in which I think my department secretary should want to kill me

I think that my department secretary should want to kill me, and I can't say that I'd blame her. It's not that I'm the person always breaking the copy machine, and I'm not the person who prints entire books out on the laser printer, and I'm definitely not the charming individual who steals office essentials and doesn't return them. But I have turned into that other person, the one who doesn't turn in the paperwork in a timely manner.

It's her job to reconcile accounts and reallocate money and all of that stuff, and thank God that she is. I can have dozens of purchases and she will be the one to fill out all of the little boxes for each item that each requires a signature from me. She's the one who will patiently tell me that she needs all my receipts and my statement with all information double checked. And I'll just let it sit on my desk, continuing to do other things instead of this. For two months. All I have to do is paperclip the right receipts to the right pieces of paper, initial the amounts, sign the receipts, and tell her which accounts pay for what stuff. I just let it stack up, and in part it was because some money I was awarded back in April I never got an account number for until a couple of days ago. But she should still want to kill me.

I haven't been able to look her in the eye for days. But today I finally just pushed everything else aside, my new account number in front of me, and started checking stuff and putting initials on the right things and signatures on the other right things and then went to her personally to plea for forgiveness. She told me to say 3 Hail Mary's for penance and that then I'd be back in good graces.

Good thing, because we had a department birthday cake today, which required the largest knife in the drawer. After seeing that, I went right to work.

The more pressing issue for me is this: How did I get to be that person? I didn't used to be this far behind, I don't think. I could offer excuses, but instead I pledged to myself to keep my house in order, sign the statement as quickly as I can and place it back in her hands the same day. Because even if she didn't think to use that knife, there are a thousand other ways she could ruin my existence, starting with no longer helping me keep track of this paperwork.

personal hells

Tonight, while having dinner with my sister's family and my parents (who are visiting), we actually struck upon an interesting piece of conversation. I mention this because it's rare when my parents are in town, and especially when my mother is in on the conversation.

Come to think of it, Mom didn't contribute.

We were watching a teacher we know outside walking down the street, meeting up with another person, and there were jokes about how this teacher really liked to talk with others. The other woman on the street, perhaps, couldn't find a way to escape. I suggested that this teacher's own personal hell would be an endless beach of sand that she'd have to walk forever without ever finding another soul to talk to.

I was intrigued by the notion that we could each have a personal hell, and that it could be customized to our own worst scenario. Dad chimed in: his hell would be to be at the wheel of a school bus filled with children. My brother-in-law followed that his would be trapped inside an operating mega Walmart store. I think a good hell would be to be driving a school bus full of children around and around the parking lot of an operating Walmart.

It's entertaining, oddly, to imagine the hells that you aren't living, as long as they aren't too close to reality. Maybe an assembly of these images would make a good book, or perhaps just a good poem.

finding solace in nuclear proliferation

The other day I got excited to see the headline in the paper describing N. Korea tossing out nuclear inspectors. Back to the good ol' days. That's the kind of "crisis" that I can understand and that, selfishly, I can use. I'm so pleased with N. Korea and Iran and Venezuela now all looking at nuclear possibilities, because that's something that I can wrap my head around. Moreover, I can bring this up in class and describe quite justifiably how important it is to understand physics and the process of science in general in order to understand these geopolitical issues.

Financial crises I don't understand. And when I try to understand it I think I realize more and more that economics really is something that is non-rational. An understanding of physics or science in general doesn't seem to help. Maybe the rationality in thinking this way actually inhibits understanding the situation. Or maybe using rationality puts economics into such stark terms that it becomes hilarious. And terrifying. Take, for example, this splendid piece of satire forwarded to me by a sabbaticalized individual who is probably torturing herself by listening to NPR and the world's realities too much.

Today I'm figuring out how to get a couple of dozen people carpooled from the airport. And I need to reconcile a purchasing card statement from two months ago. And I want to finish a letter of application. And then there's the stack of grading. And how am I going to fix the economy? And Karyn needs to see the eye doctor again. And my parents get here today. And there's soccer practice. And . . . well, it's not that there's too much to do, it's just that there's a lot of different species of things on the same ark. So it's actually really satisfying to once in a while have one thing to focus on.

