The "Family Bed"

The very idea of a “family bed” used to give me the willies. When I thought of kids sharing a bed with parents, my mind was drawn to Monty Python’s “Every Sperm is Sacred.”



When I heard the phrase, “the family bed,” I envisioned the scene from Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, in which Charlie has conversations with all four of his grandparents, who share what must be a filthy bed.

These sentiments were, of course, before parenthood. My wife introduced me to the idea just as our first child was born, and it was not long before we were debating what most parents must—do we let the kid cry it out in a crib or comfort him between us? Young parents are always on edge, eager to do What’s Right. The practice of sharing a family bed, also known as “co-sleeping” in the literature, or as night parenting among the Attachment Parenting crowd is an increasingly-common point of discussion.

According to James J. McKenna, Ph.D., an anthropologist and internationally-known expert on infant sleep, the parental urge to take junior aboard may stem from the thousands of years of human evolution during which family co-sleeping was the standard. In a winter, 1996 article in Mothering magazine, McKenna summarizes his views on the anthropological relevance of family sleep sharing, noting that "nighttime parent-infant co-sleeping during at least the first year of life is the universal, species-wide normative context for infant sleep, to which both parents and infants are biologically and psychosocially adapted...Solitary infant sleep is an exceedingly recent, novel and alien experience for the human infant."

Sources claim that what is taken as the norm now--solitary infant sleep and separate bedrooms for parents and children—truly is a phenomena of western culture and only about 150 years old. Most families of the developing world still share beds today. (93% of families in India co-sleep, while only 2% of American families regularly do.) Family beds (or at least bedrooms) are not so far removed from our common culture that terms like “sleeping lofts” or porches are alien to many of us. Back when warmth was hard to come by at night, families snuggled together under one quilt in one bed.

Some theorize that the move to pull apart families at night was one that advanced with affluence; as we could more readily afford more rooms, we did. Others claim a largely patriarchal psychological platform took nighttime parenting in a perverse direction. Consider this advice from the standard American baby handbook, What to Expect the First Year: "If you can tolerate an hour or more of vigorous crying and screaming, don't go to the baby, soothe him, feed him, or talk to him when he wakes up in the middle of the night. Just let him cry until he's exhausted himself-and the possibility, in his mind, that he's going to get anywhere, or anyone, by crying-and has fallen back to sleep.” Rationale for this behavior often returns to Dr. Benjamin Spock, whose book ''Baby and Child Care'' is considered the parental bible, warns against taking children into bed, because it fosters dependency and insecurity. There are also those who argue both ways as to the safety of a baby between two adults in bed.

The Family Bed is not something that bachelors really ever hear much about, and few men are eager to share their nuptial bed with a squirming, squalling reminder of birth control. There is little to be said in favor of sharing a wet family bed, and a new father need only be christened in spit up breast milk once—it’s enough to make any self-respecting man picket against the very idea of sharing a bed with a baby!

No, it’s not really an issue that gets much air time. Usually proponents of the Family bed are also those same individuals who “wear” their baby, grinding their own baby food, milk goats for fun and profit and candle ears for whatever ails ya. Naysayers might be the building trades (why have a 5 bedroom house if one room will do?), bachelors (see above) or the baby industry. I do not mean, here, the parents accused of being baby factories, but instead the commerce that has blossomed around babies, from shower gifts to furniture, accessories, and, of course, the ubiquitous: toys.

The industry has even come up with a device (look it up!) called Nature’s Cradle.” Katie Allison Granju, in her (1996) book, “Attachment Parenting: Instinctive Care for Your Baby and Young Child” shared some ad copy from a recent edition of the OneStepAhead baby catalog:

Nature's Cradle -- the most natural place for your new baby to sleep! This truly revolutionary sleeping and nurturing environment gives baby the familiar, comforting, soothing sensations of the womb, and even includes a maternal heartbeat. Nature's Cradle: Is it magic? Or just a brilliant new way to love your baby? The basic Nature's Cradle looks and feels like...a crib mattress. But it holds a unique secret -- a sophisticated system that simulates a pregnant mother's natural walking motion and rhythm, as well as her internal sounds and the gentle cushioning pressure of the last trimester...the mattress moves in a smooth, rhythmic rocking motion, accompanied by soft "whooshing" similar to the sounds of amniotic fluid and the beat of mother's heart...proven to be the most nurturing, calming place for your new baby to sleep. The Baby Bolster is an essential part of the system...three foam-filled positioning cushions properly swaddle your infant to keep him sleeping safely.


Reminds me of the old adage: “you can’t buy love.”

Why do I teach?

I was asked again today just why I choose teaching as a career. I cannot seem to go at that concisely, so here's the long-play version...

I like teaching. I told classes this week that I truly aspire to be a coach, rather than a teacher, for that seems to me more hands-on, more motivational, and more helpful in terms of skill building. I think of myself more as a facilitator of energy and optimism and language than I do as a conveyor of content. (At least, that's how I'd like to be seen, and how I see myself.)

I choose the Community College for many reasons, but overall, I feel I can be most helpful here. I know what it's like teaching at the University, for I did that for 5 years. Here, at least from my limited perspective, I am able to do more good, and that's what gives me my juice. The community college is more democratic, welcoming everyone with open arms rather than throwing up GPA or $ thresholds. The community college is, and this is key, IN the community, into community, enhancing and building on community. Beautiful synergy when it works.

I think most students (regardless of school) need a shot in the arm of enthusiasm and positive attitude. I am constantly impressed with their creative genius; they too often just fail to see it w/n themselves. That, to me, is what it's all about, inspiring that can-do attitude when it comes to writing.

When I was a kid we played Careers, a game (you guessed it) about employment. There were 3 veins of stuff to keep track of: fame, money and heart. The teaching track, just like real life, was heavy on heart, but not-so-much on the other two. That's just fine with me. I'm not in it for the cash. More important than the money, I have found free time, I've gotten myself a life, in the last few years. Before, I poo-poohed the vacation time, the flexible hours, etc. NOW, I crave every minute of time I can muster, and this job affords me a fair shake.

I am very content at the community college level and I feel that this level of education is going to become more appreciated as time goes by. It is localized, democratic, and user-friendly. It is the place for me.

*Brilliant*
Taylor Mali on "What teacher's make..."

Aspiring Pirate Playhouse Artist

Aye! That's me.

I've been surfing the net for two years and have found no better model than Daniel's Wood Land, Inc.

I so wish I could afford one of their ships, but I'll have to make my own. My boys and I have been scheming and drafting for some time now, and I hope to begin construction this fall. (Hey, I built an entire haunted house, I don't think this will really be that challenging!)

I have very lofty ambition but little resources. I do have trees, and that's a start. I'm hoping to make it something like the Swiss Family Robinson tree house at WDW (or better).

It will likely not be finished before my boys turn into men.

Dentists and Teachers

I heard this on the radio and have been giving it some serious thought...are teachers (traditional content-driven/delivery type teachers) a good deal like a dentists, free to harangue all they wish to a captive audience?

My dentist tries to establish rapport and maintain dialogue, even when my mouth is full of tools. I find that a bit disturbing.

I know some dentists really do just carry on a monologue the entire time they are working over patients. Typically, the patient has no opportunity to interject or interact. It's a one-way communication.

I sure hope my teaching is nothing like that.

Throw Deep

"I would rather be ashes than dust! I would rather than my spark should burn out in a brilliant blaze than it should be stifled by dry-rot. I would rather be a superb meteor, every atom of me in magnificent glow, than a sleepy and permanent planet. The function of man is to live, not to exist. I shall not waste my days trying to prolong them. I shall use my time."
--Jack London

Someone once asked former NFL quarterback, Kenny Stabler what London's quote meant to him. He replied, "Throw deep!"

I used to cite that London quote when justifying being a workaholic. I frowned with disdain at folks who gave time to anything but community service/volunteering, saying they were selfish and squandering time. That was the old me, the deluded me. Now I know that time has to be BALANCED over many venues including spirit, family, freetime, service, work, etc.

Nonetheless, I am leaning toward something as graceful and compact for my vision statement as Stabler's reply.

As I understand it, to be a quarterback who is willing to throw deep is to be one who is a risk taker. For one, the defense is gunning for him and to throw deep takes a good deal of time, waiting for a receiver to get there, etc. To throw deep also requires more skill, and it also is risky for all the factors of passing are magnified with distance thrown. When such a pass is successful, it is a thing of beauty, awe-inspiring. It is often done when there's little to lose. It is the kind of move that can be mistaken for showboating, but it can also be the record-breaking, game-winning play.

I'm still analyzing it, but "Throw Deep" seems to be a pretty good, if not all-encompassing, vision. Feedback welcome.

Man's Surprising Laugh (video)

Man’s surprising laugh

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I was led to this last summer, and I still call it up whenever I need a good "yuck yuck" (like after a long day of lecture or grading). Once in a while, I will encounter someone with a distinctive laugh like this, for I listen for odd laughs at movies, comedy clubs, etc. Enjoy!

I'm seeking a Vision

So, last week we had a video warm up at in-service, something produced by National Geographic (at least it featured a photographer from NG, Dewitt (what a terrible name to grow up with) Jones. It was titled, "Celebrate What's Right with the World," and in a nutshell, that's what Mr. Jones had adopted as his personal motto or vision for life.

