The Cold Cold North

So, I know you've all been waiting anxiously for my continued discussion on this topic. You probably had a difficult time eating all of that Thanksgiving pie because of the anticipation (by the way, at my Thanksgiving I learned that a food baby and a real baby cannot coexist inside me).

I just finished reading comments from my students about this question (they were reading about the culture of schooling last week), and I wish that we faculty could have more conversations with our students about our shared investment in and concerns for education. My students' comments covered the range of views, but surprisingly more seemed to be on the side of yes, there are too many students in college. (My favorite comment of them all was the suggestion that funding problems might be ameliorated a bit by not, for instance, commissioning large sculptures of say, a bruin). What to make of this leaning towards too many students when all of these students are currently in college? (of course, some of them are likely not in a transfer program, but pursuing a 2-year certificate or degree). Do they feel that they are the exceptions to the various reasons they stated students shouldn't be in college (mainly not serious enough, not focused in a specific direction, etc.)? Or would they prefer that they could pursue a more "vocational" career, but feel stuck in college because of its acquired/ perceived status?

In their discussion, my students presented some solutions to the "too many" problem and the general lack of preparation they feel many have for college (both in terms of general knowledge/ skills and the ability to efficiently navigate an educational/ career path). Many of their suggestions focused on high school: better academic preparation, more transitional assistance, improved career guidance. They expressed a need for more knowledge about what type of education their career goals demanded and more direct connection between their high school and college academic work. One student suggest that only well-established adults (she's a returning student) should go to college because newly graduated high school students aren't mature enough to take advantage of the college experience.

One of the proposed solutions for the "too many" problem was making a societal shift away from the stigma of vocational education and careers. The underlying assumption here, of course, seems to be that while some students would possibly prefer a vocational education, they desire the social/ economic status that a college education implies--a comment that Middlebrow made previously.

Reading all of your comments and those of my students has been really insightful for me, but I still feel like I have no clear response of my own response to the initial question. One of my students declared, "I'm glad I'm not the person who gets paid to make these sorts of decisions." I feel the same way, except I do feel some responsibility with regard to this issue. Not that anyone's going to pay me, or allow me to make the big decisions, but still. . .

I agree that some students are in college because of perceived value, because it's presented as the necessary step for success and economic stability. I suspect that flexibility is the primary attribute for economic stability, and I'm not sure how a college degree would rate on acquisition of this trait in comparison to other educational/ training paths. I also don't feel that I have a clear sense of the range of career options and how a college degree is considered in various careers. I have a cousin who is a bank branch manager, a job I would have originally thought required a bachelor's degree. But she doesn't have one. I don't think the true value of various degrees is clearly known to most people, but what is known is the assumed value of those degrees. More thorough and direct information about career options and pathways would be valuable, I think. (Of course, it's probably hard to generalize on this one since there is likely endless variation in how individuals got the job they have). Ultimately, I think it would be of great value for us to engage in more discussion about the class-based assumptions we place on degrees and careers.

Although I can see that there are problems with continually increasing college enrollments and that there are/ should be more options than a 4-year degree, I worry that suggesting college is only for certain types will shut down the open access that makes our educational system so great (imho).

For me, this is a very personal issue at the moment. I have a niece who is 20(ish?). She has an extremely poor academic record, only recently getting her GED. She is smart, but she has had a difficult time with schooling for a long list of reasons. She is currently pregnant and is planning to raise the child herself. She has a limited work history, and she just started community college. She is uncertain about what she wants to do, but she knows she needs to do something. At the beginning of the semester, she was absolutely terrified, unsure about whether she would be able to manage her coursework. She seems to be doing well, she's feeling more confident, and she's made a start. She is able to make this beginning--as vague and uncertain as it may be--because college of some kind is available for everyone. There is no one telling her that she is too unprepared, that there isn't enough room, that she needs to have a definite plan. She can make a start, and right now that is probably all she is capable of. While I recognize that open access and high enrollments brings a whole collection of challenges, challenges that no one is really sure how to respond to, I can't help but think of my niece and other students I've had just like her, who didn't really know what they were doing and were completely unprepared, but just needed a place to start, a place to hope. How can we take that away from anyone?

This week, the Chronicle posted a forum which explored the question: Are Too Many Students Going to College? You can read the forum and accompanying reader comments here. You can also read NY Times' reader comments about the issue at the Choice Blog.

