Joy to the World







Oh Christmas Tree

Already Tuesday Too?
What do you think about the US government giving money to family members of 9/11 victims?

Oh, jf, these are great questions but also hard questions. It is not easy to address 9/11. I have done some thinking about this aspect over the past few months, but as I am drowning in end-of-the-semester work, I don't have time to give this the attention it deserves.

1.) Is a firemen's life worth less than a stock broker?

No!

2.) What about family members of victims who died from circumstances not related to 9/11?

No!

3.) It is likely that 9/11 will not be the last terrorist attack. Should the same "compensation" be provided for future victims families?

I don't know the answer to this. I don't know about the whole idea of "compensation." How can we boil down someone's life to two inches in the newspaper's obituary section and a cost-benefit analysis? On the other hand, what is compassionate? What is fair, if anything about this can be called fair? What is realistic?

Instead of more posting, here's this from 2001 (written pre-ejournal):

It's Christmas time and I hunt for my cookie cutters. I have seventeen of them in a Toy Story plastic bucket that I got at the movies, full of popcorn. I remember buying two of them at the Great American supermarket when I was a college student and lived in Oneonta. Ten of them I acquired when I worked in New York City; they were a gift from my boss. But those ten are cheap, tinny imitations of the four which were Mimmie's. These four are old and sturdy and still perfectly symmetrical -- a heart, a star, a diamond and a crescent moon. These same shapes were traced as decoration on some of the pages in the Watson Hollow Inn cookbook. They were used to cut bread for tea sandwiches.

Actually, there are five which belonged to Mimmie, but the fifth isn't really a cookie cutter at all. It cuts a hole in the center of a larger circle; Mimmie used it to make donuts. It has a big wooden handle and doesn't match the timeless design of the other four. I use it to make wreath-shaped cookies.

At home, Mimmie made sugar cookies, and she used food-coloring tinted sugar as trim. In my mind's eye I see four little plastic bottles of food coloring with pointy tops. A slight squeeze, and a tiny drop of green, or blue, or red, or yellow would fall into the baggy of granulated sugar.

I don't have any food coloring, and these cookies are spice, not sugar, but I am using Mimmie's spice cookie recipe, along with those magic shapes that are taking a Christmas break from their promotional popcorn pail in the pantry.

In the aftermath of last weekend's flood, Bob decided that it was time to do a project he's thought about for years. So soon there will be a clothes closet in the bedroom. Until then, some of the contents of the bedroom are in the living room. We really maximize on the 900 square feet in this little house.

There was a smaller version of the flood on Saturday. Water was dripping through the foundation, this time caused not by the water pipe, but because it rained so much on Saturday that water was streaming down the street - and into the square hole in the asphalt of the sidewalk in front of our house, soaking through the new gravel, and forming a puddle near the furnace. So the village made an asphalt dam near the hole, which directs the water back down the street. I have a feeling there will be some major road work in the Spring.

The tree is up. It is a fresh cut scotch pine. We got it from the boy scouts. It isn't very big. I've decided my virtual museum will be about Christmas trees, but I have no idea when I will fit in getting it done. I have cookies to bake. But the priority is getting the grades done. This is the worst thing about teaching, or for that matter, being a student. I tried to rearrange the assignment schedule to lighten the pressure, but as usual, still there is a lot of end-of-semester work at the deadline.

I really want to make Mimmie's blonde fudge to send to Black Dome Press. It has been long enough to contact them again, I think. I have a few things planned for the break, too. There are writing ideas, and the research on online v. classroom learning.

But first, do those evaluations!!!!

Here's a photo instead of more posting:

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One of Bob's many wreaths. Obviously not taken this year (seems like it has been snowing everyday - and there is a big hole in the asphalt almost in front of the door).

Since there is so much snow already and I live on the side of a hill, a bunch of kids have been sleigh riding (or "riding downhill" as we always called it) in between my house and the neighbor's for much of today. It's a great hill for sledding. Rudy barked (really howled, he throws his head back and really gets into it) at them on and off, but he doesn't have the stamina or desire to do it all day, the way Sophie did at the backhoe over the weekend. I watched them for a while, considering the idea of buying a cheap sled and giving it a try myself. We have lived here for more than 15 years and I have yet to take a winter ride down the hill.