Thanks again N. Korea. I'm looking forward to your continual push towards nuclear proliferation, because that's something I can actually handle in my own small way.

busyness and publication

Today's been a busy day, in a calm way. A batch (flock? set? herd?) of pancakes after a batch of physics solutions had been worked on. A bike ride with the family in the early afternoon, with a smattering of various tasks that I'd just continue to knock into: burying drip irrigation lines, replacing a toilet seat, making name tags, futzing with an abbreviated CV and cover letter to apply for that half time position, putzing with an exam I need to finish writing. And some grading.

I'm fairly certain that part of me kept finding these kinds of things to do because I'm grown-up enough now that I get anxious when I read the paper or or even think about recent news of potential economic gloom. But that's best another journal entry. Mostly, I think that the Sunday affords a special kind of busyness. It's a relaxing kind of frenzy, where the tasks are just those that I stumble into . . . like a discussion I had with students last Friday.

Friday's class on "Physics of Contemporary Issues" was a debriefing of a trip we'd made the previous class period. It wasn't supposed to be a big deal -- all we'd done before was go to the library. Like, inside the library. Not only that, but we went to the "recent periodical" section of the library. I'd started making this a habit for some classes a year or so ago, when I realized that most of my students had never set foot into this side of the library, if they'd been to the library at all. I was able to show them that they could browse, see things that were related to one another, and (my favorite part) open up the shelf to find the other issues of a journal that were hiding underneath.

[In truth, this little trip is something that I need to do more often, and taking my class there is a guise for my own selfish wants. While I'm there I realized that if I got that half-time reappointment, I'd spend half of my time in an office in the library . . . hmmmm.]

So Friday, in class, I imagined that we might have a little bit to clean up in regards to debriefing the trip, seeing what ideas were sparked, what questions remained . . . and then it became clear that everyone only had more questions. I decided to start showing them the spectrum of "science" journals they could find -- ranging from Popular Mechanics to Physical Review -- and what made them different. And then suddenly there was this flood of new questions and new realizations that I hadn't planned for: how peer review works, who these journals are written for, what an editor does, how writers in peer-reviewed journals not only don't get paid (and neither do the referees), but they often have to pay per page published . . . and it went on. It turns out it was all stuff that they really needed to know for the whole trip on Wednesday to make sense. And yet I'd never done a discussion like this one before. I need to remember to include this one, something that isn't on the philosophical aspects of science nor the mechanics of some discipline, but on the nuts-and-bolts of how ideas get disseminated, discussed, and debated. Now I just need to remember to plan this in later iterations of the course. That's why I'm writing it here, I suppose.

Ballistics

I received Billy's new book, Ballistics, in the mail on Monday, waiting for me at the end of the day. I opened the cardboard box and the extra packaged air surrounding the text, keeping it safe from the buffeting of its travels with the postal service. That this extra bit of care was taken was appreciated.

A part of me -- the part that deceives myself, daydreams and fantasizes -- imagined that the book didn't come from a warehouse in the midwest, in spite of the fact that I'd pre-ordered it months ago. Rather, I imagined that the book was sent from Collins himself, a note inside the cover: "Hope all's well in Ogden. My best to Karyn."

I looked. It wasn't there.

I looked more, expecting (with the same delusional imagery as before) that although I'd received my book from Amazon.com just like the rest of the civilized world, perhaps I'd find a poem whose origins I could trace back to Billy's visit in Ogden, with me. "Surface Tension" would be a great title, I think, tracing back to a running gag of our conversation. Or, "The Interrogator," based on the interview process itself. I admitted this to Karyn, and she naturally asked if there was a poem in there about "The photographer." That, to me, sounded more likely than any of my own visions, but even this, such a simple and obvious thing to include in the collection, didn't exist.*

Nor did we expect it to. But . . . still . . .

Yet there was the one poem, "Lost." Not a favorite poem, not even my favorite Collins poem. But as I paged through I recognized these lines about the coin. I'd seen these before, and they were there in front of me on a yellow notepad, scratched out and scribbled by the poet's own hand. I'd seen the poem when it had just been born, heard it read for the first time, learned a bit about its conception and growth. And now here it is on page 45, all grown up.

_____

*For the record I should note that he has a new photo of himself inside the jacket. It's fine, but mediocre compared to the photos Karyn took of him. These and the interview should come out in a few weeks.

incorrection

Yesterday I had a bit of blogger's remorse. I suggested that a university system was filled with irony, hypocrisy, inefficiency, etc. This isn't really fair. There are plenty of extraordinary people working here in what is a fairly extraordinary place.