I've mentioned it before, yet I've yet to do anything about it. I have no vision. I suppose a guiding maxim for my life might be: do unto others...but that lacks direction.

In the shower I thought one up: "Be where you care to be, and be all there." Mr. Jones challenged us to limit our vision to six (6) words, so I've got some work to do if I stick with that. I like my working-vision, for it suggests that one would consciously and conscientiously choose where to be, then choose to be wholly in the then and there, that is, in-the-moment. Too often my mind is racing forward and back, replaying songs I like, going to my happy place...but if I can "be all there" then I might be 100% attentive, making more of the time.

I have a terrible time w/remembering exact detail unless I write it down, for I don't think I've got to lug it around in my head if I can just find it in writing somewhere (or a playlist, DVD collection, etc). My head is full of sub-routines of "things I like" rather than "must-remembers" or even trivialities I need to remember (like, say, my own phone number or where I parked).

MAYBE if I adopted the working-vision above--what was that again...oh, yeah...anyway, if I did, maybe I'd be more focused, like a Jedi or someone.

I continue on my vision quest, requesting any leads, input, criticism, etc. anyone might offer. Comment here!

Dead Still

Apologies to animal lovers of all sorts. I made an error in judgment.

We have a fire escape / climb-out window-well in our basement, and it has hosted cats, snakes, assorted insects, and lately (with all this moisture) frogs.

In fact, there was a frog family, if I'm not mistaken, living in that window-well. Three young ones grew from the size of my finger tip to a bit larger than my thumb--and it seemed to happen in just a week! Before I knew it, I could hear them jumping at the window, then sliding down. I could see them jumping two and three feet high, then gravity would bring them back to the window-well.

Well...

Eventually there was only one frog left, and it grew something like three-times the size of my thumb or more. One day last week I noted it was sitting in the corner, looking toward us at the window. I showed my boys. Then, a few days later, I spotted it there again, this time at night, and I shined the flashlight on it so the boys could again see the frog. They were thrilled.

...but a couple days ago, it seemed strange the frog was STILL in the same spot. It died in that spot, my wife suspects, for now it is being consumed by the very insects it would have eaten.

From my vantage point, it seems like that frog just sat to death. (I've seen students do this, and I'll have my hand (seat?) at it this week for in-service, too!) I have some ideas on what happened.

The frog was not as athletic as its two brothers and when it could not jump out as they must have done, it gave up. Complete lethargy. Resignation. "Just let the bugs eat me."

Maybe, the frog was a reincarnation of someone who was so overwrought with longing for life inside our basement that s/he just sat there aching for it, and ultimately ached to death.

Or...the frog was just waiting until that perfect moment, the absolute culmination of sun, moon, moisture and wind that would have made the escape jump perfect.

It may be the frog was brain damaged in an attempted escape jump and just could not get it back together.

Or maybe it was just a very lazy frog.

Anyway, now I have to explain it to my kids and shovel it up...unless I make it an object lesson in natural order, decomposition and all that "rot."

What is beauty?

I've been working over my course contents and remembered teaching the concept definition paper when I taught Comp 1...and I've been studying digital enhancement of models and body image in advertising lately for Comp 2 preparation...altogether, it's led me to this.

Today, it seems beauty is some artifice no one can achieve. It's a painted, flawless, china doll (though much thinner) airbrushed rendition of humanity. In many ways, it's becoming androgynous, and it seems to be encompassing older generations than it did just a few years back. (This last item, doubtless, due to the consumption potentials of the baby boomers--would not want to count them out with too much focus on youth.)

I'm no expert, but it seems beauty changes with the seasons. Not all that long ago, it was big hair (Farrah Fawcett Majors, for example). Trends seem to be heading toward the skeletal skinny and the immorally young for so much advertising. (I hear a rumor that Miley Cyrus was propositioned to endorse a condom company.)

I'm just musing here, but what if culture really adopted the "young look." We've all seen older people dressed "too young," but what if everyone did. We'd all be wearing action hero clothes and Care Bear lunchboxes would be IN.

I would not doubt that trends may take us there, to where every possible measure to look young, like pre-teen young, could be the order of the day. As cosmetic science advances one nip/tuck at a time, who can predict the end of it? We'd all be lusty pedophiles, though the object of our lust would be mature men/women.

I'm not done with this train of thought, but I'm fresh out of time.

Visual Thesaurus!

I was using this tool back when it was an idea, when it was in beta. I've been subscribed to Thinkmap's Visual Thesaurus for some time now, and I employ it in classes, in creative writing, and sometimes I just poke it for fun. iGoogle has made it a widget or gadget option (for free) these days, and I've introduced hundreds of people to it there.

The beauty of the visual thesaurus is that it "mind maps" words and their relationships. This is excellent for me, for it's how I think and how I learn. (Yes, I was a big fan of sentence diagramming, too, though no one else seems to have shared my zeal.)



I hope that some folks find it to be as useful as I do. (I have even downloaded an interactive version of it to my word processor.) From now on, it will be part of my header at MusementPark, for the utility of my readership.

A Romp on my Land

At long last, after over two (2) years of living there, I've finally found an expert who is willing to help me learn what's on my land: Bob Broyles, steward of Birds, Bees and Butterflies Nursery. I'm especially excited, for he is a xeriscaper, a naturalist, and shares my love for native plants and places (like the Konza Prairie). This past weekend we spent three hours roaming the property, taking pictures (forthcoming) and identifying flora. I learned a great deal, and I have ever-more appreciation for the land I'm on.

For great pictures of Kansas prairie, check out Judd Patterson's work.

FreeCycling

Outside Looking In: Freecycling

Bulletin boards are a dying breed. Once a powerful information outlet and community builder, they are becoming harder to find, like the public pay phone. One can still spot them in the occasional café, locally owned grocery, laundry, or mechanic’s garage, but they are not the ubiquitous resource they once were. The bane of corporate greed, bulletin boards offered free advertising of cheap, bartered, even free goods and services. They were free to use, unregulated, and often amusing. The cork was not judgmental, supporting both religious tracts and “For a Good Time, call…” promotionals. Some ads were simply business cards, while others were elaborately hand-crafted works of art that should have been canonized and catalogued. Creative spelling and poor penmanship could be found pinned next to crisp photocopied mass-production promos. There was no limit to the stuff of free enterprise. Imagine how many relationships were spawned by the bulletin board…what labor was bartered for a motor boat…millions of kittens given away…

Though they have not seemed to take note of the bulletin board, sociologists have noted the decline of civic groups, porch sitters and pay phones. They blame this ever-increasingly insular society on our economic boom, on air conditioning, and on television. Among the theorists, Robert Putnam, who penned the memorable “Bowling Alone” develops a convincing thesis along those lines. After the great wars, men returned needing a sense of camaraderie, and that was filled in part by civic organizations, bowling alleys and houses of worship. The economy was booming, and developments sprung up everywhere, like weeds, to accommodate the returning service men and to create a new lifestyle, the suburb, the bedroom community, etc. Houses were set in neighborhoods with designed traffic ways, with fewer sidewalks, with gates. They were often built with little or no porch to sit on, for with the advent of television and air conditioning, people retreated indoors.

Other advances have also affected our culture, like fast food which has soured digestion and dinner conversation. Cell phones have all-but-trumped the pay phone. And the Internet—well, the Internet gets kicked around like the Anti-Christ, blamed for just about every social illness. Altogether its built a curious climate in which a teenager may not know anyone else in their cul de sac, but s/he has “friended” over 234 people in social networks online. One may be able to pull down on a city from satellite imaging to even see faces and storefronts, yet not be able to find Ash St. with both hands.

Common sense has gone digital and sense of community will wink out with the power some day. The vestiges of bygone days, bulletin boards and real coffee shops—all but gone. Alas, it seems today only a small inner circle of folk know where to find and how to use a bulletin board. Our circle of community shrinks, our numbers dwindle, and our sphere of influence is smaller than a grapefruit.

I would offer, however, that not all hope is lost. My regular readership knows of my adoration of the Internet, and yes, yet again I would offer that one way to recapture that fleeting sense of community might well-be online. An electronic bulletin board is no substitute for a tangible one, but it might foster friendship, might muster commonalities if not true communities, and maybe, just maybe, something really good could come of all that. Fact is, I could rattle off a dozen web sites that speak to my interests and share freely, from gardening to parenting. I have bookmarked, saved, printed, so many great places to go over the years! Recently, in my mining of the world wide web, I found a small vein of gold that is worth sharing here: free-recyling.

The Free-recycling--or freecycling--movement has grown since the launch of The Freecycle Network in 2003. There are more than 4,000 Freecycle communities reporting some 3.5 million members. The concept is simple, that one man’s trash is another’s treasure. The mission statement of www.freecycle.org reads: “Our mission is to build a worldwide gifting movement that reduces waste, saves precious resources & eases the burden on our landfills while enabling our members to benefit from the strength of a larger community.”

Freecyle.org issued a press release that claims they are growing at the rate of over 20,000 new members each and every week. “The Freecycle Network has grown to encompass over 4,000 cities from Adelaide to Istanbul, in over 75 countries.” It goes on to report that freecycling, “enables individuals to gift items in their local communities rather than to throw them away, thus keeping over 300 tons out of landfills daily.”