In today's Ann Landers column, the subject was telling kids the truth about Santa, and "Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus" was reprinted. How magical it was to believe in Santa, to run downstairs on Christmas morning and see that he had been there. I faked believing for years after I knew the truth, because I was the youngest, and I didn't wanted to disappoint my family. They so enjoyed playing Santa. When I turned 40 last year, my sister told me that having a sister who was still in the 30s made her young, too, and I guess the Santa thing is the same idea. I remember a big cartoon-ish charcoal footprint drawn on the hearth of our fireplace, with some ashes scattered around it. And I recall asking for some toy and getting a harmonica instead. There was a note tucked inside. It said Santa knew it wasn't what I had requested, but he felt I might like learning to play the harmonica better. I did try to play it, although I never became very good. I still have that harmonica. I even have the box it came in. But I can't remember for which toy it substituted.

Tuesday Too

1.) Do you have the google toolbar?

You're right, it is cool, but no, I don't have it.

2.) You may be surprised when you test yourself for hidden bias at Tolerance.org

I visited the site - it is interesting. I don't have time right at the moment to take the test(s), but I will definitely try them. I do know that most people do have a certain amount of hidden bias. Even those who struggle with the idea and are very reflective and open minded; this is something we all should think about, especially an educator like me. Teaching the online section of my class, I always find it fascinating to observe how this impacts bias in the class, because although some names indicate gender, and others may reveal race or ethnicity, many other things (age, appearance, social status, disabilities) can be hinted at but are not obvious and even gender and race/ethnicity cannot necessarily be assumed. The whole "on the Internet, no one knows you're a dog" thing.

3.) What's floating your boat today?

Not sure what this questions means? I guess I am ignorant of this cliche, not that I haven't heard it before...Last day of class! My feet hurt! It's quite cold, though warmer than yesterday, luckily. Do any of those statements apply?

I like snow, and I don't mind it being cold, but this level of cold makes it hard to remember what warm feels like. On the other hand, in the summer when it is boiling it's difficult to imagine this temperature.

On the bright side, we have water again. Saturday morning, a puddle started to appear on the utility room floor. Bob said he thought, "d-mn dog(s) must have peed on the floor." In about 30 seconds it was apparent the canines were not at fault. He shut off the water in our house, but that served no purpose. So he ran upstairs and threw me out of bed (it is an understatement to say that I am not a morning person) so I could join him in being frantic.

The furnace and hot water heater happen to be at the lowest point of the floor, but the washer, dryer, refrigerator and freezer are in there too (along with a lot of other stuff like the bin for paper to be recycled, the hamper, and, since this is a closet-less house, racks of clothing). We moved as much as we could to the kitchen, yielding a mud mess on the floor. We used almost every towel in an effort at mopping, and building a fabric dike around the furnace, but the flow was about the strength of a garden hose. It was coming in from a hole in the concrete step in the storage area under our front porch. After a call to the village, the mayor and then the superintendent arrived. They shut off the main water supply from the village pipes to our house and the flood stopped, but that meant no sinks, no shower, no toilet.

As long as there is a heat source, I can tolerate having no electricity, and there have been a few times when this has happened. In terms of water, we went without the bathroom for a week while we were renovating, but we did have water in the kitchen sink. In Samsonville, there is a stream near the house and so buckets can be retrieved for emergencies, but in Castleton, this isn't an option. I should have drawn water in the tub or at least a few pails worth, but in the frenzy to save the utility room there wasn't time. There is a big difference in having a little water v. having not a drop of water. (Meaning not a drop coming out of the faucet; there was plenty of water on the floor.)

The hope was that the culprit would be the pipe between our house and the village water pipe, which is under the sidewalk in front of the porch. There was the potential that the leak could be in the part of the pipe that runs through the concrete foundation, and we'd have to have it jack hammered inside. In that case, all sorts of things that are stored under the porch would have to be moved. Saturday evening, the asphalt was cut to prepare for digging with a backhoe on Sunday morning. Sunday morning while this was taking place, Sophie watched from the window near the couch and barked continuously. I thought she would drop from exhaustion, but instead she just drove the rest of us (me, Bob, Rudy, Edna) crazy for over 4 hours, and today she is catching up on her sleep. The equipment was loud so luckily her woofing didn't seem to have any impact on the work outside.

By noon we had the good news that the break was in the pipe and not in the foundation, and in no time our water was reconnected. Now the only signs of the problem are missing asphalt, an orange cone on the spot, and a bunch of symbols in fluorescent spray paint on the road, indicating the presence of gas lines and other underground utilities. Oh, and quite a few things are cluttering the kitchen, and are not back in their respective places in the utility room. So that was the weekend.

I much prefer historical place names to ones that commemorate those who lived more recently. Or maybe a person doesn't seem significant until 50 years have past, kind of like the value of an antique or collectible.