But then this morning I got in and checked my voicemail, prompted by the little blinking light. On the phone I learned in an all campus announcement from telecommunications that -- yes -- they were having problems with the phone system. I'm sure that all the people who couldn't use their phones appreciated hearing the message . . . after their phone started working again.

When our email system goes down, guess how we get alerted?

irony and new considerations

I overuse "irony" in my vocabulary, but today it demonstrated itself right in front of me. In a university setting this happens all the time -- right up there with inefficiency, ineptitude, laziness, and hypocrisy -- but today was an especially shining moment.

So there I am in the first meeting of the year for the "EIC," the Environmental Issues Committee, where we welcomed a senior administrator from our own Facilities Management. He was presenting a draft of all that the university currently does to be environmentally responsible. (This is mostly his effort to defend a status quo, rather than enact real change, but that's another issue.) He wants feedback and additions to the document, so he handed it out. To all 20 of us. All 25 pages. Copied single-sided. Sigh.

We were all very polite, I thought.

Then we suggested a website to disseminate information.

Maybe it was also ironic that after classes and meetings and labs and putting together a conference program and asking for a two day extension on a proposal I looked at a memo in my mailbox. It asked for applications to head the university's teaching and learning committee, something I've always thought I should try to do. And now it's time to actually put effort into the things I've complained about (at least to myself) for years. But I found myself wondering if anyone could talk me out of that. I think I actually should do this, but after experiencing a day where I couldn't catch my breath, it seemed like a sign that I should think hard about this. A half time reappointment with a 3/4 time secretary? Tempting. To leave behind half of my teaching load? Surprisingly difficult. And would I give up enough other things to do this well? I don't know.

precooked bacon

Yesterday afternoon the girls left for a community festival at the local park. No cloud in the sky, the leaves in the mountains are just starting to get that tinge of rust, and the temperatures are fixing themselves in the mid 70s. I stayed home, inside, to catch up on stuff.

But that isn't what this is about.

Fixing dinner for one person has always seemed like one of the most confusing problems that I face. That's overstated, a little. It's just that with a group of people, even a pair, making a salad or cooking some pasta seems to be worth it. The size of pots and pans are reasonable for making a meal that should be placed on the table. Making something to eat for one person is actually more difficult. And sometimes it sparks something that you should never, ever, feed to the rest of your family.

I stared into the fridge for a little while and didn't come up with anything. No cheddar cheese, no obvious leftover, lots of vegetables, but no inspiration to do anything with them. Four supersized, recently picked zucchini sit on the counter, but how am I going to eat a log of vegetable pulp?

In the freezer I thought I might find something that I could quickly grill. I was thinking meat, but seeing that we didn't have any, I opened the box of healthy soy burgers. Sigh. Okay, they aren't so bad. And besides, I could easily take one out, put it on the small pan on the oven, and with a couple of pieces of wheat bread (the last two in the loaf) I'd have the basis for a meal.

We have tomatoes, ripe off the vine. I could slice these. And fry sauce. Yum. Between the tomatoes and the fry sauce, the soy patty might not be so bad . . . so dry . . . so meatless . . .

And that's when I remembered the precooked bacon.

But that's not what this is about, either, in spite of the title above. What I keyed on with the precooked bacon was that I could have bacon prepared in less than a minute in the microwave and I was ready to consume it. Just place it (ironically) atop my otherwise vegetarian sandwich and *presto* instant salt/fat/deliciousness. Being a consumer has never been so easy.

That's how it is with information, too. I was thinking that same day about my computer(s) and how I used these things ten or fifteen years ago. At some point in the past, computers were used to produce information, to create the work. I would find myself at a keyboard not to surf the web (Google) or browse the news (New York Times!) or listen to new music (Pandora!!), but to write something from scratch. Now I find myself not cooking my own bacon, but finding the stuff precooked, and it comes through a device that fits into the palm of my hand.

It's true: precooked bacon isn't as good. But it isn't bad. And it makes for a great sandwich when you're in a rush. Googlized interfaces and instant sources of information also aren't as good as the hard-researched work that I might have had to do years ago when I would set foot in a library, but I appreciated the amount of information I can get easily and quickly.

why it's best that I'm married

Being happily married and in love keeps me from pursuing Tina Fey. She's brilliant. (Karyn thinks so, too.)

next summer . . .

