One Second After

I just finished reading One Second After, and it brought back the shock. Yep, shock and awe. Shocked that I've been so lackadaisical in my preparation and stewardship. (Sure, I could hold my own, but...) Awestruck that the rest of the nation, especially the powers that be, have done virtually nothing in anticipation of the very real threat of an EMP attack.

This guy's letter sums up about everything I was just about to write. I'm steering anyone who reads my blog over to his, for there's lots of additional content linked from there. Observation: there's a whole industry revolving around survivalists. Who'da'thunk?

I am seeking out an easy on-ramp for those who have zippo in the pantry but know better. I am seeking out the step by step for morons (note, not Mormons, who have always been conservative and prepared). Heck, maybe I'll have to write one. It would include chapters/headings like:

• So, you don't have a budget for Armageddon?
• All good things come to an end--how 'bout this civilization we're experiencing?
• Start with toilet paper...no, maybe a gun...where to begin?
• They might laugh at your stockpile now...

I blame this newly rediscovered enthusiasm on my dad's ghost.

It is Finished

Yet again, another semester in the bag. As always, I have mixed emotions. I cheered for some at commencement (and wagged my head in astonishment as others walked across!). I rent my garments and gnashed my teeth at some in the grade book who just did not get'er done. I always feel responsible, and I always look for clerical errors again and again. I bet it takes me twice as long to enter grades as anyone else.

Ultimately, it comes down to the individual and his/her effort/performance.

However, who's to say exactly what points or percentages measure one's ability to communicate, to think critically? Sure, we can get a bead on how well people pay attention or take notes or retain terminology....but can we really, truly get an objective score to issue? I think my curriculum should issue A/P/F grades. If one is an exceptional writer, they might earn an A. (Even now in my classes, I have some earning an A b/c they are an average writer but exceptional at all the other point-earning ventures in the course.) If one is passable, but not exceptional, they earn a P...and if someone is just a screw up, well...

Otherwise, who's to say whether an 87.3 is a B or an A? What accounted for those points? Do they truly measure something meaningful? I'd like my entire grade book to reflect only writing, but my institution likes to balance the books a little. I think I'll push the line as far as permitted, leaning toward all-writing, all the time, for points.

Meanwhile, I just have to remind myself, as I do every term: be pro-active. Make sure people know, months before grades are due, that they are sliding. Don't let this grade report be guesswork or a shock to anyone. Be fair. Be honest. Be efficient.

Summer is calling. Bye.

Art and Kids

“Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once we grow up.”

- Pablo Picasso

Every child's born an artist.

I wish I could nurture this in my children more. We signed on to teach art as an elective through our homeschool group. I dropped the ball.

The cool thing about kids and their art is, early on at least, they've had few influences to tell them their work stinks. There are few critics they will listen to, and thus, they create astounding, interesting, expressive works that leave the rest of us just wondering, scratching our heads.

If I had it to do over again, if we lived in a better world where art curricula are not always being cut, I'd be an art teacher (even though I am not really artistic).

Why? Because I really find my juice in inspiring kids to 'do' art. I wish I could cover every fridge in America with the artwork of children. (There should be a non-profit dedicated to that!)

This weekend--well next week--I'm going to spend quality time with my kids, and we're going to do some art, baby!

What's in a song?

Last night, while watching a silly Disney movie with my kids, Man of the House, I encountered this song again, "Return to Innocence" by Enigma.

It was somewhere in the mid-1990's, on a retreat to Rock Springs Ranch. We'd spent the night and day and night doing all-things VoLTS (that is, for you newbies, Volunteers Learning Through Service). We were, admittedly, sleep deprived. We were, I suspect, high on life and youthful vitality--I know there was no substance abuse, but you would not know it by our behavior.

Joe Swaba, an iconic figure in service learning, was leading us in a closing session. We were reflecting on the retreat, forecasting what we might do when we returned to the regular world. It was, for me, the first "camp high" I'd ever really experienced. I think through the session everyone was streaming tears and pouring out heart and soul. It was a very diverse crowd, one we likened to The Breakfast Club, with representation from about every clique and subculture of our college.

After days of planning and dreaming, of delving into our motives and our potential, I think we were a little bit afraid of ourselves and what we thought we were about to accomplish. We were united in love, in the spirit of service, dedicated to doing good, an army against apathy!

That was one moving moment.

Kind of sad to think back on it now, realizing that nothing much came of it all.



