But was Little Red in love yet again?  Yes he was.  He carried that cat all over the yard--and the cat was remarkably compliant in the face of such treatment.  Fluffernutter was not as impressed.

I do not know if we're back up to three cats now or not.  But I do know that only one is living inside in any case.

Apparently, we've been having flea trouble thanks to Fluffernutter's regular incursions into the house.  Applied treatment to both kitties yesterday and saw almost immediate improvement, including watching one flea in its death agonies on our bathroom floor.  

This weekend, we began making strategic plans for the Pig Pickin.  There are lots of plans to make.

I'm short on news, mainly because last week was such a blitz.  I'm still blitzed, actually.

Need to come up with some new goals.  Short and long term.

Star Student for September

May I present one of the MPS "Star Students" for the month of September.  He'll get his picture in the local paper, and came home with a pencil and a ribbon.

Apparently, he was also given some kind of screening test yesterday for the gifted program at his school.  He was confused about what was going on . . . we assured him that it was nothing bad.

Also:  one of his front teeth has started coming loose.

In which Piers unearths one of his not-so-surprising quirks

This morning, I got kind of a late start.  I went on a bike ride (cold! I hate cold!), and then waited for the runner to get finished with her . . . run . . . and then we went to the coffee shop, and then I came into the office.  I had canceled my 9:30 class, so there was no real rush. 

Except the really weird thing was that because I didn't have that tight schedule this morning, I never really got the engine revved up very high.  I've kinda coasted through the day so far.  Apparently, if I have a slow morning, I have a hard time attacking the day. 

Good thing there's not much to attack today!

Monday Update, Happy Birthday to The Runner Edition

Today is The Runner's birthday.  I've had the boys sing to her multiple times, and she got to open her presents early this morning (so she could use them on her run).

I spent all day yesterday--the part not at church, I mean--grading papers.

Speaking of church, The Runner and I sat through our first "new members" sunday school class yesterday . . . probably the first time in almost a year that we've attended any sunday school class at all.  It was fine.  Did you know that there's an "A-C-T-S" method of prayer inspired by the Lord's Prayer?

Those refs should have caught that fumble return for a touchdown in the 3rd quarter during the Bama-Florida game rather than absolutely blowing the call.  That way, the Gator quarterback would have been off the field and not bent like a pretzel on the next play.  I feel awful for the guy.

Uncle B and the two girls--and Grammie--came for a rare visit on Saturday!  We had a good time.  Little Miss K really liked the kitties.  Little Miss B wasn't too sure about them, especially big ol' Sidney.  That was okay by him . . . he wasn't too sure about her either.

I have expressed some frustration with my colleague before, but this weekend he posted something online that was so inane that I just threw my hands up in exhaustion.  I'm not going to worry about it anymore . . . let Grill be Grill.

I never rest.  It's when you take the time to sit and rest that the tree swallows you; that Orgoglio comes crashing through the underbrush; that you get overtaken and ruined.

Mimosa Pudica

I remember seeing these as a kid growing up. Even in our yard!

A moment of self-reflection

If I could just come to peace with the fact that I'm a passionate person, instead of working to keep it tightly sealed all the time, I would probably be more . . . at peace.

Yeah, not likely. 

Google is hard

I read this comment yesterday on the official blog for the faculty senate president at my institution:

No doubt you have often wondered, as have I, how it has come to be that P-16 educators are paid so little in our country. The main reason, I believe, has something to do with how career educators are attracted to the human-improvement project; in love with both the ideas and with the people likewise attracted to the project. Now, if food, clothes, shelter and books were just not so darn pricey.

He ends with a smiley face, just to let us know that he's not all that serious.

I'll grant that this is a small point, and a common one that people bring up:  teachers aren't paid enough.  One doesn't get into education to get rich, etc.  Fair enough.  But here's the thing:  on an official forum from an elected faculty official, hosted on the university website, might one make sure one's pronouncements are accurate? 

I googled for salary figures. It took all of two minutes to find the following from a government site:

national mean salary:  $38,330
national mean salary for educators:  $50,440

$12,000 more than the national mean for all professions.  Plus (if you are in a public institution) high job security, far better than average benefits, a relatively kind work schedule (i.e., not working the night shift, etc.).  To make a point like the one above, especially in a region of the country where unemployment and poverty is particularly high (and in light of a recent plant closing one county over)--well, I think perhaps he might better have just kept that little thought to himself.