I’m all about saving landfill space. My wife insists that must be my personal mission; I hear her grumble that every time we sort through our garage sale and storage debris. I am also enthusiastic about bargains, and nothing is cheaper than free! Above all, I find giving to be very rewarding emotionally, churning out good karma by the bucket load.

I like to think of it more as cyber curbside than a cyber swap meet, for there are no strings attached. That’s a fundamental of all freecycling, free sharing, etc. If someone responds to your post offering your old deep freeze, they do not have to swap something in return, no chores, no cash. They don’t have to bring anything to the transaction (well, if they’re fetching your deep freeze, they’d need a dolly and a pickup).

All the usual concerns apply to free-cycling over the Internet, including stalkers, scammers, and con artists. One cannot go trotting out into cyberspace without always being vigilant and mindful of such things, sorry to say. There are a number of rules and regulations in the self-governing community of free-cyclers that help control greedy antique dealers from just sucking the teat of karma dry. One generally unwritten principle of the movement is that one would not simply lurk on the board and grab stuff up, but that all members would also give.

In many ways, free-cycling offers nothing new. I’ve been dumpster diving since I was in college. I still brake when driving by a pile of promising junk that’s set curbside for trash collection. I went through an e-bay phase, and I’m a life-long garage sale junkie. I think I’ll get a tattoo of “One Man’s Trash…” Hand-me-downs abound in large families, and parents have passed down their cast offs since we were Neanderthals.

Even though it’s not new, it broadens horizons. Maybe no one in your family wants your old 19 foot fiberglass boat hull. Maybe you’ve left your tall metal rooster vase curb-side for three weeks, and no one has taken it yet. You need a bigger community, a broader sphere of influence. Bulletin boards broaden your reach to the whole literate world, but only if they come by your board and read it. At a free-cycling site, people are eagerly reading. In the Wichita area, one of our local groups has 7,388 members.

Here’s an added bonus of Freecycling: You’ve had a hankering for some Slim Whitman LP’s, but no one you know has anything like it to give you, even if you were to ask. Freecycling allows you to post requests for those things you may be wanting as well as those you are wanting to be rid of.

I’ve seen all the above and much more posted on the free-cycling sites just in the last week. I’ve even gotten a fine couch through freecyling for my nieces who just moved out on their own. I’ve read of hot tubs, lap-tops, and baseball cards, of cloth diapers and entire garage sale leftovers—all posted by like-minded people who want to unload the old, declutter their homes, and make someone else’s day. Best of all, it’s entirely free, from membership to posting to pickups. Check it out!

Back In Black

Well, it's been a while...it has been quite a little while...I will now have to rebuild my readership, rethink my privacy, and overall, recondition myself and this blog.

I believe I will do more musing, less reporting. I will, of course, enjoy a readership, but I will not so worry about what they may think of my mind as I share it.

That said, and out of sheer laziness (well, it IS still summer, you know) I will share a recent column I wrote on distance learning. To wit:

August is the month many of us will return to school. The cusp of autumn, this time of year brings back so very many memories. When I visit elementary schools, the smell of freshly waxed floors, of aprons and tempra paint, the cafeteria—it all comes back to me. I would get new school clothes: two pair of Tough Skin Jeans and a couple shirts, maybe even shoes. I would get fantastic school supplies. (I still marvel when I visit that aisle this time of year).

Those early years I attended the school of hard knocks, learning my place on the school bus, finding my niche on the playground. I got into (and lost) my first fight in kindergarten, while waiting for Thad Coffindaffer’s mom to pick us up at the carpool drop. (I had called Wade Dodson a Potty-pot-pot, so he pounded out retribution with my head and the pavement.)

As I grew up, I was likely the only kid greatly relieved summer was over, for I could get off the tractor, stretch my legs, and wear clean clothes. It was fall, and high time to go chum around with friends. When it was time for college, I can vividly remember my parents dropping me off—the car careening wildly away, tires screeching, as my last bag fell from the luggage rack.

My kid starts school this year, but he won’t need school clothes, and he won’t be waiting for the bus. He won’t have to rush around in the morning, and he’ll never be bored by Charlie Brown’s teacher droning on and on. He won’t be mainstreamed or blended or held back or labeled. My kid’s going to go to school, virtually.

Home schooling was an intimidating prospect for us, but it was something we were exploring four years ago. When our boy was 13 months, he was singing the chorus of the funk classic, Brick House. At 18 months, he had a vocabulary of over 200 words. We felt we should do all we could for him, but we found much of the home school curricular content to be of a particularly religious bent, too pricey, or too disorganized.

Rather than running helter-skelter to round up stray content components, we began seeking out a packaged program, and we feel confident we have settled on the very best, K-12. From their website: “K12 Inc., an education company based in McLean, VA, is a leading provider of high quality curricula and learning programs. K12 has created a nationally acclaimed learning program which includes thousands of lessons in traditional subjects, academic assessments, and planning and progress tools delivered through the innovative and powerful K12 Online School. The learning program also incorporates many traditional learning materials including books, workbooks, classical stories, K12 PhonicsWorks tile system, math and science supplies, maps, art books and tools, instruments, music CDs, and much more. The K12 curriculum and learning program was developed by a team of education experts using extensive research to identify the best learning methods and materials. More than 20,000 students nationwide are currently using the K12 learning program in a variety of learning environments, including traditional public school classrooms, virtual (online) public schools, and homeschools.”

All of his instructional manipulatives, books, multi-media dropped at our door if not our in-box. He, like every child in the system, will be issued a brand new laptop computer every few years. We were relieved, amazed, and ready to sign up, but we feared our budget could not handle it. What we were very, very surprised to learn was that some school districts have adopted virtual school programming such as this, and that the cost is no more than traditional fees paid at a local school district. We are enrolled through Lawrence Virtual Schools, and when our boy graduates, he will have a bone fide diploma from Lawrence High School.

I am fully aware of other perspectives on home schooling and distance learning. I have taught online for nearly ten years, and I’ve heard it all. In my environment, college, there is question of academic honesty. Who’s to say an online students’ boyfriend didn’t do her math problems for her? There are delivery issues, from slow modems to boring content. There are questions of reaching every student’s learning styles and needs. Over the last ten years, I’ve seen the content improve, the delivery “shells” like ANGEL, WebCT, Blackboard, eCollege, and others come/go and improve. Multi-media content from streaming videos to podcast lectures are becoming more and more accessible to address variations in learning styles. Interaction is amped up by instant messaging, chat rooms, whiteboards, and desktop sharing. Still, sometimes even the best student with the greatest intentions can feel adrift, even in this sea of technological connection. They can feel their relation with their teacher is being strained through the string connecting a two-tin-can telephone.

This is where I find live, human, face-to-face interaction vitally important to the virtual school. In the case of my children, they will have 20% of their content online, but the bulk of it in-hand and shared with parents in the early years. At my college, we are now offering Blended Learning courses, which seem to offer the best of everything. Students will only have to burn gasoline and commuting time ½ as often, doing much of their reading and learning online; they will come to class in live-time for personal interaction, reinforcement, questioning and review.

A major argument against home schooling is one of socialization; it goes something like this: “Aren’t you worried your child won’t get exposed to the way the world is?” That, in turn, is a very good reason to home school, to filter media overwhelm, to combat cultural confusion, and to offer a sounding board for varied other exposures that can be discussed before being coerced by peer pressure. The opposition argues that home schooled kids will not be workforce ready, but very little I have seen in the work force resembles any of the iconic heroism of the playground or physical education class. It is true that sports build character, and our regional home school association offers a complete array of activities, athletics, and field trips that ensure ample interaction with peers and parents.

In this era when so much is available to us to capitalize on, from completing a degree in our pajamas, online, to virtually home schooling the next Abraham Lincoln, I am happy to be where I am at right now, before my keyboard.

Man’s surprising laugh

Man’s surprising laugh

Posted using ShareThis

I was led to this last summer, and I still call it up whenever I need a good "yuck yuck" (like after a long day of lecture or grading). Once in a while, I will encounter someone with a distinctive laugh like this, for I listen for odd laughs at movies, comedy clubs, etc. Enjoy!

Job$

I've been entertaining alternative employment--lookin' for another job--since our main source of income dried up last fall. Surprisingly enough, no matter how much we complain, educators are not that poorly paid for their services. The more I explore, the happier I am, where I am. As stated before, I would like working online from home more, to be with my family, but aside from that, I could not be much more happy.

Oh sure, I wish papers would grade themselves or that I had chosen to teach speech rather than composition. Sometimes I wish I did not elect to teach Comp II over some (easier?) haul like basic English. There are days I am not impressed with student performance or my own instruction, too. But on the whole, I am very satisfied (at the moment) in my career.

Now if I could only make more money at it.

As it stands, it looks very much like I will be downsizing everything (including my home, lifestyle, etc) to live on the cheap. Even then, I do not seem to find a way to get along. *sigh* I can remember moving to southern KS with nothing more than an El Camino load of "stuff" and the only bill overhead was my student loan. Those were the days. Should I have to make all the sacrifices I foresee in this downsizing, I would wager my very happiness is at stake. Though that likely reads a bit melodramatic, and though I know it is wrongheaded to tie one's state of mind to one's things...I would miss my farm and home so very much.