Stacy and I have been given the opportunity to propose 3 trips for teachers next summer. "Opportunity" is usually a euphemism I use, but in this case it's really a true, rare opportunity. We basically get to say, without too much fear of budgets, time, or other practicalities, "we want to do this." This past summer it meant we toured with a bus full of teachers from Idaho to Arizona and all spaces in between, visiting labs and field experiences all along the way. A particle accelerator? Yup. Observatory? No problem. National park with geological history just staring at you and you happen to have brought a Geiger counter to go check out the Chinle formation? Of course.

Two trips will be science emphasized, and one will be cross disciplinary. I'm not ashamed to say that the cross disciplinary one turns me on . . . academically speaking. But then as soon as I start to think about the others I really really want to go on those, too.

The possibilities:

Do something just like we did last year as one trip. We could modify this to only be in southern Utah and Arizona, or to only be in northern Utah and Idaho. Southern Utah could be great, especially to see crazy geology and dark skies. Northern Utah is great because we get to see the local geology, ecology, and resources.

While hiking in the Uintas, I wanted to create a trip in which we could meet with a geologist one night, a botanist another night, and a zoologist another, and . . . We could hike around, perhaps packing our stuff but more likely going from one base camp to another, meeting scientists for dinner and spending the next subsequent day with them. Maybe such a trip could be a good excuse to get a fellow science educator who longs for mountains out west to tag along and give advice. With a willing group, I'd be more than just willing to plan a route. Maybe campus' wilderness rec could facilitate supplying the trip, meeting us at stopover points, and even transportation.

Or maybe that trip should be done down south. Maybe with a base camp at Goblin Valley, with trips to slot canyons in the San Rafael Swell, extended trip to Horseshoe Canyon (world regarded petroglyphs), and other places. We could meet up with different geologists, archeologists, botanists, etc.

Or maybe it's on one of these hiking trips that we have the cross disciplinary science and literature combo. For some reason, I have this set in my head that the science and writing hybrid trip should be connected strongly to the outdoors. Hiking the Uintas with a writer/poet? Or meeting up with a variety of people of literary credentials while in Southern Utah? Round a corner: Hey look, it's Terry T. Williams! The next day perhaps we meet with a former Utah poet laureate . . . and then the next day a former student of Edward Abbey . . . Hey, and then maybe we run into Taylor Mali! Yeah, we should get Taylor to work with these teachers, at least for a day!

We've also talked about having another group do an astrobiological trip, and I'm immediately not qualified but immediately want to go . . . simply because I'm not qualified and want to know more. And you'd have to go to Yellowstone and Antelope Island and . . . well, I can only go on so many trips. Grmmph. But that's one trip that definitely needs to be done.

Stacy mentioned the possibility of a trip down the Columbia River, and as I think about it it makes more and more sense with more and more possibility. We could even start around the John Day fossil beds, make our way towards the river where it's wide, go by the ol' Hanford nuclear site, downstream (by boat? Maybe . . .) to various and many dams, especially at the Dalles where the falls are, or were, amazing, and we destroyed them and the fish runs and the way of life for the people who were there first. But I don't have strong opinions about this. And keep heading downstream, through the Cascades and in the shadow of Mt. Hood and Mt. Adams -- there's a great place to stay on the Washington side of the river around there -- and then perhaps we need to head to Mt. St. Helens to see geology in recent action and ecosystems and the whole collaboration and rejuvenation of the place that was completely wiped out in 1980. And then we could get to Portland. Maybe the coast? Some marine biology? But that would be too much.

And then there's Europe.

And there are other issues, but unlike everything else I do, most of those aren't things that I'll need to worry about. Even as I think, "Would we be able to transport people down that road to Horseshoe Canyon?" I realize that there may even be vehicles supplied for just such a trip. But I'm getting ahead of myself. And that's what's so fun. But I should stop for now.

the priesthood

I've been known to go to church. I don't go religiously, either in terms of how often or in how adamant I am about my beliefs, but there are a few things I like about the little stone church downtown. For example, it's a fairly liberal, diverse group of young and old, founded on democratic principles and with a strong call for social justice. And, I want my kids to see another view of religion besides the cultural norms that they see around them all the time. But mostly I think that I occasionally like to be able to sit in a pew and have nothing else to do but listen (maybe) or let my mind wander (more often) as I stare out at the stained glass.