I mean, don't we expect a bit more from tenured university professors?

Monday Update, Kitty Heaven Edition.

Rest in Peace, and enjoy the heavenly buffet, Watermelon Kitty.

Sad news:  Simon the Watermelon Kitty is apparently gone.  Given that he was fat and lazy and neutered, and hasn't eaten from his bowl in three days, I have to assume that he was killed somehow.  He was perfectly fine on Friday evening, and then, *poof!* 

I think I'm the only one who really misses him.



Well, to be fair, Fluffernutter misses him too . . . she's obviously lonely and has been extra insistent about being let inside.

I spoke at an induction ceremony yesterday . . . something I've never done before.  It's not the same as lecturing!  But!  I was brief, so it's a win.

Little Red is slowly getting better thanks to judicious and regularly delivered breathing treatments.  Every evening he falls asleep while he's sitting and getting it . . . so at least this simplifies bedtime for Number One Son and the two parentals.

While I was on campus doing various things yesterday afternoon, the children asked to see the wedding video.  At the very opening of the video, there are baby shots of the two of us.  Definitive proof:  The Youngest looks just like The Runner did at his age; Little Red looks just like me (aside from the hair color).  If I had the pictures, I would post them to demonstrate. 

The schedule last week was mostly simple; this week it gets complicated, with a work function, and a student-teacher conference for Number One Son, and zillions of meetings for me.  The weekend is free . . . for now.

In a sobering turn of events, my job as Faculty Senate secretary has been enormously complicated because I simply don't think El Presidente is doing his job properly . . . or even that he has his priorities straight.

Quote of the week:  On Saturday at lunch, while Number One Son was enumerating all the people he has to take care of (i.e., all the children in the extended family who are younger than he is...which is all of them...), Little Red remonstrated, "nuuhh uhhhh!  I can take care of myself!!"

Poor Little Red

Second night in a row he has fallen asleep while getting his breathing treatment.

In which Piers prepares a speech

I have to speak on Sunday.  Not preach!  no, no, no no no nononono.
Part of what I'm writing down today that I may use on Sunday:

I'll tell you what else this isn't about:  it's not about preparing yourself for real life. I would never think to insult you to say that it is! As many of you can attest, this college business is quite real enough, thank you.  Many of you carry jobs, maintain relationships both pleasant and otherwise, and manage crises involving keys, flash drives, cars, friends, grandparents, and any number of other real life things.  Some of you have faced pretty stiff pressure from home and are here in spite of it.  That's all real life, as is the studying and the lectures and the meetings and the movies.  Each of you, in short, has a story to tell full of joy and woe, and you're in the midst of telling it even now.

I will be brief.

Poet-king

Join not with grief, fair woman, do not so,
To make my end too sudden.  Learn, good soul,
To think our former state a happy dream,
From which awaked, the truth of what we are
Shows us but this.  I am sworn brother, sweet,
To grim necessity, and he and I
Will keep a league till death.

(Richard II, 5.1.16-22.  My students don't like the play, but I love it.)

Tunay ng Pilipinas

This put a lump in my throat.

Some make a question,

graviores morbi corporis an animi, whether the diseases of the body or mind be more grievous, but there is no comparison, no doubt to be made of it, multo enim saevior longeque est atrocior animi, quam corporis cruciatus (Lemnius, lib. I, cap. 12), the diseases of the mind are far more grievous.

--Robt. Burton, Anat. Mel., 1.4.1.

Monday Update, Wise edition

I drove to Wise, Virginia.  I attended several presentations and gave one, then I came back to NWTN.

I shall now call my good friend JMA "The Ageless Wonder."  He looks exactly like he did in high school...it's amazing.  Thanks to him and his spouse WTA for putting me up as they do every year.

Thanks, too, to Honey for saving my bacon not once but twice.

A sample of what transpired this weekend

The xii weapons of spiritual battle which every man should have at hand 

when the pleasure of a sinful temptation commeth to his mind:

1. The pleasure little & short
2. The folowers grief & heuynes
3. The lost of a bettir thing
4. This life a dreme and a shadowe
5. The deth at our hand & vnware
6. Ye fere of impenitent departing
7. Eternal ioy eternal paine
8. Ye natur & dignyte of man
9. Ye peace of a good mynde
10. The gret benefites of god
11. The penyful cros of crist
12. The witnes of martyrs and example of seyntis.