I have a seemingly endless collection of thoughts about all of this, but too many to sort out at this moment. Since so many of you reading this blog are my cc colleagues, I'm wondering what you think, particularly in terms of our continual budget cuts. Some specific questions I'd love to hear your thoughts about:

• How do we encourage continuation of the social contract that allows open access to education?
• Assuming the continued reality of budget cuts, do we strive for open enrollment with perhaps lesser (cheaper) forms of instructional delivery or do we impose caps to preserve quality of education?
• What do you think about the basic questions--do too many students go to college?

I'm going to write about this more later, once I get my thoughts sorted and coherent, but I look forward to hearing what you think.

Throughout my many years of voice problems, while everyone is promoting herbal teas and honey and lemon juice and whatever else is supposed to cure me, the only folk cure that I've found any solace in is chocolate milk. If my voice is really terrible and my vocal chords horribly inflamed, the only non-pharmaceutical remedy that works is chocolate milk. Somehow the chocolate milk just soothed my throat and cleared things up for a while, allowing my non-existent voice to gain some sound and clarity.

People have always looked at me askance when I tell them about my chocolate milk cure. But I know what I know.

And now today--vindication! Check out this research summary which suggests that chocolate milk may reduce inflammation. They are actually talking about athersclerosis, but inflammation is inflammation right? And my voice issue is ultimately about inflamed vocal chords. So there, doubters. Chocolate milk is a miracle cure.

This morning, I idly clicked on a RadioWest podcast because I saw it was about Doug Snow, an artist I admire, an artist who has captured the landscapes of Southern Utah better than anyone I've seen. As the interview was introduced, Doug Fabrizio mentioned that it was a rebroadcast of a 2004 interview and that Douglas Snow had died. Nothing could have made me sadder. Or more homesick.

When I was twenty, my dad took me on a backpacking trip to the Grand Canyon. Climbing deep into the canyon, watching layers of rock overlapping each other to seemingly endless depths along the horizon, I fell absolutely in love with the canyon country. These places became, and will always be, home for me. There was something astounding in that landscape--the deep sky of stars I felt I could slide right into against the folds of walls and canyons.

There is something ineffable about that landscape. It is hard to capture in words and images and no matter how many times you find yourself in in, it is always surprising. For me, Doug Snow is the only artist whose really come close to conveying the truth of these landscapes I love. In his 2004 interview, he talked about how he looked for honesty in art, for perspectives that move beyond what he already knows. He commented that he found much of the art of the red rock country "reduced [the landscape] to a series of formulas." This is what I like about Snow, that his paintings of the red rock country move far beyond the confines of the representational landscape and yet they always elicit the emotion and the essence of the landscape. His paintings startle and move me in the same way the landscape does.

This is something Snow wrote in a journal, a sentiment that was included in his eulogy:

"To be in this country; to live in it much of your life; to understand its geology, its history, to see it in all its seasons, and still, ultimately, to know nothing that can summarize it. All you can do is have faith in the strength of the experience, paint, 'not knowing,' but with conviction in the significance of those feelings."

I have so many projects that involve trying to characterize red rock landscapes, complicated stories about my family and my life. It's such a challenge. And in Snow's comments, I find good advice and comfort. There is nothing that can summarize that landscape. But I can have faith in the strength of my experiences.

I was reading Go Fug Yourself yesterday, and they were rightly commenting that the new Amelia movie looks like a real snoozer. Of course it's going to be a snoozer. All biopics are snoozers. I hate them. All of them. But I'm going to see Amelia. In fact, when I saw the trailer, I was excited. Not just intellectually excited, but all tingly in my belly excited.

I don't actually want to see the movie because I truly have never met a biopic that I like. I don't even think Mira Nair, a director whose sensibilities I normally quite like, can save the biopic from its lameness. But the thing is I love Amelia Earhart. She and Teddy Roosevelt were my childhood heroes. And when I say I love her, it's partly because of her feats of daring and her independence. But it's also because of her--her height, her style, the sound of her voice, her hair. My love of her is overcoming my distaste for biopics, and if that ain't love, I don't know what is.

So while the GFY girls are complaining about the movie's snooze factor and about the state of Hillary Swank's Amelia hair, I will probably be ordering tickets in advance while wondering, "Maybe I should get that hair cut!"

i'm just listening to this radiolab podcast about how infants respond to sensory input, that even though their senses function, they don't function in the way that we expect them to, in a way that we would describe as conscious. Sights don't necessarily register in the vision center of the brain, transforming them into who knows what--data, but not necessarily meaningful data. Babies that stare may just be experiencing a brain glitch, unable to move their gaze away rather than presenting a keen interest in a specific object or individual. But our reactions, as adults, assume that the infant is seeing, hearing, gazing, etc. and that assumption helps the infant to learn how to make sense of all of that sensory input.

