On the clock

It’s that time of year again. I spent all of yesterday locked in my home office with a stack of essays that needed to be graded.

Well, maybe I didn’t spend the whole day grading. I did take breaks to eat, to play the piano, and to chat on the phone with a friend. My afternoon grading time was interrupted for a couple of hours by the little neighbor kids, who got off the bus to find that their mother wasn’t home, and so came over here. And my grading officially ended at about suppertime, when my husband, With-a-Why, and I picked up Chinese food and drove up to the older kids’ apartment for supper.

But still, I had a bunch of time to grade papers: I had set aside the time specifically for grading.

And so I timed myself. With-a-Why had left his chess clock out near the piano, and I decided to experiment and see how long it takes me to grade a single 1000-word essay. I turned the chess clock on, hit the button, and began grading a paper. When I was done, I hit the button the chess clock again. Then when I began grading the next paper, I punched the clock again. I figured I would grade a bunch of papers and come up with an average.

Here’s the funny thing about a chess clock, though. It’s designed for two players. So while I was recording the time I spent grading each paper, the clock also kept track of the time I spent NOT grading papers. Yep. All those breaks to check my email, surf the internet, get a snack, walk aimlessly about the house – all recorded.

Here is what I discovered. For every 15 minutes I spend grading a paper, I spend at least that much time taking a break. Yep. When I set aside 8 hours to grade papers, for instance, I’m on task for only half that time. And to be honest, without that clock ticking on my desk, I suspect that I would have taken even more breaks.

It’s humbling to realize that I am easily distracted as any of my students.

Goldengrove unleaving

Signs of fall

Yesterday, I stacked two cords of firewood in the garage. The little neighbor kids helped me. That is, Ponytail made a fort out of the eight tires in our garage (snow tires, which we’ll be putting on soon) while Biker Boy kept going up to the woodpile and screaming, “I think I see a snake!” To celebrate the cool fall weather, I made a big pot of vegetable soup, using up the week’s vegetables from the CSA up the road.

This afternoon, I made a couple of apple pies. Ponytail and Biker Boy arrived after school just in time to help me. I knew they’d never have enough patience to wait until the pies were done and cool, so I gave them the leftover pie crusts I had trimmed off the edges of the pies and showed them how to sprinkle on cinnamon sugar. The pie crusts bits baked nicely in just ten minutes, and they ate them eagerly with the cut-up apples we’d put in the microwave. “This brown stuff smells good,” Biker Boy kept saying. “I like how your house smells.”

This evening, bribed by homemade apple pie and hot soup, my older kids came home, bringing dirty laundry and textbooks with them. After we ate, With-a-Why and my husband sat down on the floor to play a game of chess. Boy in Black stayed at the table with Classical Mechanics, while my daughter curled up in the red chair with Applied Behavior Analysis. Shaggy Hair Boy was at the piano, of course, playing music over the sounds of the dishwasher humming from the kitchen area. I took a spot on the couch, where I could work on my laptop and drink a cup of hot tea, listening while Shaggy Hair Boy played the jazz standard Misty.

Under the bridge

On our way home from the mountains, my husband and I traveled a road that meandered from lake to lake, hamlet to hamlet. Since we had all day, we went slowly, stopping at anything that looked interesting. We took a short hike through a gorge to see a waterfall, drove into a boat launch for a view of a mountain lake, climbed the lifeguard’s chair at a little beach, bought some snacks at a general store, and visited Little Green’s mountain campus, where our students learn how to be forest rangers. The wind was chilly, the leaves were brilliantly colored, and every time I scuffed through piles of dead leaves, I could smell fall.

Our route led us gradually out of the mountains and into a high plateau covered mostly with forests and farmland. We stopped at a little town built, like so many of the towns in the north country, over a small river. The sun had just come out from behind the clouds, and it was almost warm enough for me to take off my fleece. “Let’s climb down to the river,” I said to my husband. I went to college in the north country, and I spent many lazy afternoons sitting on the bank of just such a river.

I know well how isolated these small towns can be during the harsh north country winters. I taught seventh grade in a north country school, and I know something about the poverty and social problems that exists in the small towns. But on a day in early fall, sitting by the river and listening to the water rushing over rock, it was an idyllic place to be.

Road trip

To the mountains

I’m lucky to live in a state with hills and mountains, waterfalls and gorges. Just to my north lies a six million acre park, a mountain range that includes thousands of lakes, 46 high peaks, and stands of pine, spruce, and hemlock.

Of course, within the park, only 43% of the land is public land. The rest of the park contains private homes, summer camps, whole villages and towns. But the 1894 clause in the state constitution that pledged to keep these mountains “forever wild,” works to keep big tracts of the land from development.

Tourists flock to the mountains in the summer, appreciating the coolness that the high elevation brings. In September, the summer camps are mostly boarded up and the hiking trails are quiet. The brilliant colors of the hardwood trees shine against dark green conifers, and narrow mountains roads weave through an unbelievable tapestry of colour.

I try to get to the mountains as often as I can in early fall. I'm driving to the mountains this morning with my husband. I've got a reading this evening in a town far north, and we're using that as an excuse to get spend the weekend at an old inn on a lake surrounded by mountains.

Can I borrow a tampon?

During one of our airport layovers this summer, I sat down at the food court while my husband went off to get some food. A woman sat next to me, and soon we were chatting. She was just leaving when my husband returned.