There was some commentary and letters in the papers recently about the naming of the new veteran's cemetery in Stillwater to honor former Congressman Jerry Solomon. I guess it shouldn't be a controversy, as he was a big supporter of veteran's rights. On the other hand, it does seem a little inappropriate to me. I'm not trying to dishonor the dead; I recognize the importance of the rituals we associate with life events; I am an advocate for traditional memorials. In fact, I like cemeteries. Gettysburg should stay Gettysburg and I'm not sure what was wrong with calling this one Saratoga. Certainly it is a more honorable thing to be known for than horse racing.

Perhaps the fact that I was the recipient of a very nasty response letter from Mr. Solomon when I wrote to him colors my perspective. On the other hand, in years since I have come to appreciate any response at all, for when I more recently wrote in support of Amtrak, I heard nothing back from Senators Schumer and Clinton. Jerry's staff may have been mean, but they sure weren't lax.

This makes me think of some place names in Albany. Of course, prominently, there's Rockefeller's name; Empire State Plaza, with its modern utopian design, and its controversial beginnings, seems, somehow, a fitting tribute to his vision. Then there's the Pepsi, although I stubbornly still call it the Knick. A can of soda or Washington Irving's wit. Now what's a more appropriate moniker for an arena?

In the Town of Olive they have built a pricey and beautiful new swimming pool. There is talk, and maybe it is already a done deal, of naming it for a late councilperson. He was active in the community, and I suppose it is a nice honor. Maybe he liked swimming, I'm not sure. I worked at this pool's predecessor as a teenager and I don't remember him coming there. This naming strikes me as inappropriate, too.

I believe the funds for this pool came from the NYC Watershed Agreement. My sister sent me this link from the Ulster County Archives to a list of people who were paid for lands when the Ashokan Reservoir was built. It got me thinking about those folks. If someone is to be honored, why not Lillie Jamieson? I don't know anything about this person, except that she was displaced. But that displacement makes her more worthy than any politician.

Better yet, honor one of the lost places. Ashton is such a pretty name. But it wasn't part of Olive township and so I guess we must leave the commemorating - or neglecting - to the Town of Hurley. So how about Bishop's Falls? There's a beautiful place that was among the first to be sacrificed. Erased from history, resurrected as a swimming pool, built with NYC's money. Let's have the courage to tell the story.

Today's snow is the kind that sparkles. It is dark outside and still snowing a little but I can see the ground shimmer. Earlier I watched the dogs from the screen door. They were in the yard, dashing around, Rudy diving and rolling, Sophie charging him and barking. She has a cute fleece coat to wear to protect that hairless hotdog body from the elements. Rudy is an artic dog, and needs no such protection.

What is it about snow after Thanksgiving that makes me dream of Christmas? Lots of years I complain that it just doesn't feel like Christmas, but I can tell already that this is going to be one of those magic years, the kind I remember from childhood, warm rosy memories of shimmering golden white. I want to put on festive music, bake Mimmie's cookies, and go get a tree from the scouts. Last weekend in Samsonville, Bob put up lights on the front of the house, and I hung up the nativity scene I made a few years ago (photo below).

But the end of the semester is upon me and I have lots of evaluating to do. I am almost through the last of the essays, but reading term papers and journals, and calculating discussions, group projects and final grades are lurking just around the corner. I guess the sugar plums will have to wait.

I have been doing some thinking about the whole Consume Nothing Day, or whatever it is that those so inclined were calling it. I'll start with the way I live my life: I have never been one to participate in the rush to the stores on the day after Thanksgiving. I really don't like shopping, especially in malls. I so rarely go to a mall that I have to really work my brain to remember the last time I was at one. Big box discount stores are only a little better. I don't mind Main Street type shops but at that, going to them isn't my favorite past-time. I especially don't like shopping when it is crowded in the store and there are lots of cars in the parking lot.

I am a recycling fanatic. Not one bottle cap or scrap of paper lands in the trash that can be recycled. We both reuse whatever we can. Bob is particularly good at fashioning what some might consider unusable garbage into something great, like a trellis, a lamp or a bedside end table. His ultimate project was repairing a big retaining wall in our yard. Some of the railroad ties needed replacing, but the old ones created a new terraced garden in the back of the house. I make craft items - for example, a wall display of the Nativity - out of corrugated cardboard, fabric scraps, and buttons from old clothes. Add a glue gun, and there you go.

I try not to consume things I don't need. When we do work on our houses, we never rip things out and get rid of them, just because we want a different style. Our bathroom plumbing was shot, so we removed the fixtures, replaced the pipes and rotted floor boards, and put the old fixtures back. In our new house, our kitchen sink is an old one that came out of a friend's renovated kitchen, and our bathroom fixtures came out of my sister's renovated bathroom. The cabinets and counter tops were purchased used from Want Ad Digest. For a lot of reasons that I won't go into right now (and I admit not all of them relate to conservation), I don't drive. I wash dishes by hand, using a basin for the water. I have water and energy saver appliances. In the summer, we collected water for our plants rather than constantly running the hose.

