Rowan « Kenny Smith | A remarkable thing happens …

Rowan

I wrote a lot

The thing I was writing yesterday, that I was trying to decide if it should be serious or silly or both? I chickened out and gave it a normal tone. It’s too real to be flip. And too absurd to be serious. So, here are roughly 1,400 words on gambling in sports. It begins:

Welcome to the wide world of losing it all, where you can experience the thrill of maybe and the agony of near certain defeat.

It’s just a matter of when, and how you lose it. And how easy they made it for you to do so. And, also, how much. And how.

If that doesn’t grip you, the rest is a meaty summation of links I’ve been hanging on to for a while. Now I know you’re hooked. I finally wrote the thing because I needed to clean out my inbox. And it’s important.

One of my colleagues wrote to say that he was going to include it in a class. Hopefully not in a “Don’t do it this way” sense.

I was looking up something not too long after this got published and was amazed at how much more stuff had come out, just today, that should go into the thing. The online gambling world moves so, so fast. One more reason to stay away.

Gambling is a thing I could never do — I will never have money that is that disposable — and thus there are many nuances that I don’t have firsthand experience with, but some of the people wrapped up in this have some heartbreaking tales. And it’s skewing younger and younger, as a habit, and, for some, an affliction. Scary stuff.

The snow has not melted. Mostly because it is extremely cold. We watched a neighbor try to blow snow off his driveway today, but it had frozen in spots, and so he was having a difficult time with it. I think my lovely bride pointed it out in the hopes that I would internalize the lesson. He’s a pretty industrious guy, our neighbor, but he must have been busy yesterday since he didn’t get to this chore until today. And so now he struggled because some of the snow had frozen into place. It was good that we cleared ours yesterday.

And it is even better that there’s no more in the forecast, at least until next weekend perhaps. Like all modern playfully superstitious people I will assume that it is because we have a snow blower at the ready.

In our last house, we had a driveway not much longer than the length of a car. A few shovel strokes and you were set. But, last winter, our first winter here, we returned from a trip and found that this driveway is much longer when you measure it in shovel lengths. We came back to a day-or-two old pile of snow six or eight inches deep. And so, we shoveled. Only it was so cold we just stayed cold as we cleared the drive. That was enough for my lovely bride to go buy a snowblower. A few weeks later snow returned to the forecast, I assembled the snowblower as best I could (it was missing four parts) and waited for the snow. I did not add the oil or gas because, I thought, Let’s just see what happens tomorrow. And when that tomorrow came around it was dry as a bone. That was the last threat of snow last winter. So, the blower went into the storage.

Last weekend I brought it out. And remembering that it needed a little extra assembly, we went to the hardware store. I was missing two bolts that held the handle together, and two that hold down the chute. (And, yes, I had to look that up just now.) If there’s one thing in the world I’d like to not do on a Saturday, it’s go to the same place twice. To prevent that, I decided to take the snowblower to the hardware store. Maybe someone there could help me find the appropriately sized hardware. What I’d been using were random bolts and screws I had, and also some bungee straps. But we had the time and opportunity to do this right, plus there’s this great old guy at the hardware store, the sort of fellow that’s done everything and wants to share his knowledge. And I am a sponge, particularly about snow blowers. This is my first one.

Only, he wasn’t there. But a young guy pitched in to help. In fact, he took over the project. I just stood and nodded and thanked him. Maybe I look like the old guy to him. Maybe this getting old thing will have its advantages when I eventually do get old. Anyway, I bought four bolts and two knobs from him. We picked up some bird seed and left.

And this is where you know this story is about the snow blower, but also, Saturday. We left the hardware store and stopped by the drug store. My lovely bride had to pick up a prescription and I wondered around looking at the advancements in cat toys and sleep care. Then we went home. I pulled the snow blower from the back of the car and set out to add the new pieces.

One bolt was missing.

Now I’m going back to the hardware store for the second time, which is the thing I didn’t want to do twice on a Saturday. Only my car won’t start. It’s been cold. The battery was sluggish. I hadn’t driven it in several days. I tried again. It cranked. I drove to the hardware store, left it running, locked it up, went inside, and found the bolt I needed.