Alternative, additional lines of work under consideration:

• Trainer/speaker for corporate America
• Online overload teacher for large online universities
• Microfarmer (truck farming, dried flowers, greenhouse, etc)
• Personal historian (digital media biographer)
• Pole dancer (just checking if you're reading closely)
• Resume writer (and interviewer, overall marketability)
• Daycare provider (do what you love, right?)

Meanwhile, I will do the best I can at what I do and see what shakes out of our budget.

Falling...Head over Heels

Literally.
I used to find great amusement in the simplest of things, like the slapstick classic where a person slips on a banana peel. That always just cracked me up, and the more dignified the fall-ee, the better.

That is, of course, until it happened to me.

Last term, I had a similar incident, where I fell no less than three times when getting my car open (door freezes shut) and then the windshield cleared--but that I could understand and anticipate at least a bit, for I was engaged in wild gyrations on an obviously icy surface.

However, yesterday I was leaving my workplace and took a hard fall not ten steps outside the building--yesterday it was not even all-that iced over outside. It looked like a little drizzle, but it was treacherously slick! Upon getting up, I fell again in two steps, hard. I had to crawl part of the way to my vehicle.

What's so funny?
Makes me think (not about litigation, except when I move and it hurts). I guess it seemed funny before when people would fall for they were doing something out-of-the-ordinary, surprising (at least to the fall-ee). Maybe the humor was in the sudden loss of dignity, the pulling-the-rug out from under someone? I don't know much about the theory of humor, but I do know that sudden incongruity plays its part. I would bet my airborne antics were pretty funny, too, as physical humor goes. Now that I have been subject to such a fall, however, I don't know if I will find it so very funny when I next witness it. I do, however, find it highly amusing when someone trips on a crack, falls indecorously, then gets up to examine the crack in an exaggerated way to call attention to the crack, as if to say to all the world, "Ah-ha, that's the culprit, I am NOT a klutz." I suppose I will always find that face-saving silliness to be funny.

I am not bitter about it, and I'm not defending myself. After all, no one witnessed it but my wife and son. Admittedly, I was ignorant in this instance, totally blind-sided by the ice. I should have known better, I guess, somehow. I am not blaming the ice nor the workplace; it was my fault. For those who do not know me, I walk with an ostrich-like gait, bobbing, big/quick steps something like a pigeon, I'm told. That is an unwise walk on ice, let me tell you!

It brings up a question. Since it was funny until it happened to me, does that suggest that the more such things happen to me, the less I will find life to be funny?

Web 2.0 ... The Machine is Us/ing Us

The Machine is Us/ing Us

I find this inspirational and thought-provoking...

Not only does it provide some insight into Web 2.0, it also gives a good perspective to any Luddite who is not up to snuff on this stuff. I agree with the premise, that what is being created online is organic, alive. It is, indeed, learning with our every keystroke. What I like about this is that I can tap into it randomly and likewise learn at an exponential rate (compared to my good ol' hardcopy library roaming days).

We really are challenged to rethink everything!

Edison, at 1st

[admittedly a gushy parenthood entry]

Instead of a year in review, I offer you a year of Edison. He just turned one yesterday. We celebrated with a John Deere themed party (remarkable, but the party story did not have goods to match my antique Farmall tractor, which I intended to park outside the party as my contribution to decor). In true 1st year baby party tradition, Ed had a cake to himself and made a fine mess of things.

As my three sons' lives go...Eddie's has been smooth sailing so far. Jax has endured four moves, family career changes, deaths in the family, baby sitters and daycares, etc. He has traveled quite a bit for his age; he was in Washington, DC in a sports bar watching the Super Bowl when he was only two or three months old. Carson at least had one move to deal with. Edison, to date, has known no other home, no complicated life. I wonder which builds the better character, or if, even, any of that has to do with building character.

Jax is outspoken, always-speaking, and very creative. He warms up to people very quickly, makes 'friends' at every park or play place, and never forgets a house guest. He is a story teller (in part due to our nightly stories we have made up his entire life) and loves to be read to. He also loves watching movies, television, etc. His favorite playtime activity is having his action figures interact, fight, etc. Carson, on the other hand, is much more shy. His build is slight, his way is subtle, but he is a powerful little man emotionally. Though not as outspoken, what he does say matters. He seems to be a little more of a comedian though less of a showman. He has absolutely no interest in watching anything of any media, but he will allow you to read a book to him sometimes. His favorite activity at play is to cook or build.

Edison, at first, seemed a blob of flesh. He has grown remarkably fast into his own person already. He was the youngest of the three to walk. He, more than either brother, seems omnivorous and has an insatiable appetite. In my recollection, Eddie seems to be more interactive and engaged with others for his age. At about 6-8 months he was already playing cars, and now he can already do 'voices' when he's playing with characters (the words, of course, are not intelligible).

He is also the first to sleep on his own in a crib without fussing. He recognizes a handful of people and loves them, yet like Jax did before him, has separation anxiety (pitches a fit) when we leave him with family most of the time. Edison has never had a paid baby sitter, and he has never been to daycare. He has never travelled much, except a bit by car.

These vast differences are of great interest to me. I don't know how much environment has been at work and how much of it is just some mysterious stuff inside them. I don't know if I believe all that about birth order, but I am sure there is a good deal of peer influence and pressure at work between these three young men. My study of them will continue, but I will likely spare my readership most of it.

Happy birthday, Edison.

Hats-off, cuffs-on, bubble burst

For context, one should likely start with this in the Wichita Eagle and poke around the Eagle's archives for all-about Etheredge. I've mentioned a lament or two about his theme park closing before, but it seems a good topic for my new year of blogging.

I find I have an addictive personality. When I was a kid, I'd eat whole jars/cans of an item in one setting (green olives, Parmesan cheese, cool-whip, little smokies). In college, I was at one time addicted to a pin ball machine so entirely that I skipped classes and likely wasted my entire student loan on it. When video rental became affordable, I would binge on 007 or Star Trek movie marathons (and this has not gotten any better, though I resist the temptation, with television series now on DVD).

This addictive personality trait is coupled with a weakness for charisma. I have fallen in behind many movements and faiths. Curiously enough, I also have a knack at creating such a following.

Knowing all this (and confessing it here) is merely to acknowledge that I really should know better. I really should not be so smitten by a big guy in a ten gallon hat.

...but dagnabbit, I also have a soft spot for big dreamers, big sky salesmen, folk who don't know "no." If a man wants to plant a theme park here based on Betsy Boop or Jesus, I don't mind, so long as he really, really believes in it. It's a good thing I am not a man of means, or I would have most likely been on Etheredge's donor list. We did buy season passes.

And here's the thing. I met Thomas Etheredge the day we walked up to buy our season passes. He met my family on the boardwalk outside the gates, and he did not seem insincere. He had a bubbling passion for his park. He seemed, to me, like Walt Disney of the West (although, I admit, even Walt had issues). He was proud of the park, and he was happy to see us. He spoke with my boys and our family a little bit, and I was flattered, frankly, that a man with so much on his mind and so much money invested and so many other things to do--that He would pause for us.

The day the park opened, even though the weather was not so great, my family was there. This was the second time I was able to size up Etheredge. The crowd was small that he gathered around a wooden wagon/stage. There were prayers, speeches, even a song or two, I think. He spoke of dreams coming true, of his vision for children enjoying our western heritage. He praised dozens of other people, had many up to the stage to talk or take a bow. Finally, he led them in a ceremonial ribbon cutting (it was actually barbed wire, in keeping with the park's theme).

Throughout that schmaltzy presentation, I remember feeling like part of history in the making. I was proud of Etheredge's accomplishments, and I wished him the very best. I remarked that I wished more people were there, and that I was considering getting a part-time job there or something to further his cause. In other words, I really bought in, and I really believed Wild West World would someday incorporate the Hopalong Cassidy museum (now sold piecemeal at auction) and host/promote other treasures of the Cowboy era. I was glad such a national monument was in my backyard.

Alas, it did not come to pass.

The park was only open for about a month or so, and I only went that opening day. My family got a bit more use of the season passes, but not much. The park closed with the excuse of no money. That can be exhaustively reviewed in the news. Etheredge skipped town and plays hard to get, somewhere in Texas. That can be interpreted several ways, but none of them characterize the man I though was under that ten gallon hat.

Like so many other charismatic leaders, Thomas Etheredge seems to have fallen. People remind me of my previous scrapes with charisma. They tell me, over and over, about money being the root of all evil. They point to Etheredge's criminal record. Indeed, I have read the news and know the facts; however, I will always remember him as I saw him on opening day, regardless. I don't have a theme park or a dream to draw people toward, but I admire that enthusiasm, that zeal, that confidence he had that day. It really seemed as if his dreams were coming true, and I was happy for him and happy to be a part of making those dreams come true.

Piracy and Plagiarism

I was elated to receive the film in the “Pirates of the Caribbean” series for Christmas. Though it’s silly to admit, I’ve bought into the pirate craze. I play pirates with my boys (we even dress up). I collect Jack Sparrow memorabilia. On September 19, “Talk Like a Pirate Day,” I ‘treated’ my classes to a day of pirate lore and language. Now, I’m educated enough to know that all this is myth and fancy, that pirates were swarthy at best and certainly not a people to celebrate. Nonetheless, I find myself, for lack of a better word…hooked.

