Roy Rants

Since Summer is out of the town for the weekend, I have decided to fill my time with something less useful than housework or working on my talk for September: I’m starting a new blog. This one is supposed to be short-lived, and may not be for the faint of heart. Here’s the impetus. Last night I got a call from Stew, and we chatted for 30 minutes or so, mostly about politics (the call originated as a “Are you watching Obama’s speech” call, with an overdue apology for voting Nader in 2000). It was fun. So I’ve decided to bring back the beast that is my political ideology, tempered by a few years and more children. Read more at http://royrants.blogspot.com/...if you dare.

If The Ball Is The Same Size, Why Is It Called Mini-Golf?

On Saturday we decided to take the kids miniature golfing. The was the first time any of them had played, and the first time Summer and I had picked up clubs in over 5 years. We forgot to pick up score cards, which was probably best, as some of us tend to be too competitive. So instead we simply had fun, as seen below.

First, Ryan having a hard time keeping his eye on the ball:
Here Summer lines up her tee shot, while Evan watches (he spent all 18 holes in his stroller, so he deserves a medal, or at least all the pretzel sticks he ate):
Here's an action shot of Allyson's putting:
And finally, Isaac, with a great amount of determination:
We've decided this would be an ideal sort of one-on-one activity with the kids, a good chance to spend time with a child away from the normal routine, so we may be hitting the links pretty often. If only we could find a place on our side of town--do any of our local readers know if somewhere other than Hinckle to play mini-golf?

The Wall

So, apparently there are some readers who doubt my claim that the retaining wall is coming along. To such scoffers I say, "yeah, I've had my doubts too." But here is some evidence to the contrary:
These are six of the nine blocks I placed in the foundation course today. I also started the second course, mainly to see if I had the first one relatively level (I did):
In fact, I've done so much I couldn't fit it all in one picture. But here's a good view of the bulk of the work:
So far the first course has 21 blocks, running about half the length of the yard. I laid seven blocks on the second course. My plan for now is to pick up 15-18 blocks every morning and lay 10 or so each day. By Friday I should have the first course done and be well along the second.

More El Morro

So, the retaining wall is underway. Summer had her doubts, so she agreed to a bribe to encourage me to actually get some work done. We decided on a dry-stack wall made of the interlocking blocks you can buy for about $2 each, running straight across the backyard. If I laid the first course by the end of the week, we would go camping. As the project unfolded, we changed the plan a few times, which slowed me down, but my 2-3 hours/day of manual labor were impressive, so with 12 blocks laid down (very near perfectly straight, I may add), we decided to make a trip.

However, the weather was not promising. A storm is to come through the state today, and, not wishing to get rained out, we opted for a mini-trip. We would leave after school, have a picnic dinner, and stay up late to stargaze with Ryan's still-unused telescope. Then we'd come home and sleep in our own beds. Like camping but with less gear.

Looking at the chance of rain, going west seemed our best bet, so we hit the road for El Morro, a place we visited last year. It looked to stay dry, and the distance to any sizable towns made it likely that we'd see some good stars. If only the clouds would break...

We got to El Morro around 4:30 and decided to hike to the top. It was odd doing a hike that we tackled last year when Summer was with child, and to make it fair, I promised that I would carry Evan this time. It turns out that he was a lot lighter and less squirmy last year.

We first hiked along the loop by the pool of water and the inscriptions. Here the kids pause by the water that made El Morro a frequented stop over the ages:
We then hiked up. The ascent is pretty decent, and the trail up is a bit slow going. Plus, as mentioned above, Evan would rather walk than be carried, so that was a struggle too. But the joy of hiking with children truly is the journey, as they look at the world around them:
We finally reached the top, where the view is amazing. Here Summer and the kids watch a horned lizard and take in the sights:
And on the hike down, after passing by the pueblo ruins atop the mesa, Ryan took a chance to see what there was to see:
In the Visitors Center afterwards, I saw a book about how children need wild places in their lives. The argument is that without exposure to wilderness, children's development is stunted and their relationship to the world around them is impoverished. After a hike like this, it's easy to agree. Our kids appreciate the natural world more after having been in it, and that is a great source of joy. At one point on the hike I said, "If any of you want to be a park ranger when you grow up, that's fine with me," and they all jumped on the idea. I'll have to visit them at work often, of course...

Now, the goal of this trip was to stargaze. After the hike, we got a campsite and ate dinner. But the clouds (and the mosquitoes) rolled in, so by about 8:00 we hit the road. The clouds kept us from seeing any stars, but we did get to see the moon rise over the mesa before we left:

Book Larnin'

Yesterday was the kids' first day of school. We requested a transfer from their poorly-achieving, overcrowded school near home to a much smaller, high-performing school in the near North Valley. The school is beautiful, with a real gym and a grassy field, as well as a playground across the street. The principal knows the students by name, and there is a real sense of community among the staff, parents, and children. We are very happy with the school.

To make matters better, the kids both have great teachers, and the gifted teacher seems like the kind of person who can both nurture and challenge both of them.