This pregnancy thing has me thinking about lots of things, wondering how we humans work.

A friend asked me the other day whether I would find out the sex of the baby. I don't care, either way. I'm not going to make a big deal of trying not to find out, but I wouldn't really care if I didn't know. She said it was nice to find out, because then you could start bonding with the baby. And I wondered why the baby's sex makes a difference in the bonding. Do I need to know the baby's sex in order to think of the baby as a real entity, someone who will be part of my life? I do know, though, that seeing an ultrasound picture of my baby--the sort of picture I've never really gotten excited about (or understood) when someone else showed me--made me feel instantly attached to and protective of this new person. What are the things--sex, image, voice, etc.--that allow us to envision and embody human life, to make it real and meaningful for us.

And the other thing I am wondering about. I find it perfectly normal, this idea of a fetus growing inside of me, this person who is totally dependent on me yet totally independent--already with its own heartbeat and blood type. It doesn't seem odd or unusual, and yet the other day when I thought about while this baby growing hair while still in the womb, I sort of freaked out. I try not to think about the hair because it does truly disturb me. So, why does the whole process not freak me out, yet hair does? Will was tormenting me last night with stories about the baby and its Don King hairdo.

People are funny and I think pregnancy may be one of those things that reveals our strangeness more than anything else.

ok, just one new development. This is our new little pookie, set to arrive at the beginning of March. I am in love with it already and could probably stare at this picture full-time. We're hoping that the winter weather will have mellowed before its arrival so that our little Canuck won't freeze solid.

jimmy carter on the rights of women: http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2009/jul/12/jimmy-carter-womens-rights-equality

if it weren't so early in the morning, I would have some commentary on this, but all I can muster is amen! to have such a publicly religious and well-respected man step away from his church because of a disagreement on the treatment and rights of women is truly impressive to me.

The NY Times ran a story today about Southern Utah, the "West's best kept secret." Shh.. . NY Times, if you talk about it, it won't be a secret any more. The slideshow that accompanied the article included some gorgeous shots, mainly of the Capitol Reef area, that made me homesick.

But I have a few things to say about how the author Tom Perrottet characterized Southern Utah--and a few corrections. Perrottet calls Southern Utah "America's Outback," a fair enough characterization, I suppose. However, in his efforts to convey Southern Utah as the last great place, he probably should have gotten off the beaten path a bit. His two journeys include Dry Fork Coyote to see the Peek-a-Boo and Spooky slots and Calf Creek Falls. Both places are stunning and certainly worthy of a visit, but they are also the most traveled trails in the Escalante. He says of his journey to Calf Creek Falls,"The next morning, I set out in search of a waterfall said to be upriver." Said to be upriver? You mean the heavily signed interpretive trail?

I don't have a problem with Perrotet's travel and I understand that his audience is most likely to visit trails like Calf Creek and Peek-a-Boo, but please don't pretend you are on some big adventure Mr. Perrottet. Having an off-the-path adventure is certainly still possible in Southern Utah but you might need to strap on a backback and not get befuddled by the clearly set cairns on the trail to Peek-a-boo. If I were writing a travel piece about Southern Utah for the NY Times, I would probably write about Calf Creek and Peek-a-boo; they are accessible and stunning and a good introduction to the area. But in doing so, I would present them for what they are and not some grand adventure.

In addition to selling his journey for far more than it actually is, Perrotet also gets quite a few things wrong. After correctly naming the wash where you can find Peek-a-boo and Spooky, the Dry Fork of Coyote Gulch, he uses the shortand "Coyote Gulch." No one in Utah calls Dry Fork "Coyote Gulch." Coyote Gulch is the much larger canyon downstream, not this tributary. More importantly, Perrottet asserts that the landscape hasn't changed since 1872? What?! What about the Hole-in-the-Rock expedition, where settlers blasted out rocks for hundreds of miles to make a road--in 1879? What about the settlement in the heart of Capitol Reef that included not only structures but acres of orchards. What about human use from increased travel? Or the pathways trampled by grazing cattle? The structures built after the Escalante was made a monument? To say that the place hasn't changed since since 1872 ignores a whole lot of history and the increased development and mineral exploration that threatens the area.