Sometimes the wandering mind goes too many places, way too far away from the Book of Matthew. If the "New Revised Standard Version" (NRSV) of the Bible is so "standard," why would it be "new" and/or "revised"? And did they mean to place so many phallic symbols in the architecture?

More often than not, though, I'm reminded of teaching. The priest/pastor/rector/preacher person is someone who is very knowledgeable, and politically speaking he's a progressive liberal. But he's a terrible teacher. No, I shouldn't say that. Actually, more accurate would be to say that he's the teacher that I am afraid that I might turn into. "Discussions" turn into his long winded accounts of the historical and political and ecumenical. He is self mocking in this trait, and in the trait of being too academic, verbose, and generally obscure. In fact today I heard him say in a funny admittance that he could be too "turgid" in his writing and speaking. I wrote this down quickly on a card that was meant to document people and causes that others should pray for, and then I stuffed it in my pocket. I was pretty sure I knew what "turgid" meant, but not sure enough to engage in the conversation. It turns out it meant what I thought it did, and made the statement that much more ironic.

I don't think we should have to have wireless access in the church proper in order to look up definitions and decodings of speech to understand what someone is saying. And more important, I don't think there should be a wall built up within the discourse. I don't know how this has happened, but it further alienates the priesthood from the people.

I think that this happens to teachers, the professoriate in particular, all of the time. We become turgid, obscure, and irrelevant, and especially as I get older I find myself enjoying the elegance (in my mind) of my own ideas. The problem is when I'm supposed to be communicating or -- egads -- simply listening and understanding. My own priestliness can easily get in the way. Unless I make myself aware of what I don't want to be. Maybe this is the antidote?* And maybe that's a good reason to keep going to church. In addition to the phallic symbols.

____

*The other antidote I thought of for this is that I, as a teacher, continually get to see an assessment of my students' understandings and performance. A priest isn't generally so informed. While I get to witness a failing grade, the spiritual advisor doesn't get to witness one of his flock burning in the fires of hell.

the rules of the game

Rushing out of my office yesterday, I explained to my department chair that I had to head out to coach a soccer team of 6-7 year-old girls. "Well," I corrected myself, "first I have to learn the rules and then I'll teach them." A bold statement perhaps, since practice was in a little over an hour from that moment. "So pretty much it's just like what I do every day at work."

I meant for it to be just a funny quip (and he and I both laughed) . . . but then I realized on my way out the door: It's exactly true. My job is to learn the rules (of nature and of learning) and then I get to explain, demonstrate, and set up experiences to help everyone learn these rules.

Today we had our first soccer match. It was fun. We mostly knew which goal to kick the ball into. But I truly hope that I'm better at teaching physics than I am at coaching soccer.

a day in the life

What follows is my experiment for the day, originating from my experiences of coming home, daily, with little coherent to reply to the question, "How was your day?" "Good" or "bad" never really describes a day, but then I also don't have a coherent way to piece together my day in a description. Lots of stuff just isn't really interesting. More importantly, my day doesn't follow a progression with any kind of narrative arc; there isn't a metaphor or lesson composed. When I think about it, my day is more like some kind of Rube Goldberg machine, one action leading to another, but none of them with obvious relation.

So, to try to make sense of it myself, I started jotting stuff down occasionally, associating certain events with certain times, re-creating things when I had a chance to jot it down. This is clearly the hyper-reaction to "How was your day?" -- way too much and not enough all at the same time. But it was fun to just one time show the partial composition of one day. If nothing else, it's helped me remember a few things that usually otherwise get flushed away.

_____

5:00a - Alarm goes off. I remember that I was going to get up to finish the solutions I would have done last night except that I could concentrate last night on any work because I was trying to pay attention to speeches given at the RNC. Couldn't concentrate because of the discourse and the Irish whiskey I was drinking to help soothe the discourse. Now I'm just mad at Sarah Palin for keeping me up last night with nothing -- absolutely nothing -- to show for it. Hit snooze.

5:30a - Get up. Still hate Sarah Palin. Get dressed. Let dog out. Make coffee. Feed dog. Eat doughnut. Drink coffee. Work on homework solutions.

7:15a - Have to get out of the house. Not done with solutions. Wash face, brush teeth, wet hair. Kiss girls and head out on bike.

7:25a - Asshole in silver Honda nearly clips me on my bike.