I buy a few good clothes, and wear them out. Whenever I can, I purchase things I do need, and also sell them when possible, at yard sales or on ebay. I never throw something out if it is still good - I save it (which is why I have to walk sideways through most rooms of this house :-) or I donate it. When I buy over the Internet, if the company uses wasteful packaging, I never order from them again. I compost organics, and use the dirt that is generated to grow vegetables, herbs and spices.

Recently I have been much agitated about the destruction of the Defreest-Church House to make way for a Target store. I intend to never shop at Target. I also agree that there is no question we consume too much. No question the holiday shopping thing is totally out of control. No question many people have no belief in the true meaning of Christmas, so what are they celebrating? We should encourage manufacturers to make quality product, that won't break in a year and wind up in a landfill. We should fix what can be repaired instead of buying a replacement. At the same time, the Buy Nothing Day movement disturbs me. What is the message being sent? To hurt retail in general? (The numbers seem to indicate that sales were strong.)

I'll close with how I spent my Friday. I took the day off from work, and Consume Nothing exhortations aside, I did buy a few things. I was in Samsonville, very far from the malls, big boxes, and even Main Street. We went to Creative Spirit and bought an anniversary gift. It was a lovely pottery bowl, made by an artist. We presented it at a wonderful dinner out that evening with Bob's brother and sister-in-law, who we didn't see on Thanksgiving day. We also went to a gallery open house, where my niece was showing her jewelry. Bob committed to buying me a beautiful amethyst necklace that she had on display. I also contacted Consilvio's, a vendor we met at the Pride of New York wine and food festival in Albany. I wanted to order some delicious tomato sauce that they make. And in the mail, the great used Ameribag that I bought on ebay was delivered.

I don't feel guilty about these purchases. Actually, I felt rather pleased, and even a bit defiant. Like there were probably a good number of smug people who were so proud to consume nothing on Friday, but their automobiles will be in the Target parking lot before long. Oh, it's easy for the affluent to sniff about consumption, and to dismiss with an earthy wave the fate of clerks who work for wages in stores. I think the message might be more persuasive if a long term commitment was involved, and if there were some specific guidelines for what, how, when and how much to consume. Let's call it appropriate consumption: this involves choice, use, and disposal. For example, McDonald's food would never be in this category. Neither would styrofoam packaging peanuts. Buying a new toaster to replace the old one simply because the old one is the wrong color - inappropriate. Throwing glass, metal and plastic into the trash - no way. That sweater with the hole can be mended. Those pants that are new but too small can be sold at a yard sale, offered to a friend, or donated to Goodwill. And you simply don't need another, bigger, newer television.

However, consuming artist-made pottery or jewelry from a small shop, or a delicious local food, or some Annie McSpirit Handmade Soap is always a good thing!

Not the greatest picture (one of the wise men and the camel are cut off) but you get the idea.

Tuesday Too

1) Have you, a friend or relative ever been without health insurance? For how long? Did you/they suffer any consequences?

Yes, I have been without health insurance, years ago, for months at a time, here and there. Almost everyone I know has been in that situation at one time or another, usually during their 20s when they were working in marginal jobs of some sort. But no, I didn't suffer any really terrible consequences (aside from a couple of dunning notices for emergency room visits and a somewhat uncomfortable teeth cleaning episode when I finally got dental insurance), and don't know anyone who has. It is an important issue, though, and the related biggie, the general cost of health care, is as well. (Bob's career is in health policy and this is the subject of many dinner time conversations.)

2.) Tell us what's really "under your bed"?

Ha! Well, I have a few beds. The common element is dust. Under my old iron and brass bed, which is quite high, are several old blankets and pillows, an old rug, and most significantly, a tri-color beagle/collie. It serves as Rudy's "den;" it's a place where he goes when he wants to get away from the other animals, or the humans, or it is late and he knows better than foolish humans who are still up watching Jay Leno. When was a puppy, there were boxes of papers from college stored under there. We noticed he would slink out from under there all the time. So we checked, and he had torn up some of the papers into a sort of nest, and he would sleep there, or go in there and chew on a rawhide, or pretend to dig and hide his toys in the mess. Finally we gave in, moved the boxes, and made a private space for him. Every so often, it has to be cleaned out (he is always mad at us for a day or so when we do this), and we discover all sorts of treasures he has tucked away, including missing socks and underwear, empty cookie boxes and various other pieces of food-related trash, and many long-forgotten plush squeaky toys.

3.) What's the message in your fortune cookie?