However, as smitten as I may be in my mainmast, there’s a form of piracy I have no truck with: plagiarism. This is vastly different from robbing and pillaging fellow vessels at sea. Plagiarism is the theft of ideas, and the very idea of it shivers me timbers.

I am an instructor of English Composition II, and in that capacity, I teach responsible use of credible source material. I spend hours on finding and evaluating resources, and we spend even more time insuring that all material is adequately incorporated and documented—giving a nod to the original source and inspiration of the student’s research paper. We cover other material in that course, but I consider this my greatest contribution to a student’s academic future, for they will be writing papers throughout college and then engaging in professional writing all their lives. It is my greatest contribution and also my highest duty to equip people to find good support and use it correctly.

All that said, every semester I find students who operate quite contrary to everything I hold dear. These individuals, well-versed in attributing material to its source and very well-aware of the consequences of not doing so, still cheat. I am most amazed and perturbed with those who cut and paste entire web pages to word processor, then submit the work as their own (without the least bit of editing or attention to detail). In academia, this is roughly equivalent to those “stupid criminal” reports and Darwin awards. In my class room, it is absolutely unforgivable and results in a failure in the course.

As astonishing as this may seem, students are not especially disinclined toward cheating. A recent survey reported 78% of high school students had engaged in copying, submitting others’ work as their own, or resorting to some new-fangled, high tech form of cheating employing text messaging or mobile phone photography. 75% of students in traditional classes admit they have cheated (Rowe, Cheating in Online Student Assessment: Beyond Plagiarism, 2004). Schools nationwide are finally ramping up to cope with this epidemic by recasting policy and procedure. Never one to think legislation or regulation is the answer, I am fishing for what truly may be a good fix.

To me, it seems to be a cultural issue. Not too long ago, illegal file sharing was in the news, for millions of songs were being shared via download without any royalties (the rough equivalent of acknowledgement in general) returning to the artists or industry. Even after being bombarded on the news with cases of individuals being fined and imprisoned, the practice of pirating music and other files runs rampant. People shrug it off, saying it’s no big deal and the likelihood of getting caught is minimal. I know one individual who brags that he has ‘ripped’ over 300 feature films off the Internet. One of my relatives claims to have over a gigabyte of illegally downloaded music on his mp3 player.

Even at play, our culture seems to vilify cheating. Over the holiday, I played a new board game based on a popular television show. Built right into the game were two versions of cheating, namely copying and peeking. Of course, media has always glamorized the criminal element, (like, oh, say…pirates) but when this gets so very close to the class room, and therefore my line of work, I become very attentive.

If it is a cultural phenomena, like childhood obesity, road rage, and abuse of mobile phones, then I feel it should first and best be addressed in the home. It surely should not be something that is neglected until college. Students who ‘get away with’ these practices for 20 years should not suddenly be brought to task. That makes no more sense to me than legislating the drinking age.

Education on plagiarism should begin, in my opinion, with young children. It should likely start with property rights and ownership, then progress to the ownership of ideas. Somewhere there, it seems, we all just turn a blind eye. Anyone with a patent or copyright, however, will be quick to tell you that an idea is in some ways tangible and in every way something that can be owned (and therefore stolen).

I suppose I should begin by lecturing my kids while we watch Captain Jack Sparrow stealing ships from the British Navy. I should wag a finger and nag my boys on ownership and honesty.

Maybe I will, after I watch it a few more times for fun.

Christmas Eve

WOW was the forecast whacked or what!? (See previous blog on weathermen and their "accuracy") We have had an estimated 6 inches of snow over the weekend. I was out in western Kansas driving literally through a blizzard. I had to take a back road to avoid a highway closing, and on that back road, two semi's and two cars were stranded...but by and by we made it to my mother's farm, and now we're all tucked in back at my farm north of Wichita.

My mom used to collect what she called, 'Twas poems. Maybe I should write one for her. That used to really make her happy. (It's these strange little things that seem to matter.) She smoked like a chimney in the pickup on the way here, 5 hours on the road. If anyone is unfamiliar, I quit smoking again just last May, so it was something like wagging a raw steak in front of a dog all day long. Added to my frustration, my poor two year old had to gasp for air now and again. (It's not all that bad, she did crack the window...and I grew up with a cabin full of smoke always, everywhere we travelled...but I don't like exposing my boys to such things in such concentrations.) My mom has to smoke outside, in the 6 inches of snow, when she visits my place.

I have a picture of the family all sitting smoking on the couch at some holiday. All of them are dead now, save my mother.

I don't have anything against smoking. It's anyone's right to do things to their bodies as they please. I sometimes have issue with those who have issue with public smoking, all the second hand smoke scare. My argument used to be a wave of the hand and some statement about how it's gone on for generations...however, sometimes I wonder what concentrations of chemicals, what alien substances, etc. are in modern day cigs. If everyone grew and rolled their own, I would still have little issue with it.

But, back to this holiday. . . a personal perspective from my family. I was once married to a 'serious Christian' who's family more-fully appreciated and celebrated a faith-based Christmas, a Christ mass. That was a very different experience than the commercialized one I grew up with and that is being perpetuated for my boys. I'm none-too-sure I'm sold on either way of celebrating, but I'm all about having a celebration. If nothing else, it's family time and I'm not grading papers!

It was a good time to get together, but as the matriarchs pass on, it seems families are doing more insular, more immediate holidays. I miss the celebrations featuring 40 people. I miss a lot of things, but then, I'm getting older.

This is the most random post I've made here, much more in the style of my lesser-site posts at xanga, etc. Sorry.

My modem's so slow...

How slow is it?

It's so slow, my coffee went cold while IE opened.

It's so slow, I watched a spider form a web while IE found Blogger.

It's so slow, I had time to think of all this and do a load of laundry while Blogger logged me in.

It's so slow, I grew a beard while it downloaded a file.

It's so slow, we conceived and birthed a baby before my online course opened.

(Give me a break, I'm normally pretty creative at this hour, but I've been mired in grading, complicated by non-compliant software, computers, etc.)

But seriously folks, I am on a satellite modem, not dial up. The company claims to be 30X faster than dial up. If that is true, I pity anyone on dial up. I spend hours a day on this, teaching online, and my beloved plans to become a virtual assistant. We'd better rethink such things if we cannot get better Internet access. DSL and cable have yet to thread their way to the hinterlands. Maybe HughesNet or one of the other providers of satellite access might be better? Maybe I need to have a test conducted on ours to see if there's a glitch? (Maybe I just need to quit complaining and be patient?)

Not so many years ago I sat in front of a monochromatic display of text only, teasing out articles and information from the Internet before it was so user friendly. Back then I did not mind a 10 minute lag; it gave me hang time. Maybe I should just pace myself around this primitive modem speed. Slow down and enjoy life a little.

*sigh*



That didn't help. I have grades due. The LMS for the online courses I teach shuts off at noon today, even though we have until tomorrow to submit grades! Nuts. I'd better get back to work.

SF Taiko Dojo in Taiwan, '05

Great to grade by.

Snow Envy

WELL!
I guess I'll just have to start ignoring the weather reports. Earlier this week they forecast an inch of ice, which did not happen here. Then last night they were sure we'd get 7 inches of snow, and we barely have 3.
I can't say I envy those poor souls in Hutchinson who were layered with ice and now 7 or more inches of snow. I am glad I have my electricity and my tree limbs, too...
However, I surely do envy my buddy in Hays, KS, where they are reporting 13 inches of snow. All my remaining work for the college is at my side or online, so I say, let it snow! (I do, I suppose, have a fickle internet sat. receiver, and I might have to climb the roof with a broom if it snowed much...hmmm...)
My father used to report some impressive snowfall from his youth. He said it snowed over the cars so deeply one could only find them by the antenna...which, now that you mention it, would be a problem for many models these days w/the windshield-imbedded antenna. He claimed there were drifts so high one could sled right off the roof of the house, down a drift to the ground. Now that's some snow I could deal with.

This powderpuff stuff is just an annoyance, especially since it's virtually been promised by weathermen that it will all be gone well-before Christmas. (Which, given their track record, should mean we'll have a white Christmas!)

Back to grading. I want to get it all done so I can build snowforts with the boys in a couple days.

Advent Conspiracy: Spend less, Worship more

Regardless of your faith, you may find this engaging...I'd like to strip the holiday of consumerism!

Snow Day

I dread the dawn, and yet I cannot wait…literally, I can not wait—I went out a while ago with a flashlight to look at the ice sculptures. I’ve been amazed at tornado devastation and I’ve been belittled by sweltering heat waves. Living in Kansas, I’ve experienced most of weather’s wonders. None, however, are as marvelocious as the results of an ice storm. At once both beautiful and (for trees and travelers) deadly, these ice storms we’ve had at about 3 year intervals are quite the phenomena. I have hundreds of photos of ice art, and yet I’ve logged hundreds of hours picking up downed branches and helping people displaced by power outages. There’s little else in life so simultaneously malawesome, vileutiful, and grimorgeous. (Wordsmiths help me, I cannot quite peg this. There must be a word, or we must make one, that can embrace these extremes.)

I brace for how many branches will break.