7:30a - Get to office. Make coffee for "coffee club," but mostly it's for me. Work on solutions some more, but mostly reply to a few emails and write on a sticky note a few things I need to make sure I get done today. One of these is "lunch!", a reminder that I forgot to bring a lunch and should find another way to nourish myself.

7:50a - Go to class. Teach future generations about really important things such as "Don't drive your silver Honda so close to my bicycle!" and "Gravity's acceleration is constant for all objects and all velocities." Reschedule a quiz scheduled originally for tomorrow. Tell students it is for their benefit, but mostly it's for my own.

8:55a - Return from class. Realize that I didn't eat breakfast, except for that doughnut. Eat some cheddar flavored Sun Chips from the vending machine. Wash down with cold coffee. Living luxurious life of university professor. Prepare handouts for next class. Meet with two different students who ask profound questions like, "I got stuck on number 39." Actually, one student has the revelation that there are two different accelerations in #39, so she has to figure out two different times independently. And I realize why I love teaching so much.

9:55a - Leave for class. Come back because I forgot the handouts. Leave for class again. See sabbaticalized colleague out in the wild and privately blame her for the fact that the dropped-rock-in-the-well problem I was trying to solve came out with an answer of 20,000m.

10:00a - Class (science ed) starts with a discussion about how verbose Thomas Kuhn is and how much someone disagrees with Alan Lightman but thinks Karl Popper makes complete sense. I haven't said a word and am writing questions on the board for discussion, but happy that the discussion could go just fine without me. Reminder #2 about why I love teaching.

10: 40a - Interrupt class with an impromptu survey based on how the discussion was going so far: "Write down the first 5 scientists you can think of." Everyone (almost) writes "Einstein". Someone writes my name and crosses it out and replaces it with someone else. Reminder #3.

11:17a - Class ends, two minutes late because I have to tell them a story about Kuhn and Popper. Also introduced umbrellaology and gave them a one paragraph argument to write for Tuesday. Remind self to find the other reading about Kuhn and Popper.

11:40a - Another student with questions about homework. Still working on the homework solutions myself. Find out that my dropped-rock-in-the-well problem was a matter of a negative sign and a dropped term. Still blame sabbatical colleague who now spends her time reading things. I remember those days . . .

12:40p: Return from jaunt to union building to pick up something to eat. Michelle asks questions about printer in lab and how to set its IP address. I can't remember but know I was the one who did this the first time. Need to fix that by Tuesday.

12:45p: Eat lunch. Post solutions of handwritten homework and type out answers to conceptual questions.

1:30p - Pandora plays some "Badly Drawn Boy." A pleasant surprise. I give it a thumbs up.

1:45p - All solutions are posted. Answered 4 emails as they came in over the past hour. Nereyda shows me that the office supply order has come in, including my favorite pens. In blue and black. Farhang stopped by to ask about my student's seminar presentation later this semester, and if "The Hot Chocolate Effect" was an appropriate title. I remarked that I should get a prize for having the longest seminar title of the semester in "Negotiating the Intersections in Science Education: Vexations and Ventures in Reform Efforts".

2:07p - Can't find that reading I was supposed to look up for science ed. Could have sworn that I'd scanned it last year. But I can't find it. Late for a meeting in student union.

2:17p - Meeting about county reading program and possible interplay with other projects, including a museum exhibit, school visits, and a presentation I'll prepare on the science and technology of Frankenstein. Realize I need to read Frankenstein.

3:15p - Back to office, John catches me and shows me rumor about new Mac notebook. We both don't believe it, but both want one. He pledges to buy two. Then shows me how he fixed his Spotlight search feature which, just like mine, stopped working a while ago. (Would come in handy to find that article.) It involves logging into the terminal, which always scares me a little.

3:15p - Computer simultaneously ringing at me with the alarm: "Home with Grace," reminding me (early) that I'm on my way out to stay with Grace while Karyn takes Anna to dance class. No problem. As long as I leave by 3:30 I have plenty of time. I'll be early.

3:30p - Answered/deleted/noted emails on computer since I'd last left. In the middle of that terminal operation when colleague drops by. Sees I'm on my way out. Conversation continues with me while I have on bike helmet, talking and inputing obscure commands into the computer such as "sudo mdutil -i on -E /". Helmet seemed necessary.

3:38p - On my bike. Late.

3:47p - Home. Karyn and Anna leave. I talk to Grace about school. She tells me just as much as I tell family about my own days at school. She has a reading test tomorrow. Neither of us knows what that means.