The guy saw me.

“Oh no! Did it not work?”

Just missing a part. He was sure he’d picked it out for me. I was ready to pay. He would have none of it. It’s a galvanized thing and costs about $.40 cents and so I didn’t mind. He surely did pick it out for me, it probably just got lost in transit. But he would have none of it, and he insisted I take the part. And maybe the hardware store, twice, isn’t such a bad thing.

Then I drove over to an auto parts store, to test my battery. The guy came out, shivered through the test, and suggested it was just the cold. That’s what I expected, but I figured I had the time and I could get ahead of this for once. It just needed to charge, he said. Keep it running for a while, he said, let the alternator do its work.

I continued the drive, and filled up the tank, and then slowly drove home the long way. It cranked just fine after that. We’ll try it again tomorrow, as part of another domestic tale that will most surely be worth your time.

Anyway, it did snow yesterday, but not enough to seem to need the snow blower, I thought. Later, I was reading posts and realized that is a value judgment people actually make. Maybe I had that one right.

But the snow blower is here. Ready. Ready to not be used. Because we’re playfully superstitious about this.

Ten years ago, today … and I’m not making this a regular feature, but I mentioned it in passing yesterday and it’s super cold here and this is a nice change of pace … we were in the south Caribbean. Specifically, here:

This is the famous California lighthouse in Aruba. It was built between 1914-1916. Topping out at 100 feet, the stone was quarried on the island. The lighthouse is named after this part of the island, which was named after a 1910 shipwreck. The SS California was traveling from Liverpool to Central America and people on board were having a party when the ship ran aground at midnight. The next day the locals saw the damage and waded out to pick up the vessel’s cargo: merchandise, furniture, clothes, and other provisions. They took it all down to Oranjestad to sell it.

We’d gotten there by bus, but the return bus did not return. We started walking. It’s an island, but it’s a long walk, about eight miles as I recall. Finally, a bus which seemed to have the business model of picking up stranded hitchhikers gave us a lift. And then we rented a cab from a lovely woman who was proud to give us a great tour of her home, full of history, demographic insights, and natural medicinal remedy tips. She took us to her brother’s house so we could see iguanas, because they were always in his yard.

We’d hired her for a 90-minute tour, but she turned into an almost three-hour experience.

Aruba is a desert island. And they have the cacti to prove it.

(Click to embiggen.)

She also took us to these picturesque places, like this inlet by the Bushiribana ruins — a gold smelter used to extract gold from the nearby hills for about a decade in the early part of the 19th century — on the eastern side of the island.

I just found her on Instagram. She’s still showing off her island home with that same incredibly warm, welcoming hospitality. I just uploaded a picture we took with her 10 years ago today and tagged her in it. I hope she’s doing well. That was a great trip, Aruba was just one day of it, and the time we spent riding around with her is a real standout moment in a trip that was, truly, filled with them.

I’m not going to do a reminiscence post about the whole trip or make a regular deal out of 10-years-ago today. (It’s all in the archives here, if you want it.) I only wrote all of that because there’s something like a 57-degree temperature swing between here and Oranjestad.

This evening, after an afternoon of profitable work — emails were answered, a syllabus was formatted, etc. — I went downstairs to give my bike a try. I did a 15-mile sprint session in Neokyo. Three spring segments at about 30 miles per hour (so it is confirmed, I am getting slower), but one PR and … what the heck is that?!?!?

Then I rode another 15-mile segment elsewhere, and passed 95 other people along the way. They didn’t know that we were racing, but that’s more of their concern than mine.

So it was that I got back on the bike, for the third time of the new year, and felt much better about it. Time off is a good thing.

But now I’m behind on the mileage spreadsheet … so time off has drawbacks?

Until tomorrow, when I return with tales of unimaginable exploits and feats, ” rel=”noopener” target=”_blank”>go read that column on gambling.

photo / Rowan / Tuesday — Comments Off
17
Dec 24

The grading is going well

Two of my classes are now completed! Except for the grading, which I am doing now. At midnight the submission window closed, and students had a final essay exam and a critical study of a social media platform to get in before that deadline. Now I’m just working my way through three dozen essays and as many audits.