Southern Utah is stunning, wonderful, soul-awakening. But it is not unchanged. If writers like Perrotet don't acknowledge the threats against this beautiful landscape, there is a real risk that we will lose its beauty to excessive development.

And a final note. In recommending the area's available restaurants, Perrottet promotes the mediocre Cafe Diablo, but fails to mention Hell's Backbone? bitch, puhleeeze.

Maybe the next time the NY Times wants a travel piece on Utah, they should just call me.

I decided to quit my phd program for two reasons: a. $ b. I'm not sure the program is the best fit for me.

I emailed the director last night, telling her I was quitting, but I only mentioned the money issue. I didn't really want to get into reason B because it involves my ongoing frustration that the profs don't seem to recognize that I have a fair bit of experience in my field, that I know what I want to do, and that I should be treated as a fellow scholar and not as a complete moron.

The director emailed me back, telling me to not "burn any bridges" before she can see if she can work anything out for me.

Now I feel stuck, because I don't really want to stay in the program but I don't really want to explain why and I don't want to be perceived as a quitter. I don't know why that last one bothers me. I guess since one of my frustrations with the program is not feeling like my experience is valued, I don't want to be perceived as someone who just can't hack it.

Ugh. Why can't she just let me quit. I haven't replied because I just don't know what to say. Any suggestions?

will and I went to see Adventureland yesterday, which I loved, loved. will said I was grinning through the whole thing.

melancholy, nostalgia, the haze of transition--all of the moods I like to contemplate and wallow in. all of this plus a few moments of sublime comic relief, thanks mostly to kristen wiig, and a killer soundtrack. In my mind, it was the best movie soundtrack ever. Lou Reed, the Cure, the Replacements, Crowded House. I would buy the soundtrack if I didn't have most of the songs already--but I will be filling in the gaps.

you should go see it. you might not love it as much as I did, but it is a lovely movie.

I started a new food blog, which I hope you'll all check out.

www.plum-cake.com

I've started supplying baked goods for a coffee shop near my house and I am hopefully going to sell at the farmer's market this summer, so I figured I would start a new blog to accompany my efforts.

Enjoy!

It sounds dirty, doesn't it? Well, it's not, but it is exciting and delicious and sticky. "Sugaring off" is the term in these parts (Quebec, anyway) for the yearly collection of maple sap. And all of that sap collection and processing happens at the sugar bush, but let's not talk about that--this is a family blog, after all.

Ok, enough with the double entendres. We've got more important things to talk about here, things like maple syrup, and maple cotton candy. Yeah, it's pretty much the best thing in the world.

For those of you who read the Little House books, you may remember the maple candy made from pouring hot maple syrup on the snow. I (and my sister) have been obsessed with the idea of making candy in snow since--ok, obsessed might be too strong a word, but fascinated and unfulfilled with deep longing, certainly. So, moving to the maple syrup capital of the world was pretty exciting for me and I've been waiting for eight months for the sap to start running.

The maple taffy on the snow was pretty tasty, and I am happy to have fulfilled my childhood dream, but the maple cotton candy made the taffy seem kind of sad. Mmm, maple cotton candy.





In addition to the sugary gluttony, I also learned a few things about maple syrup. Like the fact that the sap is clear. I knew the sap was cooked to get to the final product, but I always expected the sap to come from the tree looking a bit more syrupy. But, nope, it looks and tastes pretty much like water.


The sap is reduced to 1/40th of its original volume to make the syrup. These days, the metal bucket is just for the tourists and the bulk of the sap is collected from the trees through a series of tubes which deliver the sap to a central collection tank which then feeds into a huge vat in the sugar shack (on the right). The sap bubbles away, moving through a couple of different vats as it reduces. The reduced syrup is collected in a tank, to be filtered and bottled.


We left with a jug of syrup, a block of maple sugar, and whispy maple cotton candy dreams that will hold me over until next year's sugaring off.

A sweater that I really like recently developed a hole. Sad. Typically, I would use the opportunity of a holey sweater as an excuse to buy a new sweater. However, because of recent budget cuts in our household, I can't really justify a shopping trip.

Luckily the hole in the sweater was along a seam, so entirely fixable. Unfortunately sewing a straight seam is really a challenge for me. And the hole, while on the seam had frayed out a bit, so I worried that trying to fix the hole with a straight seam would make the sweater look puckery. Seeing as the hole was on a front shoulder seam, puckery sewing would be noticeable.

