Rowan


3
Sep 24

A part of something on two wheels

Last Thursday night we got a series of frantic text messages from two different friends asking if we were OK. Of course we were OK, we’d just been in the backyard. It was a nice mild evening, and everything was fine. Only everything was not fine. Just two miles away two cyclists were killed.

Word spreads quickly in a small town. A fireman heard a scanner and called the bike shop and the local bike shop started calling and texting people and some of them thought, “Two people,” and thought of us. We spent the night with eyes a little bit wider, and a lot more sad.

On Friday we learned it was two guys who grew up around here were killed on their way home. They were hockey players. Both had skated at Boston College. Both became pros. One was a star in the NHL. The other had returned to their high school to coach the team. It seems the driver was drinking, had been drinking for sometime, and in his own little rush, swerved right through them, killing them just a few miles from where they were headed.

One of the guys has two young children. The other was expecting his first kid later this year. They were to be in their sister’s wedding this weekend. And now, there’s a growing memorial on the side of the road.

I went by there this afternoon to see it. It’s a stirring little thing, a series of small town gestures that barely registers in the terrible anguish that has been visited upon their families and friends.

This weekend, through the Center for Sports Communication & Social Impact we started a survey for cyclists in the area, and we’ve been impressed by the number of responses we’ve received, but not at all surprised by what their telling us. We’re going to going the survey and have several ideas about what we can do with the data we’re collecting.

In the meantime, my lovely bride did two interviews with the local media today. One with ABC 6.

She did another interview with the Philadelphia Inquirer, which hasn’t been published yet.

They’re asking us, these cyclists who’ve all encountered scary situations, how they can help. The local bike shops want to get involved too.

We went to one of them this afternoon, the ones that were looking for us on Thursday night. They are fed up with losing with losing their friends, worrying about their customers, and making these calls. We listened to them talk about all of it. The stories they can tell. They’re planning a big community meeting, they have the ear of some local lawmakers. Maybe something good will good from this awful mess.

For Johnny and Matty. For our neighbors who ride, from the people we wave at on the road and see on Strava. For all of us.


30
Aug 24

To the weekend!

I have a new setup in the home office. This is, if you ask me, getting a bit excessive. Also, it probably won’t stay like this for long.

Not pictured is all of my audio gear, which I need to work into this new workflow somehow, and also just use more. It’s sitting to the right, and just out of frame.

The biggest problem is going to be struggling with the new keyboard. My computer is one size, my work computer is another size, and when I go between them I’m always about a key, a key and a half, off as I type. It’s all a work in progress, of course, everything always is. The rest just comes down to how you feel about that.

That “Facing History” feature on the monitor, above? That’s on the Rowan site. Some of the archeologists there discovered, just a few years ago, some Hessian soldiers buried not too far away. It’s a Revolutionary War mystery they’re still trying to unravel. Fascinating stuff.

Today I had my first swim in three weeks. Three weeks of summer swimming I had to give up! Stupid ear.

Anyway, I got back in the water today. I was too nervous to do it yesterday, because my stupid ear has not given me a pleasant experience and I’m in no hurry to repeat that. But, healed up, fed up, and finally just dove in today. I wore ear plugs.

They did not work.

As soon as I popped the plug out of my left ear I felt all of the water that the plug was actually holding in.

It’s OK, though, because my lovely bride got me two other kinds of ear plugs to try, as well.

But I got in a good solid 1,650 yards. The first 300 and change were dreadful, because that’s what its like when you’re forever having to stop something, and then begin again. After a while, though, my arms warmed up and my brain got into that magically meditative state where it doesn’t really think about much of anything and the laps just started clicking by.

Three weeks!

Now I just have to wait a day or two to see if the swimmer’s ear returns, I guess. I poured some of the ear drying miracle of chemistry into it. Maybe I’ll be OK.

(Update: Looks like I got by without any problems. Maybe I just have to be particularly careful about this in the future.)

Here’s the last little clip from last week’s concert. This and “Touch Me Fall,” which I don’t think I’ve seen them play live in a long time, are always going to be the songs that opened my eyes up to what Amy Ray does. I’m going to say that, but if I played their whole catalog, it’s really all of it. And then if I played every CD from her solo catalog, I’d say, “See? See, right there.”

Anyway, this is a tune I think that probably does something different for different parts of your fandom. It literally screams about the being too young, and being too old. I was perfectly middle-aged — but trending, ya know? — before I really figured that out. I find this interesting because they have that now 40-year collection of fans. No matter where you were then, now, or in between, it has a moment for you.

  

Forty years. That hardly seems right, but they started playing in Georgia in 1985, and most of the rest of us started catching up in the next five or 10 years.

It’s funny, we went to a show of theirs some time back and jokingly said, “Wow, look at this crowd. How old!” Jokingly because we were, too. And that was seven years ago. Caught them three more times since, now.