In which Piers takes his annual eastward pilgrimage

An accurate representation of the orderliness of my mind

I start the drive today.  I hope Mollie the CR-V can make it as far as Nashville.  She's showing her age a little bit.

You know, doing this job is not all that difficult.  I enjoy the research I'm doing, and of course I enjoy the teaching and student interactions.  The difficulty comes in trying to take care of actual life while doing the business of this research/teaching/service gig. 

I actually understand how it is that some academics become strange, even unpleasant people--the work of creating balance is just too much, so they give up (that is, assuming they weren't strange, unpleasant people beforehand).

I realized last night that if something happens to me on this trip (not that I'm expecting it to!), neither Little Red nor the Youngest will have any actual memories of me.  I can't let them down.

"Accursed be a cowardly and covetous heart!
In you is villainy and vice, and virtue laid low!"
Then he grasps the green girdle and lets go the knot,
Hands it over in haste, and hotly he says:
"Behold there my falsehood, ill hap betide it!
Your cut taught me cowardice, care for my life,
And coveting came after, contrary both
To largesse and loyalty belonging to knights.
Now am I faulty and false, that fearful was ever
Of disloyalty and lies, bad luck to them both!

It was a Tuesday.  I was driving to Weldon Thornton's house to mow his yard.  I had NPR on just as it was switching to a BBC feed.  The Beeb's presenters mentioned that a plane had hit the south tower, and briefly commented that it was rather "fantastic" (in the sense of "surprising") that such a thing would happen.  I went on and mowed the grass.  Two hours later I turned the radio back on, and the world had been utterly transformed.

I cannot bring myself to watch the news today, because the talking heads on the TV cannot possibly be worthy enough to tie the shoes of those that died ten years ago, let alone talk about them.  In the face of such horror and heroism, the only fitting response is silence.

In which Piers goes to the Soybean Festival

And the youngest gets to ride the carousel.

Tonight's band:  Kansas!  Too bad the concert starts at 9:00.

In which Piers gets an invitation

From the email I received last night:

T____ T___, our president, nominated you to be our induction speaker and/or to become an honorary member of Phi Eta Sigma. Our induction fee is $40. You do not have to be inducted to be our keynote speaker.
 
It is my pleasure to invite you to be our keynote speaker and to be inducted into Phi Eta Sigma!
 
If you choose to speak, the traditional topic at our induction is the importance of achieving and maintaining exemplary undergraduate academic performance. The projected time to speak is approximately 10 minutes.
 
Please email me regarding your decision to be our keynote speaker and/or to be inducted.

I'm bemused, but I have accepted, of course.  It's an honor to be asked!

September is busy.

This week:  Soybean Festival. 

Next week:  conference in Wise, VA.

Following week:  lots of meetings.

...and then we're into October, and we all know what that month is like.

Fluffernutter

She is a little fuzzy ball of awesome.  Once or twice a day she sneaks into the house and streaks to Number One Kitty's food bowl.  Little Red then gets her, hoists her over his shoulder, and carries her back outside. 

She also likes to attack bare feet with her itty bitty (sharp!) kitten teeth.

Monday Update, Maximum Warp Edition

We are glad to have the issue with Number One Son that we do have.  To keep us humble, we have Little Red apparently showing some mulish tendencies in his day care class.  He does not like to be told what to do.  In this respect, he is exactly like his mother.

Speaking of Little Red, the "why would you put that in your mouth??" issue weighs heavily on us these days.  Just this past Saturday, he came in from the sandbox chewing on something.  I held out my hand and said, "what do you have in your mouth?"  He spat out this yellow foamy object and said, "earplug."  Sure enough, it was one of those foam earplugs . . . nicely swollen from all the moisture it had absorbed.  I wanted to take a picture of it, but apparently it got lost.  Probably ingested or something.

We are thinking of turning to sugar free gum for our orally-fixated child.