I don't like fortune cookies! Not the paper really but the cookie itself. But how about instead of thinking something up, because even the real fortunes that are (repetitiously) in there escape me right now - here's this: I remember a boss from years ago telling me to get a funny result, add "between the sheets" at the end of the fortune...it always (kind of) makes sense! I have found that it does. Try it!

Nice holiday, though I had a lingering cold/sinus problem all week, and it seems worse today. The work piled up, too. On the bright side, I'm making a big pot of pea soup.

Put the finishing touches on developing the last two weeks of class (there was more to do than I figured). Next on the agenda: pumpkin and sweet potato pies!

Tuesday Too

1.) What's the longest time you've gone without posting an entry in your blog/journal? What was or is the reason behind your dry spell?

One week. When I got started, I knew I would be pressed for time on occasion, so I figured I would try to post at least once per week. I have generally exceeded that. If there is a dry spell, it is because I am too busy with other work; semester end and semester beginning are typically hectic. Also, when I am away and computer access (or more accurately, cable modem access) is difficult, then I don't post much.

2.) Are you "going over the river and through the woods" for thanksgiving, or is the gang coming to your place? Perhaps you have something to be particularly thankful for this year. What is it?

Yes - over the river and through the woods is an apt description. We are going to my sister's for Thanksgiving (she lives on the other side of the Hudson River, and in the Catskill Mountains). I am thankful for many important things (like health and family), but in the array of less important things, my increased teaching and advisement responsibilities are among them. I like my job, and I feel at home on campus.

3.) All those bumper stickers that say, "I'd rather be...", what does yours say?

I don't think much of bumper stickers, but at the moment mine would say, "...be sleeping!" I guess because I had a bad night, my sinuses are driving me crazy (it seems that although I am rarely sick, if I do catch something, it is near a holiday!).

I made two apple pies over the weekend. I can bake fairly well, and I was (relatively) pleased with the outcome. Apple pie is one of my signatures; family and friends now expect me to produce at least one for all holidays. I always feel connected to my grandmother when I bake. Mixing the pie crust, rolling it out, sensing if it needs a bit more water or flour, getting the end result to be perfect...these tasks call images of Mimmie, and the remarks she made, to mind. When I asked her to describe her occupation, as part of an interview for my college class on aging, she responded with a laugh, "I don't want to say jack of all trades and master of none," before settling on "cook."

Mimmie was especially fond of sweets. As a newlywed in 1926, she started writing recipes in a spiral-bound notebook. On the cover is taped an illustration of a kitchen by Maxwell Mays that looks much like Mimmie's at the old house, where she lived before moving to a small mobile home next door to my brother's house, during the later years of her life. Assembling my pies on Saturday, I realize that my kitchen is also reminiscent of hers; although there is no wringer washing machine, and my range uses natural gas instead of propane and wood, the 1940s are still visible in my enamel-topped table, chrome hardware, tile walls, and lack of automatic dishwasher.

Mimmie was precise in everything. Just today I received a note in the mail from my aunt, Mimmie's oldest daughter, about a dinner she hosted a few weekends ago. She writes that it was great to have us over, and she would like to do it again. "I'll try to make something better, I think the mashed potatoes were dry." This makes me smile, because the meal was delicious, and her words remind me of Mimmie. Then, I see she added: "I sound like Mimmie, but it's true," and my smile becomes a chuckle.

The stained pages inside Mimmie's old cookbook are written in fountain pen and long ago started to crumble. That notebook begins with a recipe for Irish Wedding Cake. My sister recently returned from a trip to Ireland. All of Mimmie's grandparents immigrated to the U.S. in the 1840s or '50s. She never visited there; in fact, she rarely strayed from the Catskill Mountain region of upstate New York, and she even preferred staying at home to going out locally. But that didn't prevent her from being fiercely proud of her heritage. My sister brought back some stones from Counties Cork and Kerry. After Thanksgiving we plan to go to the cemetery, to share with Mimmie those mementos from her ancestral place.

I noticed on AOL's welcome screen, one of the changing main photos/headlines reads "On This Day in 1963...where were you?" The story is about President Kennedy's assassination. I can't remember where I was, since I was only a little more than two years old at that time. Sometimes we kind of remember things from when we were tiny not from the actual experience, but because someone has told us the story and it becomes familiar. I don't recall my mother or father telling me what I was doing, either.