4:10p - Open computer. New emails, including a link from Colin to this fantastic segment of John Stewart covering Palin.

4:20p - Work (for real) on more proceedings edits for Crossroads. 24 hours ago I thought that this is what I was going to be doing this morning, but happy to be doing it now.

5:12p - Karyn called to suggest that she bring home a pizza. I'm actually making progress on the proceedings. Tree cutting people are making progress on our neighbor's Box Elder tree adjacent to our back yard.

5:25p - Get to a good place to pause. Delete an email from "Baby samples." Read one other. Search for email from a Crossroads author.

5:45p - Karyn and Anna got home with a pizza and the oven is ready and as it cooks the girls do some homework. After dinner Anna practices violin and Grace does some math. Karyn heads off to knitting as we get dessert and later do more homework -- spelling words and reading stuff to be ready for Friday. I finish problem #52 as a supplement to those solutions. It's that dropped-rock-in-the-well problem, and this time I get 46.2 m instead of 20000m, and better yet I come up with a method that's a lot cleaner looking for students.

7:55p - Girls are playing chess . . . or actually they are giving names to each of the pieces and enacting some kind of drama/game. Last I heard there was lava on the side, and one of the bishop's names is "Bob." Oh, and, "How about the King and Queen can fly?" I have to interrupt to go get pajamas on. For them, not me.

8:45p - With Karyn still out and the girls in bed, I played piano for a while, opened a beer, wandered a bit, knowing that I could go back to papers. And then there's the pull of the RNC, not because of the people attending or speaking at the RNC, but because I'm addicted to Jim Lehrer, Mark Shields, David Brooks and other non-perfect-looking people on PBS. So I buckled in and gritted my teeth, but brought my laptop along with me.

9:14p - No, I don't think I can do it.

_____

That's pretty much it. I left lots out, obviously. Some are details that simply don't matter, or would only matter if the story had a different spin. And there are things that I just forgot because I was doing them rather than writing about them. And maybe that's the best excuse that I have for why, when I typically get home, my ability to resurrect some kind of coherent story about what happened is just a mush of bits and pieces of happenings and interactions.

energy policy

I was trying to at least accomplish a little bit of work while listening to the keynote speech of Sara Palin at the Republican convention.

But then the power on the laptop finally gave out.

I blame this on the lack of any real energy policy described by the Huckabee/Giuliani/Palin sequence.

invention

Today, while on the way back from a trip to the big city to be a part of a dissertation proposal defense, I rewarded myself with a snack: a chocolate frosty. The problem (besides the defense, but that's another story) was that this frosty beverage is too thick to drink, really, but the only tool supplied from the drive through window was a straw. Of course, I knew it was helpless from the start, but I still had to try, suctioning with all my might to get the thick creamy frozen chocolate delight into my mouth through the narrow straw . . . only to be rewarded with sore cheeks and a flattened straw. And no frosty goodness.

Once back to my office, I started scooping the ice cream with the straw, but this is not exactly what nature intended as the way to eat a frosty. It was then that a revelation of burning-bush proportions struck me. There on my desk was my mug of coffee from the morning, still a few ounces left. Cold coffee, in liquid state + cold ice cream in frozen state = drinkable mocha deliciousness.

Like many of the really good inventions, this was something that came out of opportunity and serendipity more than from anything that was need driven. I didn't plan to create a coffee chocolate drink, I was just using what I had in front of me to make good on the situation.

The research proposal I was reviewing a few hours earlier needed some of this kind of invention and intervention. Some data had to be put into conceptually coherent classes, and now it's up to the researcher to figure this out.

Most of what we do is invention. I have long discussions with students about the nature of scientific "discovery," and how most of this isn't really discovered or uncovered at all, but created -- at least the explanations of things. We forget that making sense of the world is an action which requires us, and between the "us" and the "that" there has to be an intermediate creation. Otherwise there's no sense making.

That said, sometimes the sense making just doesn't work out. The old coffee plus new ice cream could have been a flop, after all. Two months ago my co-conspirator wrote eloquently to me how professional development at our conference might go through Maslow-esque stages. This, I thought, didn't work at all. It was a too-thick frosty through a too-thin straw. This essay is all my invention to finally document my rebuttal, however old and thin and weak (like the day old coffee). But maybe if we mix the two . . .