I have spent part of this Monday up at the office, catching up on some work that was starting to get away from me a little bit.  It has been more difficult than I had anticipated to get my feet under me this semester.  Some of it's an energy thing (I don't have much); some of it's a focus thing (what's that you're saying?); some of it's a matter of having harder work to do than before.  It's hard to be patient with myself.  I'm trying desperately to get up to speed.

We have officially branded this summer the summer of the garden FAIL.  The veggies just never seemed to thrive.  And then there was the fact that we got basically ZERO rain all of August.  Not sure what we did wrong, really.  We're looking into fall/winter crops.

I grilled/smoked a brisket for the very first time yesterday.  It worked out pretty well for a first attempt.  I would have posted that on Facebook, but I get kinda annoyed when I read statuses that provide nightly menus in exhaustive detail (you know the kind I'm talking about).  I like cooking, but I don't do it for recognition by my Facebook posse.

I was told this past week that I'm "kinda a legend" at this institution.  I didn't really know how to respond to that.

Adventures with Students, Vol. 35

I read a lot of student writing; I see a lot of student handwriting.  I know that many students develop their own style of script--some in cursive, most in an amalgam of print and cursive.  I am familiar with the tight, crabbed style that many college age men use.  I'm pretty good at interpreting even the messiest of manuscripts.  But every once in a while, I get handwriting that just gives me a headache even to look at it. 

I mean, seriously?

Adventures in Parenting, vol. 31

I had to help Little Red settle down.  It worked all too well.

What is it about the parental bed?

Sonnet 76

Why is my verse so barren of new pride,
So far from variation or quick change?
Why, with the time, do I not glance aside
To new-found methods and to compounds strange?
Why write I still all one, ever the same,
And keep invention in a noted weed,
That every word doth almost tell my name,
Showing their birth and where they did proceed?
O know, sweet love, I always write of you,
And you and love are still my argument;
So all my best is dressing old words new,
Spending again what is already spent;
For as the sun is daily new and old,
So is my love, still telling what is told.

--Wm. Shakespere

In which Piers gets something new

Adventures in Parenting, Vol. 30

At about 2:00 today, I got a phone call from the director of the day care.  She informed me that Little Red had vomited two times and was feeling pretty crummy.  Clearly, he needed to be picked up.  The Runner was at that point having a meeting with a client--in Dresden.  I was sitting in my office, with only my bike to serve as transportation.  So, I packed up in haste, rode home as fast as I could on my retro bike, hopped in the car, drove to the day care, and expectantly entered Little Red's classroom.  In response to some quizzical looks, I said I was there to pick Little Red up because he had vomited twice.  More quizzical looks.  I see Little Red walking toward me with his face all red from crying, and I bend down to hug him, upon which Miss A, his teacher, says he was just mad because she'd told him to go to the potty before he went outside to the playground.

And the vomiting?  That was one of Little Red's classmates, Thomas.  The phone call was a false alarm.  So there I was, at 2:30, with Little Red feeling perfectly fine (if a little sad).  I had to bring him home after going in there and hugging him, though.  So we came home and had snack and a Popsicle and played Angry Birds on the iPod.

The folks at the day care were most embarrassed.  We assured them that it was no big deal.  I'm just glad he didn't bring home some vomiting bug.  Er, so far.

Monday Update, Arid Edition

small town life.

Another weekend of yard work:  trimming back some overgrown hedges, weeding some of the flowerbeds, planting some mums, pulling up the roses that had more or less given up on us.  Also, more neglecting the garden, which has been a major disappointment this year.  We can't water it enough to make it grow stuff, so we're hoping that we can make a fall/winter harvest of greens--i.e. spinach and kale.  No rain, which makes for crispy grass.

Sunday mishap:  we got all ready for church, each of us freshly scrubbed and respectable looking.  Then we drove over to the church to find most people in shorts, getting lawn chairs out of their cars.  Oh, that's right, I thought, it's that special Sunday that they kept mentioning and that I never understood what was going on.  Outdoor worship.  Cookout.  We turned around and went home.  There's bound to be a newsletter or something we can subscribe to.


Sunday mishap #2:  Little Red found out the hard way that a hot iron is hot.  Poor guy just likes to touch things to find out what they're like.  He went to sleep with an ice pack on his hand, held there by a tube sock. 