What is a coincidence is that last night I was thinking of JFK. He was really only the subject of a passing thought, and it wasn't because I remembered the anniversary of his death was today. I had straightened up the porch once again, in an effort to make a renewed commitment to using the treadmill. I started thinking about physical education class, or as we called it, "gym." I hated gym in school. That hatred resulted in a lifelong disdain for most sports, whether as a participant or spectator, live or televised. (I don't like other types of games, either.) I don't read that section of the paper or listen to that part of the news. I'm ignorant on the subject, and I'm fine with that. More troublesome is a distaste for exercise, which I now struggle to overcome. Oh, I don't mind swimming, but I don't want to go to some sort of facility with others to do it. And I like walking, but it has to be productive in some other way than simply improving health. It has to be alternative transportation, in other words. Even the treadmill in the semi-privacy of the front porch is an adversary.

I think given the chance, I might have been an OK athlete; some members of my family have considerable talent, and I respect them for that. My hatred started early, and it isn't one of those memories that someone else told me. I don't think I told my parents about the things that happened in gym, anyway. Those were still the days when school authority was respected. My first grade gym teacher treated me all right. I mean, I wasn't singled out as an athlete or a wimp. Average is often a good place to be. She was extremely mean to some of the boys, though. She even hit a few with a whiffle ball bat, right in front of the class. I don't know if corporal punishment was allowed then, or if she was breaking the rules. I don't remember why she did this, I'm sure they were being brats, but I know it wasn't an isolated instance and it was awful. She only lasted a year.

Because I wasn't the target, though, I think that experience isn't really to blame for my aversion to athletics. It may have set the stage, but it took root during Grades 2 - 6, when I had the same teacher every year. He hated me. Or at least that's what I believed, I doubt he gave our relationship that much energy. But he did single me out for public abuse regularly. Unlike Ms. Whiffle Ball Bat, he never raised a hand to a kid, at least not when I was a witness. He may not have had to resort to such tactics, since he was especially good at verbal humiliation. He seemed to like the competitive, athletically skilled kids, which were many of the boys and some of the girls.

I vaguely remember, the first year in his class, that another girl and I didn't participate very much in whatever game the class was playing. In elementary school, that usually meant dodgeball, or the equally vicious war. I don't know why this happened, if we claimed we didn't feel well, or were tagged out almost immediately by our more aggressive classmates and so sat out much of the game or what. I'm sure I wasn't a really good player; I've always been careful and tried to avoid injury, so I wasn't the type to slide into home or jump really high to get the ball. I didn't care that much about winning. So that could be what started it.

Already I had been labeled a loser, which meant never being chosen as team captain by the teacher, and being picked last, or second to last, or on a really good day, third to last for a team, even by kids who acted nice to me at other times. I wasn't exactly a popular kid at any time, but I did have a couple of friends, and as a top performing, quiet and well-behaved student I was generally liked by the teacher. That year my new gym teacher threatened to send us both to the nurse's office for gym class because he insisted there was something wrong with us, and he said he was going to give us the grade "M" for "medical" on our report cards instead of real grades. He never carried through on either, and instead we passed the class. Could they retain a straight A second grader for failing phys ed, I wonder?

When I was older, we occasionally did something other than play dodgeball in the gymnasium. I remember being outside on the athletic field, and when the class was nearly over, the teacher telling us to run as fast as we could back to the school. I think it was getting near to one of the holiday breaks, and he said he was going to give us each a lollipop when we got there. I liked candy as much as any kid (still do), and I tried to run fast. True to his word, he handed lollipops out to all of my classmates. When he got to me, he said I couldn't have one because I ran too slowly. You know, it has been over thirty years, and I still feel the sting as I write that.

Just two years ago, I was at a luncheon meeting of school counselors, and I was seated at a table with a man who was recently retired from the high school I attended. I was not one of his students, and he didn't remember me, but he knew my elementary school, and he mentioned that he still socializes with my long-retired nemesis. I nearly choked on the spring mix salad with mandarin oranges and raspberry viniagrette dressing (a conference standard) at the mention of the name.

When I finally got to high school, for the most part I had more competent physical education teachers, and we played much better sports, but the wimp label was not easily shed, my hatred for gym remained, and I certainly didn't transform into the teacher's pet. I remember the annual physical fitness test, which I think had something to do with national or State standards. There were timed squat thrusts and push ups and jumping jacks, and the gym teacher marching around like a drill sergeant. I learned that President Kennedy was to blame for my torture. (Did you wonder when I was going to get to the part about JFK?)

Sometimes changes in physical education curriculum are discussed in academe, or the media, although probably less than reforms in other subjects. The focus is usually the cruelty of the games played, the unfair methods of choosing teams, and the damage to self-esteem. I've had students who believe such changes to be ludicrous, arguing that learning to deal with competition is healthy or a fact of life. Whenever I mention the dreaded dodgeball game, or my gym aversion to my classes I am sure to get a laugh. A lot of people do identify with it, it seems. I don't tell it like a tear-jerker, and I omit the medical and lollipop days. Leaving aside the being labeled a loser problem, I argue that gym class could have taught me something valuable about physical fitness and a healthy lifestyle, but it didn't. Nor do I see much impact now; there are too many kids laying on couches, plugged into television programs or game systems, eating fast food and drinking soda.