Viva la SLC.

We would have had a Luau this week.

No Joy

No Joy from Mike Petty on Vimeo.

Tragic. Almost as bad as Wild West World (see my previous posts on THAT fiasco!).

May 6

From Classics

So the last couple of days have been ones to celebrate. "May the fourth be with you," that is, Star Wars day. Cinco De Mayo, of course...and today, May 6th, is a day to remember. For over 60 years, it was a day to celebrate, for it was my dad's birthday. Unfortunately, he was cut down in the prime of life (really, for our longevity now extends more and more commonly to 100 years).

I've written about him before.

He was likely best known for his sense of humor. He collected jokes, memorized jokes, told jokes, and in general, looked on the sunny side, most all the time. Whether it was a trying time with farm or family, whether it was a parent's death or bankruptcy, dad always smiled on through.

Creepy as it sounds, that was my problem with his corpse. When I was asked to approve the undertaker's work, I wanted a smile on dad's face. It was not to be so. I guess it would have been unnerving for others, but to me, seeing him all staunch and stern was the most unnatural part of all the unimaginable things done to his body. I only saw that grim face a couple of times, and I'd earned the stink eye, let me say.

He was also enterprising. All the time, he was seeking ways to make it rich. He had an import business. He marketed a bumper sticker. He had an Elvis tribute plaque on the market. He diversified our dirt farm into a truck farm. He explored wind farms, and he sold the water rights to our property to pay off the land for us to later inherit.

I'll always remember the last real conversations I had with him. (The very last was over the phone, the day before he died, and it was pedestrian and truly a major source of regret). In October, less than a month before he passed, we sat in his office. I was sharing with him my utter disappointment in myself. (At that time, I was really on the brink of quitting life...and looking back now, I think that I was a stooge.) He was trying his best to give me a pep talk, telling me he loved me and all that a dad would do. He hugged me and teared up. It was the most sincere father and son moment ever.

Then he died.

But I am writing to remember him here. I need to write much more about him for my children, for none of them got to know their grand-dad. That sounds like a good summer project, right after I finish grading papers in the next 10:4:34:18.

Steve Martin Bluegrass!!!

No Re-do

I like speculative fiction. I like to sit around and speculate. One thing I've given some thought to: a re-do. Essentially this is the ol' time travel conundrum.

There are things said and done in my past which I really wish had gone otherwise. One was my last conversation with my dad. Another was not performing a play with my 4yr old yesterday when he asked.

Other screw ups, however, might be better left as-is.

Example: If I'd not laid out, flunked out, and dropped out before getting my wiring in order, I would never have been as sensitive and considerate of struggling students. I would always have wondered if I should have become a computer tech (dropped out).

Example: If I'd never gone back home to attempt to run the family business, I'd always wonder if I should have done it. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. As it turned out, I learned you can never go back home, exactly. I also learned I'm the last man alive you'd ever want to run your accounting business.

Example: If I'd not be so consumed with my volunteer job, AmeriCorps and the like, [a screw up only because it did not leave me with anything of a life of my own for the better part of ten years] I'd never have met my wife, and that sets in motion a whole tailspin of things that woulda never.

I think, maybe, that every misstep is a good move maybe, so long as we are attentive to the dance.

I'm the oddball

INTERESTING things I'm hearing from students this term. Interesting and alarming:

In literature class, several claimed no one had ever really read their essay responses before, and they were pleasantly surprised that I had--even when marks were less-than-flattering.

More than a dozen times this term students have thanked me for commenting on their work, even if it smarted some. (One guy said I was "blunt," but he liked that.)

In a journal entry, someone said in 60 credit hours at this school, I was the first and only instructor to call him by name. (It's not like his name was challenging, either, like Ilir or Jehoshaphat. )

Altogether, this is peculiar. I always think I'm a bad teacher, for I never get it all covered, I never feel I've accomplished enough, I always fear they will sue me for intellectual malpractice or something. I am constantly comparing myself to my peers, wondering why I'm so remedial, so pokey. How is it they have a life and I do not? Sure, some of it is that I have to teach a double load to try to survive, but I've always felt there were other conditions, too, that I was just slow in the head, perhaps, or that I needed to grade differently.

Maybe I should just plow ahead and not look back so much. I know that when I literally was plowing, looking back would make my rows veer off at an angle. Stay the course. Straight and steady.

14.14.21.35 until grades are due!