Snow days are like February 29th or that mysteriously precious hour somewhere between springing forward and falling back. I am at once grateful, yet also adrift as if the atomic clock stopped tomming. The stark white reality of a whole day off, unexpected and uncharted, pinpricks my pupils—I squint at the awe of it. Like the blank page, it is yet unwritten, unspoken, un-done…in some ways overwhelming and yet there’s a just-rightness to it, too.

A day of grace. I am the condemned man, set to smolder in the electric chair, sated from my last hearty meal, smiling when the power goes out. I am the terminally ill patient who sloughs off my bedclothes for one more dance. I am the teacher who now can sleep, for I don’t have to make deadline to return 40 essays at dawn. (Whew)

100

Who would have thunk it?
Have I really had 100 moments to blog?
I think quitting smoking has given me more time for such things; then again, I am 7 postings behind from last year's count (still have a couple weeks to address that).

When I cruise over my entries, I am not impressed, but neither am I embarrassed, which was what I expected to feel when I first took up public blogging...then again, I have a very limited readership, so it's not so public...

As I have now managed 100 posts, I am going to now pledge to be a better blogger, a better member of the blogosphere. In that aim, I'm going to, say, write back. I'm going to post more comments. I'm going to be more engaged. Maybe I'll even get nervy enough to try a carnival or two.

If I'm going to put myself out here, I had just as well quit lurking and shirking. It's time to embrace cyberspace.

"Negligible senescence"

I failed a Gullibility Test over at the Museum of Hoaxes this morning...one of the stumpers was related to Turtles...the question (# 5) was simply: Do turtles die of old age? The answer is, no, they do not! Their feedback to my mistaken answer included the following insights, which I have fact-checked with my biologist office mate (and he has a PhD!).

Turtles exhibit what is known as 'negligible senescence.' In other words, unlike humans, they do not continue to age once their bodies reach maturity. (This, compared to many people, who reach maturity in their bodies, though their brains never do.) In theory, they might be able to live forever, though in practice this would never happen. Injury, predation, or disease eventually kill them. But turtles have been known to live beyond 150 years without exhibiting any signs of old age. Fish and amphibians also share this enviable characteristic.

I've been around nearly 1/2 a decade, and yet I've never known of this...that's what I get for nodding off in Biology. It reminds me of all the fantasy novels I've read, where some wizard or crone is 100's of years old--not so fanciful anymore, eh? I wonder if scientists have been trying to figure out a way to isolate/capture this trait, so that we might live longer/better lives? Surely so. I wonder if, as a side effect, one would smell fishy? Would it be worth it--to stink, be covered in scales, live in muck--if it meant 'eternal life' or at least a longer life? I've always shunned the healthy lifestyle crowd, since I've always been under the assumption that even the cleanest livin' can't twart old age.

If we can figure out what makes the turtle tick, however...

What is it with KINGS?

What could be more unsettling than being awakened (or rolling over to face) the Burger King? I find this whole presence disturbing. I know he's a pop icon, a marketing sensation, an unforgettable image...in fact, I have a bobble head of him at my desk, right now.

Nonetheless, I find him to be creepy. I found a mask of the King at Walgreens this fall, and I almost purchased it. What would I have done with it, you may ask? I don't really know...mount it on the wall? Wear it in bed to freak out my wife? Commit crimes in it to defame the character of the King? Parade around all day expecting to be worshipped? (Er...scratch that....that's every day.)

I missed my chance to blog on this around Halloween, when all-things-creepy are in vogue. I suppose it came back to mind since I am in grading mode, for this is a peculiar time of year when everything creepy seems to haunt me. I get a bit edgy, giddy, and some say grumpy about this time of the academic year.

Think of the other Kings we've been exposed to in marketing... wasn't there some cereal king? I remember King Vitamin, but was that a cereal or something else?

We shall close our day feeling royal.

Beat It, Just Beat It

I just watched a video on Drum Therapy which reminded me of all the ways I have benefitted from drumming. Though I may not have autism, dyslexia, or ADD, I do have my issues, and 'tis true: drumming seems to soothe the savage beast.

This time of year, for example, when money is tight, tensions are high, spirits are low, and grading is overwhelming--THIS is prime time for me to break out my drums and flail away. My boys love to pound on drums, sing, and dance, so I think I've made myself a resolution for this week...not only to blog daily (anyone noticed?) but also to drum daily. Maybe that will help me overcome some of what ails me this holiday.

I'll report back on this, in January.

Oceanfront property in Arizona...

I am seeking ways to capitalize on my property--that's right, I'm ready to whore out 11 acres to the most lucrative offer. This is, if you know me, contrary to my nature. I was always one to think that our most treasured possessions do not have a price. I valued my privacy, my space, my "land."



Well, I am ready to sunset such thoughts in favor of more profitable performance metrics. In other words, I've recently joined the fiscally challenged and now know I must survive.



I am eager to find any and every way to make a buck from some ground. I have 4 acres of untouched pasture, and I have another 4 acres of what seems to be ready-for-crop (like hay). I am mostly considering something like an orchard, but I know that takes eons for a return on investment.



If you are considering making a suggestion, realize that I do live in central Kansas, where the weather is unpredictable, the seasons moderate, and the soil is about average.



I told the wife it would be most profitable to raise some herb, or poppies maybe, but she just gave me that look.



I don't want to completely sell out, turning my acres into a trailer park or a puppy mill. I wish I could find some environmentally friendly and responsible ways to turn a buck. There's got to be some website with "ideas for your acres" but I've yet to find it.



Again, in the words of Stanley Johnson, "Somebody help me."

Reality Checker

Sometimes I act more like an anthropologist than a parent.

I find the interaction between my kids and their environment to be amazing. It's equally marvelous watching them interact with one-another.

There are times, however, when I must intervene. One of them will be jumping up and down on the other's stomach, or they will be torturing the beagle, or they may get a little crazy with the Christmas lights...it's a daily challenge.

For me, the challenge is to step up and be the parent.

I really am torn on this. I notice how my 5 yr old is radically different than he was at 2 or 4, and I realize often that I've influenced his changes. He will sit quietly until a commercial now, when before he had no regard for television programming. He apologizes for farts, burps and other bodily functions that he used to revel in. He is introspective and self-loathing sometimes; other times he instructs his brothers in the ways of the world--ways I wish no one had to learn, like to beware of bullies in the play place or to question the department store Santa.

I wish I was not in the role of parent, for I often regret having enlightened my sons. I really do wish we could talk with animals or fly to the moon. I wish uncle would come play for unlimited hours and that we would not need to sleep--ever. I wish it was possible to live on a diet of pop and PBJ's.

Alas, I am all-too-often the voice of sensibility, the harbinger of hard times, bringing the reality check. "No, you can't eat the Play-dough; it might make you sick."

If I stop and think about it for too long, I can get VERY GLOOMY. To chronicle and catalog every instance of dampening their spirits--now that's depressing.

Of course, there seems no alternative. If I did not remind them to put on their shoes, they might catch cold outside. If I were to let them believe everyone on earth will love and befriend them, then sooner or later, they'll get their noses bloodied. It's my job to 'look out' for them and give them direction and advice.

It's the toughest job I've every had.

What's the Greatest Invention of all-time?

I know this has been done before, that the question is likely old as the Internet, but I'm seeking nominations/explanations for what might be considered the greatest invention of all-time.

Play by the rules. A good working definition of "invention" from American Heritage dictionary, for starters: Invention: 1. The act or process of inventing: used a technique of her own invention. 2. A new device, method, or process developed from study and experimentation: the phonograph, an invention attributed to Thomas Edison. 3. A mental fabrication, especially a falsehood.

Note also that the timeframe is "all-time." The "greatest" is completely up for grabs; does this mean the greatest for mankind (like the beer launching refrigerator) or for the planet, or should one employ a more esoteric "greatest"? That, my friends, is up to you.

Whet your whistle with what some seventh graders thought...ideas range from spear tips to 'marrying a princess.' (A spirited discussion follows in the comments, there, too.) Need more inspiration? Check out this site, Patent Silly, which keeps an on-going record of patents that make you go, "huh?"

I will reply to this post, myself, since I don't know the "below the fold" fancy way to manage my postings yet--with the intention of not jading your response, I may even wait a few days.

Seven things about me

I am constantly disclosing too much here, anyway, but I'm going to go ahead and respond to Blog Meridian's all-call for 7 random things.

1. Multiple personality/career inventory assessments in high school (even college) suggested that I become a barber. I did consider it, but I did not want to stand up all day long.

2. I spent a sleepless night sharing a motel bed with a felon once in Limon, Colorado. (Some other blog, maybe I'll recount the whole story.) In short, I was stranded, rooming with two deputized ranchers from Utah who were returning this gent from Florida (where he had fled) to Utah for sentencing. Throughout the night I had no idea what his crime had been--murder? rape? some heinous act of violence?

3. On the timeline of my life, times and choices, the bankruptcy of our family farm in 1980 was likely the biggest turning point/crisis (next to deaths of loved ones) I have ever faced. It changed everything.

4. One of my all-time favorite films is a goofy movie, "My Favorite Year," starring Peter O'Toole and Mark Linn-Baker. One scene late in the film, when Alan Swan (O'Toole) has lost his resolve, is always a tear-jerker for me (this, in a comedy). Benji Stone, (Linn-Baker) essentially tells Swan that heroes, even sensationalized silver screen ones, are essential. He says something like, "I need my heroes as big as they come."