Him: Who was that?
Me: I don’t know. She just sat here because it was crowded.
Him: (curiously) So what were you two talking about so intently?
Me: She’s going to Mile High City to visit her son. She’s 62 and she’s still having hot flashes, even though she had a hysterectomy three years.
Him: What? She told you that? After like, two minutes?
Me: Women can achieve intimacy very quickly. I don’t think men aren’t socialized to do that.
Him: I don’t know about that. The guy behind me in line was telling me about his erectile dysfunction.
Me: (through my dramamine haze) Really?
Him: No. OF COURSE NOT.

It’s something I’ve been thinking about lately — how women will often share intimate details of their lives with each other very quickly. At academic conferences, I’ll ask a woman I’ve just met to pose naked for my blog, and next thing you know, we’ll be in a deep discussion about her ex-husband or how she feels about her body. I’m guessing this ability to achieve intimacy so quickly is a learned social skill, and I’m still wondering why there’s such a gender difference, especially in this century, when it comes to those conversations.

Ready to fly

Every fall, we take our first year students to a ropes course. We strap on harnesses, the type used for rock-climbing, and we climb high into the trees. Students and faculty alike have a chance to move out of their comfort zones, be vulnerable, and work together to return safely to the ground.

For the last three Septembers, we’ve gone to the same retreat center. It’s a perfect place for a ropes course: the high ropes elements are build on the side of a steep hill so the sensation of height you get when you’re up in the air is incredible. The low ropes, which are the team-building exercises, take place in a pine woods. Our students always love being out in the woods all day long, and thankfully, we had another beautiful sunny day for the event.

The owner of the place is a Little Green alum, and he loves working with our students. He’s pretty much a kid at heart, and he’s found a way to use his forest engineering degree to play games out in the woods every day. When we arrived on Saturday, he said to me, “I’ve got a new high ropes element for you to try out.”

He called the element “the Peregrine.” The name should have given me a warning. Peregrine falcons are one of the fastest creatures on the planet: a peregrine can reach up to 200 mph in a dive.

Students cheered me on as I put on a harness and a helmet, and then climbed up a very tall free-standing ladder with Kid at Heart. At the very top of the ladder, he strapped me to a caribiner that was attached to three very long cables, all of which were threaded through the tops of three tall trees. Then he attached a second line, which stretched out ahead of me, and down through a tree: six students held the end of that line.

“The students will pull you up as close to the top of that tree as they can,” he said. “Then when I give the signal, you pull this cord, which will release you from that line and send you into a freefall.”

It sounded like a crazy plan.

“Um, you have tested this out for safety, right?” I asked.

He grinned. “Forest engineering! I have a degree from Little Green!” He went down the ladder, and they pulled it out of the way. At that point I was only twenty feet or so off the ground, dangling comfortably in my harness. The students began pulling and I kept rising higher, and higher, and higher. Soon I was far up, close to the trunk of a very tall tree. I could hear the students below me, but they sounded very far away.

“Go ahead! Pull the release!” Kid at Heart shouted from below.

I yanked the yellow cord.

My body dropped, with my stomach going first. I was hurtling toward the ground. I could the students below me screaming. Then the three wires pulled taut and I went flying backwards, then forwards, in a huge, fast arc. Wind whistled though my helmet. I was moving too fast to see anything. Where were the trees? I felt certain I was going to crash into one.

I swung back and forth at an incredible speed.

“Breathe!” Kid at Heart yelled.

I took a breath.

Soon I was moving slow enough to see the view: I was swinging back and forth, above the students, above some small trees, swishing through the canopy of the woods. I took another breath and relaxed as got closer to the ground. I had adrenaline in my veins for the rest of the day.



Yes, that's me in the bottom photo. I'm just about to release the cord that's holding me so high up.

View from a canoe

New piano!

We’ve needed a new piano for awhile. The old one was no longer holding a tune. And my kids, no longer little kids but young adults who are pretty serious about their music, had outgrown it. Piano Teacher joined forces with the kids in convincing me that we needed to invest in a good piano. She teaches her lessons at a music store that sells pianos, and my kids and I have spent hours playing the pianos in the store. It’s hard to go home to an out-of-tune piano after you’ve practiced on a piano that sounds great.

Of course, we couldn’t afford the $25,000 Petrof that With-a-Why would have chosen. And we don’t have room in our house for a grand piano. But Piano Teacher kept a lookout for pianos as they came into the store and kept pointing out pianos that the music technician at the store recommended for us. I read The Piano Book by Larry Fine to educate myself about what kind of piano we needed. And finally, we found the piano in our price range that matched our lifestyle. It’s a 45-inch upright, a model designed for schools and libraries: a sturdy piano built for lots of use. It’s a plain wooden piano, nothing fancy, but it’s a big step up from what we’ve been using. We bought it this week.

I think Shaggy Hair is the most excited about the new piano. He told Piano Teacher first, of course. And then he told his jazz piano teacher. And then he told his other jazz piano teacher who gives him lessons up at Snowstorm University. And then the teacher of his improv class. And then his grandfather, whom he plays with every Wednesday. He spends hours playing the piano every day, and the old piano had been driving him crazy.

The piano was delivered this afternoon. Shaggy Hair Boy and Beautiful Smart Wonderful Daughter rushed home as soon as their classes were over and arrived at the same time as the truck. Shaggy Hair Boy started playing immediately, while I went to pick With-a-Why up and bring him to his Friday afternoon piano lesson. Piano Teacher was just as excited as my kids.

“How do you like it so far?” she asked. I laughed. “Shaggy Hair Boy is home – I haven’t even been able to play it yet.”

As I write this, With-a-Why is taking his turn at the new piano – playing Graceful Ghost, which is a lovely piece. The music sounds even better in our living room than it did in the store. The piano stands in the middle of our house, pushed up against the inside wall that holds the center staircase, and the music radiates out to all corners of our home.