That’s roughly 300-plus pages of material to read through this week, plus two other classes that will continue for one more week beyond. So, guess what! This is another light week!

But, hey, the grass is still bright and green in mid-December, and in the middle of a serious drought!

I went outside just to take that photo. I’d gone downstairs for a late lunch, looked out the southwestern facing window and saw that wonderfully verdant view.

While I was out there, this flew overhead.

Those aren’t drones. That’s maneuvers! These aren’t drones, either.

This joke will never not be funny.

Back to work, then.

photo / Rowan / Tuesday / video — Comments Off
3
Dec 24

Never not grading

I am reading students’ reactions The Social Dilemma, a docu-drama on Netflix. They have to watch the full program and then describe one phenomenon that jumps out at them, and then apply one of the concepts or theories we have discussed in the class this semester to try to better understand it.

Why any of us, including myself, continue to use social media after going through one of my classes I’ll never know.

Well, for me I know. News.

In my other classes, I am looking over slide decks and quizzes and other papers. I’m not sure if the goal is to stay in the curve or get ahead of it. Maybe I’m just preemptively trying to get in the curve.

At any rate, this was my view today.

It’s important, every so often, to look up, and to look out.

adventures / photo / Rowan / Wednesday — Comments Off
13
Nov 24

Walking around on campus

I put together a new look today. The classic gray sports coat, an off-setting light blue shirt. It came together pretty well, even as I struggled with the photo composition. I’m sure it was the natural light coming from the office window to my right.

The pocket square was a gift from my mother-in-law.

That poppy I got in Canada when The Yankee and I were in Ottawa for a conference in 2009. I wore that as we walked through the Canadian capital city. When we got home from that trip we stopped by a restaurant on the way home from the airport, a small little Italian restaurant. The guy that owned it still worked there every day, and he was at the register that night. When we went up to pay he choked up just a little bit, thanked me for wearing that flower, and pointed to the 8×10 photo on the counter. “My son,” he said, rubbing the top of the frame. The picture was of a U.S. Marine in his dress blues.

They all look the same, because they’re Marines, but they’re all different when you stare into the eyes. The modern Corps has only had so many changes to that photograph. They look just about the same, no matter the era. But that print was aged. Faded. The Marine, young and strong, but now gone. That man saw him every day at his store. And so now I wear that flower not just on Memorial Day, but throughout that week, to remember.

That tie was my uncle’s tie. His daughter, my cousin, sent it to me. After he died they gave a bunch of his ties to people at the funeral, but I couldn’t take one. She went through them later and found one for me. His preference in ties was louder than mine, and I don’t know how she worked all that out, but she pulled an understated one for me. I got it yesterday, somehow glad I hadn’t taken one then, but eternally proud for having received one now. And so I wore it today. That was a real gentleman’s tie.

On campus today we went to the university assembled, a regular presentation from the president. He’s a fascinating guy. Good at his job. A real leader — and that’s not a guarantee among university presidents. But Dr. Ali Houshmand is a real talent. He’s served in the role for 12 years, and has overseen a lot of growth, and continues to do so. The university assembled was an opportunity to talk a little about the future.

We sat on the front row.

On Wednesdays I usually talk about markers and local history, but today I thought I’d talk just a tiny bit about this campus’s history.

In the early 1900’s the state found they needed a third normal school — a school for teachers. The locals here lobbied for it to be housed in their community. By 1917, 107 residents raised more than $7,000 to purchase 25 acres. They told the state they’d give it to them if they picked their town for the school’s location. The 25 acres had belonged to the Whitney family, whp ran the famous Whitney Glass Works in the 19th century. On the property was the Whitney mansion and the carriage house.

The state saw the community’s enthusiasm, the free 25 acres, the beautiful location, the train lines and agriculture success and decided this was the right spot for a campus. And both buildings still stand. This is the back of the Carriage House, which we walked by after the big meeting.

The Carriage House is one of the oldest buildings on campus and is now used for our University Publications. You might think that’s why I liked it, but, really, I just enjoyed the texture of the cedar shake shingles.