However, there is something important I did gain. I was lucky to like, and achieve, in the academic and creative parts of learning. Whatever social difficulties there were in school (and there were many, but they will keep for another time), I felt comfortable in math, social studies, English, art, etc. That feeling of being at home in education is one reason people pursue advanced degrees, and a career somewhere in the academy. The gym experience was unacceptable, but at least it was isolated. Now, when I am teaching classes full of future teachers, I try to impart that there are kids who feel that way about all classes, and at all times in school. I want to make sure the losers get an occasional lollipop, too.

The Troy Record has a columnist, John Gray, who is a really excellent writer. Yesterday he wrote a touching piece about the recent death of his mother from ALS. Unfortunately, the newspaper's website isn't great, and John Gray's columns aren't online. A couple of years ago we were subscribers, but we cancelled due to commuting; there was little time, so the papers built up, unread. I may subscribe to the Record again, if only because of his columns, and also because of a really funny feature they have called "Sound Off." It is a phone number, where readers can call in and leave a thirty-second message that might get in the paper. The results are often hysterical. Sound Off is one thing that they do post online.

On another local newspaper front, my letter was in the Independent. Unfortunately, the letters to the editor are not online. They titled it, "Has questions about our stories." It reads well. They put the "Dr." in front of my name. I always feel a little funny about that, but I have to admit it felt good to see it there. In a lot of ways, the novelty will never wear off. Sometimes I think it is pretentious or tacky to wave around the PhD, but then I remember the years and years it took to get it. I call it by the euphimism "a pleasant memory," because that's the way so much of life, when it works out, is. (When it doesn't, that's another story.)

How could I forget the many nights I was in class until after 10 p.m., then walking on campus after dark, with my trusty pepper spray in hand? Or how tired I was on so many of those days, working full-time and being a student? Rushing to leave the office on time so I could catch the bus from downtown to the campus, and walking, often in the snow or rain, the long distance from the road to the academic buildings, dodging cars, mud, and patches of ice, wearing a suit, dragging my heavy bookbag, my feet wet and freezing, trying not to be late to class again. Struggling to budget enough money to buy the books. Spending endless nights in the PC lab, before I had my own computer, wishing I had the money for a second-hand 286. "If wishes were horses, beggars would ride, and if watches were turnips, I would wear one by my side."

Resisting the urge every semester to fill out paperwork for a leave of absence. Missing important events, dinners out, entire television seasons, movies, pleasure reading, creative writing, other hobbies, and beloved sleep to finish a paper. The day, after a night with minimal sleep and a morning spent frantically switching between putting the finishing touches on my final project for class and on a slideshow for work, when I was staffing an academic conference for my job that was being held at a hotel across the street from campus. I had to slip out and run to class to deliver my project in time to make the deadline, and then return to the hotel to resume my duties and all-important dinner-time shmoozing. Realizing that the only way to avoid "ABD" was to take the risk of resigning from my job and returning to full-time school. And I could never forget the endless re-writing and re-analysis involved in completing a dissertation. Yes, I most definitely earned that salutation. Sometimes I just need to remind myself.

I had a little time, so I tinkered a bit with the Annie McSpirit Handmade Soap webpage, and with the Gully Brook Press website.

Plagiarism is the topic in this Chronicle of Higher Education article. And for a change, no subscription is needed to read this one.

Fourteen percent. That seems about right, I think. The vast majority of college students that I encounter are wonderful; they are bright, interested and interesting, and they make genuine effort. Sure, not every single one is brilliant (though certainly some are), there are skill issues and, of course, a lot of time spent having non-academic fun. But that's an important part of the process; guiding students in improving their skills, helping them to think, assess, interact, organize and present.

On the other hand, for that 14%, I suspect they do not share the idea that learning is important, that the process should be respected and what is discovered is intrinsically valuable. Getting the degree, a perceived ticket to lucrative employment, is the only goal pursued regardless of the cost, unless that involves making an honest effort to learn the material. The rules don't matter. Not all of these students cheat, I guess. Some go through the motions to do the work, but they refuse to be impacted by the experience. And I suppose some cheaters probably do respect learning in a way, but feel pressured to go for the highest grade in the easiest way possible. There is also a tiny minority of students who question the rules and the process. They challange the values of academe. Some are cunning and some are in earnest. These are in separate categories all together. Finally, the bright, serious, majority of students often do have a degree, and employment, as their goal; but they also appreciate that the path that leads the way contains many charms.