On to the good stuff. Here are the young scholars right before we left.
Note too that the new school does not require the faux uniform nonsense, meaning a)we didn't need to buy two entire wardrobes for each child and b)we will need to wash about 25% less laundry each week.

The Final Birthday of the Season

Sunday was the final birthday in our family until snow falls (or early December, as snow may not fall here by then). For the record, we have 5 birthdays between May and August, so reaching this point is like a big sigh of relief.

Anyhow, here is the birthday boy with his gifts. First, a baby-sized basketball hoop (although the basketballs interest him a lot more):
And second, one of those little button-pop-type toys that you always have in nursery (note how he is already attached to the basketballs):
As Summer blogged about previously, the cake was a homemade masterpiece. Here Evan reaches for the candle:

And here he prepares to dive into his slice of cake:
Then we have before:
During:
And after:
Happy Birthday!

10,678'

On Saturday we decided to escape the heat by going around to the east side of the Sandias and driving to the crest. Once through Tijeras canyon, the land changes to mountains and the road works its way north along the Turquoise Trail through small towns. We then turned west and followed the Sandia Crest Byway up to the top of the mountain. At the crest, several hiking trails converge at a Forest Service visitors center. We got out and did some hiking. Here we are at an overlook above the city:
And here's a view down the mountain looking southwest:
We then took off through the spruce-fir forest for a longer hike. It was amazing how the altitude changes everything. The ground was wet from recent rains and the air was cool. We were among the clouds and the air was thin. In fact, Summer mentioned that she had never hiked at such heights, and I think the same may be true for me. We were at 10,678' at the crest, and I can't think of a time when I've hiked at that altitude.

Here the kids stop in the woods:
The trail branched off after a half-mile, with one route leading to the tram base atop the mountain and another leading to the Kiwanis cabin. We chose the latter, passing by this alpine meadow:
We didn't go all the way to the cabin, as the thin air wore us out quickly. On the way base to the crest we took a spur route along the edge of the mountain. Here is Isaac at the bottom of a set of stairs that led to the cliff edge:
After catching our breath we drove downhill to a picnic area for a late lunch. We came home amazed that it took us six years to make it to the top of the Sandias and convinced that we need to go back often, especially in the heat of the summer. I also have a renewed determination to hike throughout the mountains to our east. My goal--hike the ~20 mile crest trail from end to end. I think in a few years the two older kids can make the hike with me, and maybe we try to get Nathan to come before he leaves on his mission.

Could It Be?

So for the past week or so, Evan has been fanatical about playing catch. He will take a soft ball and run around the house (that's right, walking has given way to a clumsy running) looking to throw the ball to someone. We've made a fun game of sitting in the hall and playing a modified version of catch. When he's feeling wild he'll take a ball in each hand and overload on the fun of it all.
But the best part for me--as seen above--is that he always prefers to throw with his left hand. Now, I love all of my children, and each is wonderful in his/her own way. But to have not one, but two lefties among my offspring (Isaac still favors his left, although he might be completely ambidextrous before all is said and done) is amazing. I just hope I don't get insane about it all. (Too late, you say?)

The Hardest Thing I Ever Have To Do--Work Version

Sorry for the long absence from the blog. This entry will explain that.

Last Saturday at the local Home Storage Center run by the Church, we were canning oats. We prepared over two tons of rolled oats, and, not to brag, I was responsible for dumping about 80% of that from the 25 pound bags into the bins, from which the cans were then filled prior to being sealed. At one point in the process, a member of the ward said to me, "Be careful. That sort of thing can turn into work real quickly if you're not careful."

I assured him that I eschew work, and that is why I went into teaching. This is actually a running gag for me: I tried work and didn't like it, so I chose education. But at times, it's a lot of work. The past two weeks have been among those times.

The courses I teach are all graded on a pass/fail basis, which I love. I always despised having to decide if an assignment was a B+ or an A-, and now, that issue is resolved. In its place, however, is an agonizing moment.

I require my students to earn a certain minimum score on their 5 assignments, with higher scores available for revisions. I see this as emphasizing the importance of revising their work, a key objective to the course. I also leave the time frame for revising open until the end of the term.

The deadline this semester was last Friday. By the end of the day, students needed to have sent in any last revisions to earn the minimum score. So I wound up grading over 200 essays last week to help students get to the minimum score. Most did so, but a few, for a variety of reasons, did not. Thus the agony.

You see, I email students to let them know that they will be unable to pass the class when this situation arises. It's a hard email to write, but I think I usually do a good job of it. However, the students to whom I am writing are usually the least likely to diligently check their email; a lack of dedication to the course underlies most failing grades.

So Monday and Tuesday I had to tell 6 students that they had failed to meet the required score by the deadline and would therefore fail the class. I am not one for confrontation, so this is always an uncomfortable exchange. But more than that, I want so desperately for my students to succeed that assigning a failing grade is painful. I loathe it.

Last year in a meeting with colleagues, I made the comment that anytime a student fails a class, the failure is, at least in part, ours as educators. I believe that, and that belief is why this is the hardest ting I have to do professionally.