I hope we get to go, go, go see them again soon.


29
Aug 24

The gearing up for fall begins

It was a normal Thursday. I went to work, as one normally does. We stopped by a grocery store for fruit and water. I’d also carried a large bin of cut cantaloupe for the ride over.

Campus is just 15 miles, 25 or so minutes, away. We weren’t stocking up for a journey. So the fruit I cut last night was our in-car breakfast. The fruit tray and water was for our beginning-of-the-year department meeting. It was scheduled to run for five hours, including lunch. The meeting ran five hours, and then just a few extra minutes for the traditional grousing and venting that can occur in any meeting, anywhere in America. It was well plotted and well conducted, then.

The meeting began with a few ice breaker. We were asked to list our favorite movie from when we were younger — which was left deliberately vague in an ad hoc way — and how that impacted us. There were 15 people in the room, but it went pretty smoothly. Here are people who have given this thought, live the sort of examined lives that included this precise question or are pretty good at the ol’ razzle dazzle. Since they stand in front of college students and talk for a living, any of these things, all of these things, are possible.

I said The Princess Bride and Spaceballs, which have each, I suppose, informed an irreverent sense of humor. But, I said, lately I’ve been working on another project, which is to each day incorporate a line from Road House into conversation in a contextually appropriate way. The guy sitting nearest to me, an earnest, high energy, fast talking fellow who gives you the impression that he’s seen it all and came back again, said, “Be nice.”

Later I asked him about the message of his t-shirt. It was a direct reference to a British comedy and, he explained, a direct commentary on …

I’d only just met him, but told him we were going to get along just fine.

Much talking was done. Some writing was done. Advice was shared. People had questions. Sometimes there were answers. Other times, the answers would be forthcoming from other series of meetings. Academia in a nutshell.

And while this was happening all afternoon I received an email from the technology people that my new computer setup was in. I’d previously been told it would take a few weeks to arrive. Now, I’m under a barrage of emails, but it hasn’t been a couple of weeks. So a pleasant surprise. I made an appointment to stop by after the faculty meeting to get the new hardware.

There’s a place setup on campus designed to be evocative of Apple’s Genius Bar and that’s where the hardware distribution is taking place. The people there were perfectly lovely, pre-fall-term enthusiasm is a great vibe. I had a nice conversation with a young man where he came to realize that he could talk to me almost like a person who actually knew what was going on. I am not that person, but I know those people, and I have learned, over the years, the deft art of faking it. I walked out a short time later with two armfuls of things.

I did not sign the first document. I assume that they assume I am me because I knew my password.

And tomorrow I’ll start setting up some of that equipment. It was then, a productive day.

Just one song today, so I can cover the whole week. This is the first track from their 13th studio album which is turning 13 this fall. I mishear the chorus. It might be a deliberate choice because, sometimes I’ve finally learned, those are just better versions for you.

  

(Remember, I was shooting that from a ZIP code away, but the audio is pretty good.)

I take it as share the mood, rather than the moon. You can see why the latter works, but the thing that binds us to other people is the shared moment, of course, and that could be something with or without a celestial satellite. We just need a personal satellite, or to be the one orbiting others, maybe. Probably I’m overthinking this. Probably it’s just always been clunky hearing.

I mean it’s right there in the title of the song. I have the album, of course. I’ve seen Amy and Emily play this song live at least three or four times. Doesn’t matter. What is important is the mixture of what it all brings forward. There’s a certain tiredness, a resignation, in the lyrics, but in that third verse, above, there’s something more fundamentally aspirational at play. And it’s all underpinned by the E, by the mandolin and wrapped up in Lyris Hung’s beautiful violin. Who has not been on that road, going somewhere? Hoping to head to someone?

See? It’s a mood.

But I overthink, which is the prelude to overwriting.

And sometimes the prelude to underwriting, too, if you think about it.

So just a normal Thursday, then.


6
May 24

My eyes may now be semi-permanently crossed

It took an effort, and by effort I mean most of the weekend and Friday before it, but two-thirds of my grades are now submitted. Grading, then making sure I have all of the same grades in independent spreadsheets, the making sure the formulas comport with what’s on the syllabus. After that, I have to make sure I did the math correctly. I do this part several times because, ya know, math. Then I make sure my two spreadsheets agree with one another. With all of those potential stumbling blocks avoided, it’s time to actually upload the grades.

You can import this data from a spreadsheet, but my classes are small enough that I do it by hand. Scroll down a list, select the correct value from the drop down boxes. The problem is that my classes are large enough that all of the names won’t fit on one screen, and so I must scroll. But, also, scrolling websites is somehow a challenge in this, the 21st century.

It’s a process, and now mostly complete.

I’ll wrap up the last class in the next day or so. The good news is that most of the above has been completed for that one too. And summer is coming.

Theoretically. It’s been damp and cold for days. It’s mid-May.