5. As I was writing this blog post, we had a false-alarm fire drill. They do that in this building, for it is attached to a high school.

6. I spent just enough time in a coal mine (one afternoon) to conclude that it was not the job for me--Mina Esmerelda, in Mexico. We were fully-rigged out, from coveralls to those cool miner's hats with lights (they really DO come in handy), and we toured deep within a mine. Back at the surface, it took literal days to wash all the coal dust from my pores, eyes, etc. Memorable!

7. I used to eat onions like apples. We had a truck farming operation and would swap loads of cantaloupes for other fruit/vegetables raised in Texas. One winter we had a truck load of onions in our outbuilding and I developed a taste for the yellow onion. (I have since lost that taste!)

This is a good exercise; try it yourself and pass it on. Let me know where yours is posted.

Why bother?

This year, I wish there were no holiday--no xmas music, no lights, no decorations, no gifts...

I would like the time off, but otherwise, just forget about it.

I know it's good for kids to get all giddy about Santa and toys and that it's wholesome to celebrate with family. I know the whole Christian aspect of the celebration of the birth of Jesus. Considering all that, I'm sure I'll get out-voted in my household, but for me, who cares.

I'm still in my annual funk over my dad's premature death (4 yrs ago, Thanksgiving) and then I'm also swamped with grading the work of people who just want an "A" and don't care otherwise. There are finanical unmentionables that are more burdensome than all that, even, which seem to be leading to the loss of my little farm. *sigh* So while everyone else may be whistling "Deck the Halls" and guzzling eggnog, I say, I'd rather punt.

Balance

There seems endless applications of this video to life--especially MY life about now. Watch and share!

What matters most

I once thought the most valuable commodity was comic books. I traded my entire collection for cash, which I then spent on a locket for a girl who I had never spoken to (she had her friend give it back to me). Through that one episode, my value system was challenged, and the quake has never settled. I feel reverberations now and again, whenever I am surprised at what passes for the commodity of value de jur.

Money seemed to be the tool of trade. If I saved enough pop bottles to trade in, I could have money to buy stuff. If I gave hours of my life to riding on a tractor, I could buy the ubiquitous “stuff” that everyone else had. If I got a good price for the wheat on my acreage, I could buy a new car. It seemed to be a liquid system of value and trade, and it seemed ideal…That was, at least, until I learned it was simply paper and tokens representing value. Ah, then I discovered credit, and with that, I built empires on the sands of shifting values.

Much later, I discovered that money and credit are both just manifestations of the trade of real, tangible goods. The barter system that commerce and capitalism were built on was a trade of true goods, physical things. In my journey, I soon came to understand that reality was the stock n’ trade of a true down-to-earth value system. Some real things we depended on were becoming scarce. I had always valued (like everyone else) gold and diamonds. I thought they were rare, but eventually I learned that diamond brokers keep the stock of diamonds bottlenecked, to simulate scarcity and drive up the price.

Now it appears people are starting to do the same with other true natural resources, and at the same rate as the diamond merchants. Take oil, for example—through an ever-increasing dependence on oil, we have come to see it as an essential. You cannot eat or drink oil, but we consider it just as vital as food or water. This value system has been manipulated to the point that we now pay $100 per barrel of oil; I’ve seen it triple in my short years. The truth is, we don’t really need oil nor diamonds nor gold. We need the essentials, like food, shelter, air and water.

It is slow coming, but the attentive will realize that even these are beginning to be rationed out and attributed with cash value. As the ‘green movement’ becomes more and more vocal, so will the value system’s appreciation for air and water. Consider taxes assessed against those who pollute air; pro-rate the cost of a bottle of water to a gallon of gasoline. See? It’s already underway.

Now, this has been the long way around, but I would offer that the thinking man, the man stripped to little-more than conscience, might well even exist without any of the above, or at least with a very Spartan amount, provided he had time.

To me, or in keeping with this theme, ‘for my money,’ there is no resource to be held of a higher value than time. Again, though it may be cumbersome, I’m going to take the time here to set aside a few misconstructions. The time I am referring to is not that silly little metronomic “tick-tocking” measure we associate with clocks. Throw everything you know about these out the window, from sundials to atomic clocks—gone. The clock, and all it measures for that matter, are just our own primitive ways of trying to track time, to wrap our heads around it. Likewise, all the ridiculous ways we think we are manipulating time, from a time-out to a time change—these are not what I am referencing at all.

It’s worth noting, however, that the money changers have been drooling over time for some time. Consider the humble parking meter, doling out time for coin. I would wager that every conceivable association has been made to making time commercial, from punishing people by restricting their time in jail to prolonging one’s lifetime through exuberantly overpriced medical practices.

Philosophers and historians have had a heyday with time, offering some truly mind-bending and unanswerable questions. Was there, for instance, time before history? Can there be a history of the future? One definition cites time as the future passing through the present into the past. Once I begin to dwell on all these things, I think I maybe chose the wrong major a couple decades ago. Addressing all that philosophizing is beyond me, here and now, but worth a mental bookmark.

I would simply suggest that time, maybe “lifetime,” to keep it manageable, is something taken for granted. I foresee it as becoming more and more the object of our corporate affection (and affectations) as the baby boomers bust. As I age, a byproduct of time, I realize the value of time more and more. Now that I have my own kids, that all seems to build compound interest for me. Time cannot be contained—I know this from my toe-dip into the time continuum, the philosophies of time, and the struggles I’ve had with time management. What one can do, however, is to “bend” time.

There are theories on the hard science of the reality of this, from worm holes to quarks, but I am using my own slang here when writing of bending time. You might call it nostalgia or reflection, meditation, scrapbooking or simply remembering. To me, to bend time is to be hyper-conscious of it. Then one can almost play out a moment in slow motion, view it from multiple angles, even stop action. I am, of course, making allusions to the film industry and DVD playback features. (An aside, but a good one—see Adam Sandler’s movie Click, for it is an entire movie toying with the bending of time, and it has a great message, too.) To bend time is to acknowledge it, then also to appreciate it. Take an intentional, forced “time-out” of your own volition. See time for what it is.

I am not recommending hallucinogenic drugs nor Salvidor Dali, here. There’s no need to strum a guitar, sing Kumbaya, or spark up the hookah here. Put the needle to some vinyl and put on an old cardigan sweater, for all I care. Sing Christmas medleys with Bing Crosby, if that works for you.

I am just urging us all (myself included) to “take some time” this holiday season, appreciate one-anothers’ presence as much as the presents. Take an extra picture or two, maybe have some family time to remember days-gone-by. At a personal level, I highly recommend a visit to futureme.org, where you can send yourself an email, to be delivered to yourself at some time you designate in the future.
Bend some time, sometime, and you’ll think you lived longer, at least for a moment.

...And I shall name him "Drew"

Some while back I admitted to naming my PC's after game show hosts. Upon my return to campus this fall, now some 15 weeks ago, I was rewarded with a new computer (this, part of the 3 year cycle of replacement hardware). Alarming as it is to just now realize it, I have never gotten around to naming this new, swank model.

Let it be now known, my computer shall henceforth be named Drew, and by the name of Drew shall it be known. This, of course, is in honor of a newly anointed and quite talented game show host, Drew Carey, who has been host of not only "Who's Line Is It, Anyway," "The Power of Ten," and most recently "The Price Is Right."

Readin'

I wrote the following for a little newspaper editorial column, some time back, but was inspired to post it here after reading this report of a study by the NEA on reading.

I have learned something astonishing: a person can read something, even under the pressure of reading aloud to peers, and not comprehend it. What must be happening is roughly equivalent to sounding out notes but missing the whole song.

This has happened frequently in my class. Initially, I just worried that I was assigning too much homework. It seemed people could just be coming off of a reading assignment, even a small in-class one, and when tested, they demonstrated no more knowledge of the work than would someone who had never read the material! That led me to critiquing my test, assuming that surely the fault must be my own. Was I asking for something too obscure? Were my questions too vague? I even adapted an assignment where I had students raise their own questions over a current reading—I would compile the questions, issue them as a comprehension test and--? Remarkably, even on questions they had generated themselves, the scores were less-than-flattering.

A few who know this column might attribute such a curiosity to the student body of a community college…this was, however, happening in a 400 level engineering course I taught at Kansas State University some time back.

At my present institution, I’ve gone to more in-class, out loud readings. I often model these myself, to demonstrate good inflection and delivery. I may even assign a reading for students to do at home before they are to be read aloud, hoping that their practice would make for improved in-class performance. Sadly, all-too-often what is read sounds as if it is coming from text-to-speech conversion software.

What has happened to our state of education when college students cannot comprehend what they are reading? Is it because the textbook dzn’t rd lk text messaging?

I make an effort to explain to everyone just how complicated our system of communication is. I teach them to realize that we are straining to put thought into words; then these written words are merely sound symbols organized in a way to reflect speech patterns and phonemes we all agree on in a given language. I advise them that there are discrepancies in spelling—this happens any time a language has more sounds than symbols. I demonstrate that punctuation is underrated by sharing two nearly identical texts punctuated differently and thus generating completely different messages. I generally attempt to prime the pump on an assigned reading by issuing thought questions or some other motivational trickery to get them to be attentive readers.