Great news I just found out:  the principal at Number One Son's school (MPS) is allegedly planning to retire at the end of this school year.  Let us pray that her pension holds out so that she will. This year seems crucial for Number One Son . . . he needs to be put in as much advanced programming as they can offer, but frankly, they're not all that accustomed to having intelligent kids.  Fortunately, we have a double-secret ally that may help us get some results.

Hitting my stride for the semester:  last week I lost my voice on Wednesday and felt sick as a dog.  Then there was a late afternoon/evening meeting on Thursday.  I wandered around in a weary haze.  Need to do better this week, and hopefully in a couple of days I'll find that I've built up my stamina to the demands of a full term.

The Runner listens:  people talk.  She hears an awful lot of pretty awful stuff, and has the sense to keep her opinions to herself.  Good for her.

Aventures in Parenting, Vol. 29

The following was Number One Son's schedule this past week:

Monday:  School.  SMACK (church kids' choir).
Tuesday:  School.  SMACK.
Wednesday:  School.  Little Ninjas.
Thursday:  School.  Soccer practice.
Friday:  PIZZA & MOVIE NIGHT FTW

Looking ahead, it appears that the average week will include at least one activity each afternoon/evening Monday - Thursday.  I wonder if perhaps that's too much for a 6-year-old.  Granted, the Tuesday afternoon activity is directly after school until 5 (when he would otherwise be at the after-school program at the day care), and the other days are one-hour sports activities in the late afternoon, but I don't want us to be living in our van and eating in shifts every night of the week.  Especially when we get two boys going on these things (Little Red will start some of these things next summer). 

How much counts as enrichment, and how much is just robbing them of the unstructured play The Runner and I so strongly believe in?

Corn Dust

As this first week of class arrived, I began to feel like I had a tickle in the throat (uh oh . . . ), then a bit of a sniffle (daaaangit), then a full-fledged catarrh (aw for heaven's sake).  And then it struck me:  around this time every year, I start having to add Nasonex to my drug regime so that I can counter an allergy flare-up caused by . . . the drying-up corn & all the dust/mold/etc that it's releasing as it gets harvested.  It takes a couple of days (and yesterday I lost my voice in the second of my three classes), but once I get the dosage caught up, things improve.

The Youngest had been having some "walking pneumonia," so I'm glad it wasn't that.

I don't have time to be sick this time of year . . . September and October are extraordinarily busy months, culminating in the pig pickin (less than two months away!)

Nosce Teipsum

From Lifehacker:  Why You Can't Truly Know Other People (and What You Can Do About It)

It's no secret that we present different versions of ourselves to different people, but we also think we can see through everyone else's versioning system. Somehow we believe ours is impenetrable yet the rest of the world can be read like a book. As David McRaney, author of You Are Not So Smart, points out, carrying on this way is delusional, yet we all do it. Here's why.
The versions of yourself that you present and other present to you are simple and easy to understand. It isn't difficult to for someone to believe that they know you when who you are is a presented set of simplified traits. It's also why people seem easy to read. In reality, who you truly believe you are and who others believe themselves to be is generally internalized and imperceptible to others:

[R]esearchers asked people to describe a time when they feel most like themselves. Most subjects, 78 percent, described something internal and unobservable like the feeling of seeing their child excel or the rush of applause after playing for an audience. When asked to describe when they believed friends or relatives were most illustrative of their personalities, they described internal feelings only 28 percent of the time. Instead, they tended to describe actions. Tom is most like Tom when he is telling a dirty joke. Jill is most like Jill when she is rock climbing. You can't see internal states of others, so you generally don't use those states to describe their personalities.

This phenomeon—what psychologists call the illusion of asymmetric insight—creates a lot of problems. For instance, it allows you to completely reject what others believe because you think you understand it, and remain convinced that they'd agree with you if only they understood your point of view. Basically, you think you can understand everyone else and nobody can understand you. It gets even worse in groups. If you need an example, take a look at politics.

In reality, nobody's really right or wrong. We're never going to be able to paint a full picture of ourselves even if we're completely honest. Because much of who we are is internalized, we'll always project an incomplete version of who we are. When we look at other people, however, we have to remember that they're doing the same thing. It's easy to argue and disagree with what we see, hear, and observe, but the full truth is often often beyond our reach. Next time you disagree with another person or group, remember that you probably don't truly know and understand their point of view. You may agree on more than you're able to perceive.

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.