This is Picabo when she was a foal (or is that Peekaboo? Not sure. She was born shortly after those Olympics). But isn't this one of the cutest things you've ever seen?

This is a day when my writing met my dreams.

Officer David Lim wrote me a note today, thanking me for my story about his partner Sirius, the only dog to die 9/11, and letting me know that I captured his thoughts on that day. Here is an April post on the subject, and here is another. Here is the Port Authority website with tributes to Sirius. Wow! It was so nice to hear from him, and it is such a wonderful compliment about one of my most heartfelt, and saddest, essays. So, thank you, Officer Lim.

I forgot to pick up a copy of the Independent today, to see if my letter to the editor is in the latest issue.

On the teaching front - just three more classes to go - I felt like my head would explode after tonight's content. It was on policy and assessment - two of my specialties. Sometimes I feel like I need to decompress. Luckily, an hour or so of television draining my brain, coupled with adding leftover Halloween candy to my waist, and I returned to normal.

Tuesday Too

1.) Chad has been writing/talking about alternative forms of government. What's your take on a "new government?"

I think it would take someone much more astute than me, or for that matter than anyone currently on the scene, to think up something better than the form of government we have now.

2.) The last Harry Potter film ignited a "whirlwind of controversy." What's your opinion; is Harry Potter dangerous to children?

Honestly, I have never been a bit interested in stories like Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings, etc. Magic, wizardry and all that's related leaves me bored. I don't think you could have paid me when I was a kid to read something on the subject, regardless of popularity or acclaim. And a movie made from such a book would be nothing short of torture. But do I think they are dangerous? No, I think it is dangerous to censor literature. Do I think they should be required reading? No, I think it is wrong to force feed content.


3.) What do you think of this ("What would Jesus drive?")?

I think Jesus would probably still walk. And I think a more important question could be, "HOW would Jesus drive?" But I think it is a worthy idea anyway. I believe having a personal commitment to being environmentally responsible is important. We should be caring guardians of this place we temporarily inhabit. I know organic gardening is pretty close to a religious experience! Of course, I don't drive. And sadly, when I ride in a car, I feel much, much safer in a bigger vehicle because of (1) the abundance of self-righteous road ragers and (2) the preponderance of SUVs, vans, and trucks on the road.

We got a significant (for November) snowfall. Very heavy and icy, and it did accumulate a couple of inches. I kind of forget exactly what winter is like during the rest of the year! It is a winter wonderland outside, all bright and crisp and clean. Rudy loves snow. He bolts out the kitchen door, dives and rolls on his back in the yard. Since the yard is sloped, he slides quite a distance that way. It looks like he is swimming upside down!

Today I received a call from the Editor of the Independent, a newspaper in East Greenbush. They are going to publish a note I wrote to them about boycotting Target as a result of the Defreest-Church House demolition. I didn't write much besides the idea in the letter to the editor, so here are a few more thoughts. While it's true the town government and the developer need wake-up calls, it's great to be an activist, and it's nice to feel sad and all, the only way other debacles like this will be avoided is if good folks who care about preserving history vote with their wallets.

I do not believe another big box store full of plastic pre-garbage is worth the sacrifice of the Defreest-Church House or its trees. Nobody needs to shop there. Not far away, K-Mart is struggling to keep its doors open. I know, it's kind of hard to cry over the demise of an older chain that destroyed Main Streets everywhere, but let's not create one more boarded up, decaying big box in our quest to buy things destined for landfills. So if you must have that sort of stuff, go to K-Mart instead! You could throw a stone from where the Defreest-Church House once stood and hit the vacant box that was Grand Union. If a Target store is so vital to the economy of East Greenbush, why couldn't they renovate that space?

I also mentioned an article about increasing library services for the Town of Schodack. I thought the reporter was out-of-line for describing the Castleton Library Director's demeanor when she made comments in support of increasing services within our town (rather than funding another town's library so that we can use it) at a recent town board meeting. The presentation skills and glibness of other quoted speakers (all of whom happened to be on the opposite side from the director) were not mentioned. Then, an informal poll was conducted on election day about this issue, which the town supervisor said had been "intentionally derailed" and was "of no value to the town." I took the time to participate, the ballot box was jammed with ballots...seems to me some elaboration on just what this means is required. An interesting note is that the outside library being supported is in East Greenbush. I didn't make this connection in my letter, but I certainly don't want my Schodack tax money going into the coffers of a town that favors a throw-away big box culture over brick and mortar history!

And by the way, I don't mean just avoiding the future East Greenbush Target. I mean all Target stores.