Whitney Mansion is an Italianate architectural style. It was the president’s home until 1998, and is now it’s a museum and meeting center. I’ll show it to you one day, probably in the spring.

markers / photo / Rowan / We Learn Wednesdays / Wednesday — Comments Off
30
Oct 24

We all feel that poem

Spent the day on campus, where I had a delightful meeting with a student. Also I met with a colleague. And then I graded stuff. After that I sat in the back of a classroom and listened to a presentation on digital marketing. And then we went to the big kids’ pool and I swam 2,000 yards, which was ragged and slow and will surely leave me sore tomorrow for reasons I won’t understand.

Now, I’m back to grading things.

Or I was.

Because now there’s this.

I’ve decided to release an album. The inspiration came on suddenly. Monday, tonight. Now I just have to write the music.

The good news is the art is already done. This may look like someone using a camera to try to look behind a heavy piece of furniture, but it’s really the cover.

And this, to the untrained eye, may look like a pocket photograph, but it is, in fact, the liner notes concept.

The art looks like a hasty independent release, meaning I need to come up with some sufficiently song titles. If only I knew anything about music, I could be on to something. But, alas and alack, I have no musical talent.

We return once again to We Learn Wednesdays, where the historical markers search continues. This is the 52nd installment, and the 84th marker in the We Learn Wednesdays series.

And today we’re learning about Hetty Saunders.

The last four years have been rough on that marker, done in a style which doesn’t hold up very well to the weather. It reads …

Esther “Hetty” Saunders was a remarkable woman of color who began her life in the early 1790s as a slave in Delaware. In 1800, her father saw an opportunity to escape to freedom with his children, crossing the Delaware River into Elsinboro, Salem County. Hetty was left in the care of Joseph and Ann Brick Hall, who were members of the Religious Society of Friends.

Saunders lived virtually her entire life in Elsinboro and Mannington, and would have remained anonymous if not for a collection of her poetry that survived after her death in 1862. Through this collection of poems, Saunders contributed to American literature and provided insights into 19th century African-American life in southern New Jersey. Hers is a voice rarely heard – that of a free woman of color in pre-Civil War America – and her poems provide glimpses of what her life was like and how she perceived and addressed inequities that surrounded her. Her works reveal an independent spirit, largely shielded by the outside, yet quietly prevailing over forces otherwise overwhelming.

The collection of poems written by Esther “Hetty” Saunders and related items are housed within the Salem County Historical Society archives. These materials and the publication I Love to Live Alone: The Poems of Esther “Hetty” Saunders (Donald L. Pierce, editor) are available to researchers at the Society’s library located at 83 Market Street in Salem. Esther “Hetty” Saunders was buried here in the Friends Burial Ground beside her friend Judy Wrying, who she wrote about in her best-known poem, “The Hill of Age.”

Come tell me ancient traveler
Whence thou did engage
How long its been since thou began
To climb the “hill of Age.”

Thou more than fourscore years hast seen
Yet thou art traveling still
I looked up when a little child,
And saw thee on the hill.

I gazed upon thee carelessly
For little then thought I
That I should ever be as old
Or have to climb as high.

Hetty Saunders’ gravesite at Salem Friends Burial Ground is on the New Jersey Women’s Heritage Trail because of the lasting contributions of poet Esther “Hetty” Saunders to the arts and culture in New Jersey.

Her dad brought Hetty and her brothers across the river and to freedom when she was just 7 years old. The modern telling has it that the Hall family convinced Saunders’ father to let her stay with them when he returned, and so she spent the rest of her 70 years with them or near them. She saved enough money to buy a bit of property from the Halls and she built herself a home.

Even as a free woman, it seems she had something of a life of isolation as a black woman in a community largely filled with white Quakers. So she turned to poetry. None were published in her lifetime, but the Hall family preserved the works. And, in 2001, a handful were published by the local historical society. She died in 1862, having apparently never married or having children. Her poetry, the web tells me, is now praised as a rare and remarkable literary legacy.

The next time we return to the marker series we’ll learn a bit about the cemetery where she was buried. If you have missed any markers so far, you can find them all right here.