While I cannot stitch a straight seam, I am pretty good at embroidery, do I dug out my handy copy of Mary Thomas's Dictionary of Embroidery Stitches. Mostly I look at this book and never do any stitching, but this time I found a lovely decorative stitch and got to work.


Here's how it turned out:


And here's the detail:I must say I am pretty proud of myself both in terms of craft and frugality. Now I just need to learn how to darn socks.

You must go to this link and look at pictures of beautiful sea slugs. They are truly amazing. It always stuns me how much detail and variety and beauty there is in the world and how most of the time it goes unnoticed.

http://ngm.nationalgeographic.com/2008/06/nudibranchs/doubilet-photography

At the U, Will's research focused on a sea slug from this nudibranch family. It wasn't quite as stunning as these examples, but it was a lovely critter.

Since my teaching career isn't going quite the way I'd planned, I have decided to be a freelance writer. Right now, it's just been a bunch of query-writing and sending. And self doubt, endless amounts of self doubt. I have often thought about trying to write for a living, but I have always been terrified of the whole prospect. What if my writing really sucks? What if I am a fraud? What if it's true what they say about teachers? It is only out of desperation and a realization that I have nothing to lose that I have decided to take on this adventure. But still, each time I click send on a query, I am certain that someone is out there laughing at me and pointing.

Despite my terror, things are going fairly well. I've had some positive response. No jobs yet, but I do have several strong leads that should (cross your fingers) work out.

Yesterday, I heard back from the editor of a local food magazine. In her message, she said that I should call her to "blah blah" about some ideas. I was excited about the reply, but thought the "blah blah" comment was a little weird.

Well, today I copied the message to that editor in order to refashion it into a query for another editor. And there, in the message, was this sentence: " I look forward to blah blah" Yes, that's right, those little notes that I make to myself to indicate where I need to add/ clarify? Still there.

I am both mortified and amazed. I mean, the query worked right? So maybe I need to worry less about the laughing and the pointing and just say whatever the hell I feel like. Really, I am the queen of worrying about what I say and whether it annoys, embarrasses, offends, etc. In new contexts, I can hardly speak for the worry.

Perhaps this is a lesson that I just need to get over it. blah blah, baby, blah blah

One of my deep, dark secrets is that whenever that Lee Greenwood anthem "Proud to be an American" plays, I cry. Embarrassing, I know, but true. It's a response that started in childhood and I just can't seem to get control over it. The thing about this is that I've never considered myself much of a patriot. In fact, I have often been embarrassed by America. When I lived in London, my favorite activity was American spotting across long distances, only needing a few items of clothing and raucus physical gestures to identify my fellow countrymen.

Well, today, as I watched the inauguration and listened to the Canadian commentary, I feel patriotic and must declare that I am proud to be an American. I haven't always been sold on Obama's campaign of hope (in the early days of the Dems campaign, I gave money to Hillary) but today I am more than glad that we have this new president who genuinely strives to be inclusive, who acknowledges that hope and prosperity require hard work, who can give (as his daughter said) "a pretty good speech."

So here's to a new era of responsibility, integrity, and motivation. Good riddance, old Georgie.

God bless America. And I mean that with every bit of hope I can muster.

I really think so. Last night, I went to the neighborhood bar in order to watch the World Jr. Hockey championship game. I sighed when the Swedish team scored. I cheered when Canada won (for the fifth time!) I drank my beer. I don't watch sports. I certainly don't go to bars to watch sports. And now I'm watching a Jr. world championship? Who even knew there was such a thing?

I got sucked into the competition over the weekend when we went to the same bar to hear a band. During one of their breaks, everyone watched the semi-final game between Canada and Russia. It was an amazing game, with Canada scoring a tie-making point in the last five seconds of regular play. Then a no-scoring overtime and a shoot-out. Canada scored two points to Russia's zero.

After that, I had to watch the final. The gold-medal game was much less interesting. Canada dominated throughout with a final score of 5 to 1. Canada was pretty agressive and their players spent a lot of time in the penalty box. Which led to many Swedish power plays. Will and I were thinking this sounds like some sort of sexual manoeuver. It definitely sounds more exciting than a Canadian power play.

So, I guess I watch hockey now. And not just any hockey, Junior hockey. Winter is long up here in the cold, cold north.

This morning, reading a NYT piece about how NY building owners are fancying up their lobbies to entice new residents, I came across this sentence:


"Not quite public, but not quite private either, the lobby occupies a liminal state in one’s home life, and with that ambiguity comes a set of priorities that can shift and, oftentimes, conflict."


I think I wrote that paper in grad school.