None of the above really matters, for the most part. People read what they are interested in, and at the college level, I often doubt we can force active, attentive reading skills on anyone. This is a pity, for students miss out on some exposure to keen ideas (even when reading aloud to class, they often miss the point). What I find even more defeating is when a student reads his/her own work aloud with the same lackluster, mindless monotone. It’s as if all the personality were extracted from the work read and from the soul of the reader.

I personally find reading to be a very special and peculiar enterprise. I experience it as an act of voyeurism—as a reader, I’m processing whatever the writer put into print…I’m seeing into his/her mind. I approach reading as vicariously experiencing whatever the writer put forward, whether it’s a swashbuckling adventure or a diatribe on teen drinking.

Too often, I find people are reading merely as a task. They are reading every word, but they are only doing so as a chore and with the sole objective of getting to the other side, the end of the chapter. When executed in this fashion, yes, they have laid eyes on every word, but they have not contextualized nor applied those words to any cognitive hooks in their heads. Reading is, from my vantage point, an associative skill. That is to say, one learns by associating new ideas to ones already on file in the mind. When either the mind has empty file cabinets or the mindset of the reader is muddy and less-than-eager to make associations—to say nothing of the myriad distractions surrounding us when making the transaction—then comprehension is forfeited.

In the days before print media, retention and comprehension were accomplished in two potent ways: story telling and song. While my students cannot seem to make heads nor tails of Jonathan Swift, they can decipher and repeat back endless rap lyrics. Those lyrics are memorable because they are rhythmic and because their content has some immediate relevance to the listener. They bounce off my deaf ears in the same way an audio rendition of “A Modest Proposal” might be largely missed by my students. When a message is wrapped in a parable, or for modern audiences, a movie, then it may likely be remembered and better understood.

Chalk it up to laziness or apathy. I will not again point the finger to multi-media making us into passive consumers of information. I will offer this, however: we need to reclaim the art and skill of reading. We need to press it, practice it, and promote it. I am seeing enjoying the written word fade from prominence in my own little lifetime. Some day it will be an antiquated luxury to engage one’s imagination in the written word. It may be likened to making one’s coffee from grinding one’s own beans or harvesting produce from one’s own garden. Why bother, when we can get it all canned?

Why indeed.

Behold!
Changes in punctuation can complete invert meaning:

Dear John,
I want a man who knows what love is all about. You are generous, kind, thoughtful. People who are not like you admit to being useless and inferior. You have ruined me for other men. I yearn for you. I have no feelings whatsoever when we’re apart. I can be forever happy—will you let me be yours?
Gloria

Dear John,
I want a man who knows what love is. All about you are generous, kind, thoughtful people who are not like you. Admit to being useless and inferior. You have ruined me. For other men, I yearn. For you, I have no feelings whatsoever. When we’re apart, I can be forever happy. Will you let me be?
Yours,
Gloria

I'm finally an American

According to most statistics encountered, the average American is something like $8000 in debt on credit cards, owes too much on a mortgage, is head-over-heels on car loans, and in general, cannot make ends meet. No wonder so many people are on medication for depression. Due to a major change in our income stream, I've been feeling a bit like Stanley Johnson, the "I'm in debt up to my eyeballs" character from Lending Tree commercials.

Fortunately, there are many at work at reversing this crisis. One notable folk hero is Rev. Billy, who has just enough flim in his flam to mesmerize me. One of my regrets in life is that I have yet to see him and his choir in person, in action....and I missed them on tour in 2005 as close as Lawrence.

He is the leader of the Church of Stop Shopping. They hold rallies nationwide to protest consumerism, gluttony, etc. They have a good time modelling after the fire and brimstone charismatic church, all-the-while delivering what I consider to be a potent message.

Likewise, there are campaigns to stop shopping that I admire and participate in (whenever my wife does not undermine it) like Buy Nothing Day, celebrated of course on black Friday. I encourage everyone to get involved by doing absolutely nothing. :)

All the campaigning in the world seems to be moot, for I have the feeling we're on an irreversible downward spiral. So much of our identity, our culture, even our politics--all about the Benjamins.

*sigh*

I struggle with my family, hoping to reverse this awful urge so that they might not end up the same way. Unfortunately, even my boys are barraged with TV commercials and other ads, with people buying them worthless things, with happy meal toys, with their beloved cartoon characters on product boxes and labels...What hope do they have?

Revived! On Mobile Phones

Back to public blogging after a month off--I'd blame it on grading, but I've found virtually every creative way around that. Most of my blogging has been sophomoric venting on my other, personal blog(s) that I have set to private.

What, you might ask, brings me back to Musement Park?
CELL PHONES, or more accurately, mobile phones.

What better to muse over than what it might be that's so damn important?

I spent over 40 years of my life without an electronic leash. I will admit, I went through phases and fads, from the CB radio in my Grand Prix to those mall-walker walkie-talkies...in fact, my first mobile communication device was a walkie talkie on the farm, a shoebox-sized thing that we would use to relay the progress of irrigation from the tail to the head of the furrow.

However, I have never been so into my mobile phone that I've, say, had a car wreck, walked into the wrong classroom by mistake, etc. In just the last year I've witnessed some very bizarre mobile phone behavior that bears mention here. Muse over this: What conversation could be so compelling that a girl could go into the men's room, complete her whole transaction there, talking all-the-while, and not even notice she was in the wrong place until she was on her way out? What urgent news must be causing these student's phones to ring throughout a 50 minute class period? What would be so very important to a student that they would risk the potential humiliation and public ridicule I might subject them to for using their mobile device to text or talk during my class? How connected does one need to be?

These people are not working on the stock exchange. They are not (usually) landing big contracts or drug deals. I don't really think any of them are in such great demand for their wit or wisdom...

...and isn't it unhealthy, and just a bit creepy, to be so very up the ass or in the ear of your friends and family? Sometimes a little distance is a good thing. Absence can make the heart grow fonder, you know. I am not suggesting anything outrageous, just that a person might conduct their business for the span of a bowel movement without being needed or needy. It would be nice (and I think sane) to be able to survive 50 minutes or even a 3 hr class block without being 'in touch' with whomever is on the other end of the connection.

What ever happened to paying for the air time? That would solve this whole problem, by damn, and it would make the mobile providers RICH, too. Maybe I'm just old school, but I wish we could return to those times when a call had to be precious, or at least a person had to mince and measure every minute.

Recently a young woman was sitting in the hall at work (at this college o'mine) speaking on her phone with her significant other. The discussion had become heated. In just the length of time I passed her, I heard her saying, "Okay, then. If that's what you need, I'll just cut [out of class] and come hump [editor's euphemism] you. 'That make you happy?" Now, to me, this would be a rather private conversation, but she was shouting it out in a public hallway with no mind to anyone overhearing her. This is not the only instance of such content I've heard in passing. (Mind you, I am not even TRYING to eavesdrop, one of my favorite hobbies...these folks are just laying it out there for all the world to hear.)

I think, somehow, people think their conversations are self-contained in little bubbles around their heads. They seem to really think no one other than the intended party is listening (or can even hear). I cannot explain this thinking, but it seems to prevail.

Don't they realize that not only are those in their immediate surroundings hearing their end of the call, but also the entire conversation is likely monitored by our friendly Big Brothers of the Patriot Act ilk? One false slip of the tongue, one tripped up "I got bombed" to sound like "I got bombs" and then where would our little cell phone conversationalist be? It is, sadly, a creepy world when our calls can be monitored electronically as well as simply overheard.

I have read recently of some paint with metal fibers that can thwart any mobile phone's signal. I would like to coat every classroom, office, hallway...hell, the world...with this stuff.

Mobile phones are rumored to cause cancer, too!

Oh, and do not get me started on the hands-free 'bluetooth' devices!

Rant out.

Paternity

There once was a time when the simple owning-up-to-donating-sperm-toward-a-life, biological paternity, would have sent me into a frenzy. Now, fatherhood--parenthood--is my passion. Once I worried about my legacy--perhaps in print, prison records, or some heinous artistic expression--and I watched my P's and Q's accordingly (sometimes attending far too much to my pints and quarts, but that's another entry). Now, my legacy is my family, and I often double think what I say, write, and do in relation to how they may be molded by it now or how they may interpret it after I'm gone.

Yesterday, my 3 sons helped us paint interior rooms of our home. "Us" included a guy named Kyle, who was once (8-10 years ago) my little brother from Big Brothers/Sisters...and Kyle's wife. Several times I chided and joked with my boys, even called one a dork now and again, and I've since thought about that...are they going to have a complex, am I belittling them, when we are all joking and playing and one of these less-than-flattering words is bandied about?

On the otherhand, they are getting to paint with us. When my dad remodeled our home, even though I was a teenager for part of it, I was not invited and did not participate in any way in any aspect of the work. My boys have been swinging hammers (sometimes at each other, I admit) since they could heft them. Yesterday, though their work was not "finish work" per se, they did contribute meaningfully and they did have fun.

I think about what my boys have done with me that I have no memory of doing with my father, and the list is very long. It includes, but is not limited to: painting, cooking, computer games, go-cart driving, "big adventures," trips to the hardware store...

I guess I could be doing worse.