Some around-the-place shots. We have some nice tables out back, and I know I need to clean this off the iron, but the moss does look nice.

Maybe next week, presuming we have a day when it isn’t raining.

The weather doesn’t seem to be hampering some of the other things growing around here. Well, hello, peaches!

I’ll be pulling all of these — and many, many more — inside in a few months.

Want some peaches? Now taking requests.

The rhododendrons are looking lovely, as well.

Let’s go back to California to see the bloody-belly comb jelly. Red looks black even just below the surface of the water, and in the deep sea, where these creatures live, you won’t find spotlights. It is very dark 1,000 feet below the surface in the North Pacific.

These jellies, then, hide in plain sight. Predators and prey never see those incredible colors of the light diffracting off the combs. Technically, these are ctenophores, meaning that they are not true jellies, but the name is sticking. This species were first collected off San Diego in 1979 and described in just 2001.

 

There’s one more California video, I think. I’ll try to get it here next week.

Tomorrow, we’ll see how things are shaping up with a few of the other growing things. But, for now, I have to get back to the household chores. I have to make the place look presentable; company is coming tomorrow!


1
May 24

It’s gonna be performative evaluations

Grading will never end. This was my own doing. The way the semester’s calendar came together I had two classes that were a little heavy in the last three weeks. Not so much as to be daunting for students, but to give them a little challenge. It has, however, become a bit daunting for me.

I have final projects to grade in one class. In two other classes there are two large written assignments, two smaller assignments, and final exams.

So guess what I’m doing between now and kingdom come?

I am making some progress. I got through all of the smaller written assignments yesterday. Trying to build momentum and all of that. That took several hours.

Smaller assignments.

Today I got through the final projects in my New Media class and tallied grades. I’ll go over those again tomorrow to make sure all of the numbers are correct. (Update: The math works!)

And then the work continues all through the weekend, probably.

Yesterday evening I did get out for a brief bike ride. Better work and the weather that’s probably the last ride I’ll get for the next week or more. In that context, this sort of thing is frustrating, but that’s the way it works. At the end of the ride I set two Strava PRs on segments even though they didn’t feel like they were especially strong, so I almost had some form. That’s the way it works for me. A few ups, followed by a bunch of downs immediately thereafter.

I saw some great livestock on this ride, though.

Makes me want to go on another bike ride!

Instead, let’s revisit another bike-themed feature, We Learn Wednesdays, where we discover the county’s historical markers via bike rides. This is the 34th installment, and the 61st and 62nd markers in the We Learn Wednesdays series.

So let’s go back to Fort Mott, where last week we saw the old gun batteries that defended the Delaware River and Philadelphia, beyond.

Today, we’ll examine the observation towers that served those batteries. This is fascinating technology at the beginning of the 20th century.

Fifty-two feet above the ground, soldiers in this observational tower were able to identify an enemy vessel, calculate its speed and distance, note weather conditions and communicate this information to the main plotting room and the ten-inch guns at Battery Harker. Soldiers at the gun batterys used this information to compensate for weather, set the firing range and direction and potentially fire at an unsuspecting vessel.

This tower was completed in 1903. It has two levels: an observation room and meteorological station on the glass-topped upper level, and a target plotting room below, from critical data would be relayed to soldiers aiming the big guns.

We learned last week that when they tested the guns they blew out the windows on the fort, and at nearby farms. These were powerful guns, meant to do terrible damage, and they had to control for the recoil. What went into that is most impressive.

When the big guns were fired, vibrations similar to a small earthquake affected the delicate instrumentation contained with the observation towers. Soldiers had to continuously adjust their instruments to make accurate readings.

To solve this problem Army engineers designed a concrete-filled tube below the tower and attached it between the instrument platform and the ground. The tube was then encased in a steel jacket. It served as a basic vibration-dampening device to protect the instruments and a means of insulating power and phone wiring as well.

These were serious people doing serious work, and they didn’t just invent these techniques on the spot. But every new thing you learn should make you wonder how the once-upon-a-timers came up with the solutions that worked.

If you look across the moat toward the river, you will see the second tower. This fifty-five foot high tower has a single observation level for taking accurate sights on enemy targets. Its primary function was to obtain target information for the twelve-inch guns of Battery Arnold.

And here is that other, simpler tower.

Five gun batteries, two observation towers. And, remember, Fort Mott was just one of three forts protecting this stretch of the Delaware River.

In it’s day, Fort Mott was a self-contained military community. There were more than 30 buildings here, some of which we’ll take a glance at later. There was a hospital, a PX, a library, a school and more. Fort Mott was rendered obsolete when Fort Saulsbury became operational just after World War I. The last soldiers were removed in 1922, the fort became a state park in 1951.

If you’ve missed any markers so far, you can find them all right here.

Tomorrow: more grading! And maybe some other stuff, who can say? You can! Try the comments below.