Archive for the 'School Stuff' Category
September 8, 2006 @ 5:31 am | Filed under: School Stuff
The professor – sixtiesh, with gray thinning hair, and cobalt blue eyes (think Paul Newman) – walked into the room and strode to the desk.
Dressed in stone-colored Dockers that had been starched to within an inch of their life, brown leather loafers, and a blue polo shirt that almost exactly matched his eyes, he took a seat behind the desk, slowly picked up a stainless-steel coffee mug, proceeded to take a sip, and…
…just quietly stared at us.
For l-o-n-g minutes.
"G’morning." Finally, something. "My name is Dr. Kirk. Yes, like the Starship Enterprise. So if I levitate out of here, you’ll know what happened."
And that, folks, was the introduction to my first college class last week. Comparative Religion, the course I had chosen to satisfy the 3 hour humanities credit I need for my degree plan.
I pulled out my notebook, jotted down his name, office hours, and phone numbers as he began to rattle them off.
"And here is my email address," he walked to the whiteboard and hastily scrawled, "gypsyprof@…"
Oh, boy…I knew I’d better buckle up. My religion teacher’s screen name is…gypsy?
I glanced to my right where three boys and one girl seem nonplussed by the professor’s opening statements. The guys were easily young enough to be my own sons and, judging by the way they slouched in their chairs, I have no doubt they thought this class would be an easy A.
Or a good laugh.
Or maybe both.
The girl, tall with dark, dyed hair and multiple tatoos, stared with rapt attention at Gypsyprof. I tried to look casual as I perused her assortment of body art. I thought I was a fairly hip mom who’d seen quite a lot, but judging by the dress and expressions of some of the kids seated around me, I had a feeling I was about to learn a whole lot more.
"Okay," Dr. K walked to the front of the classroom and leaned against his desk, crossing one finely starched leg in front of the other. "Let’s go around the room. Tell us your name, your religious affiliation, and what role religion has played in your life."
And….we’re off.
Row by row, we went down the line. Four Baptist, two of no particular religious belief, two Catholic, one Atheist, three non-denominational, one Mormon, one Hindu, one Methodist, one Muslim, one Pentecostal (um…that’d be me).
I was hastily jotting down these stats in my blogging notebook (told ya I had one!) when Tatoo Girl startled me.
"My name is "A". My parents named me after a character in a Sci-Fi story."
I stared at the Panda bear tatoo on her left arm and wondered if there was any particular meaning that just below it rested a sun. Shouldn’t the sun be above…
I digress…
"As far as my religious background," she paused and I waited to hear. I was thinking, I don’t know…Scientology, Buddahism…
"I’m Quaker."
Say what????
She was serious and takes her religion very seriously. That taught me something I should have learned well many years ago. Never, ever judge a book by its cover. Because the words inside just might surprise you.
I had no sooner recovered from A’s revelation before we moved on to meeting the next person. Then the next, then the next.
"Uh, yeah." A guy in the rear of the class spoke up, his voice deep and his words s-l-o-w. "I never really had a religious upbringing. Uh, in the past few years I’ve been, uh, kind of, uh, checking things out for myself."
I have to say that at this point my heart truly went out to all the kids that surrounded me. These were impressionable eighteen and nineteen year olds, the very same ages as my own sons, that were obviously interested enough in all the possibilities that religion affords us to be sitting in a classroom looking for answers.
I felt myself so torn. On the one hand so moved by their longing that they’ve begun a search and, on the other hand, afraid that they might not find those needed answers inside the confines of this classroom.
"So, uh, anyway," the boy with the deep, slow drawl continued, "I baptised myself, uh, in a waterfall in Hawaii, uh, last year."
And that was my introduction to Comparative Religion, my eight-thirty class.
I’m thinking that with a full cup of coffee in front of me and these kids surrounding me I’ll be on the edge of my seat for this one!
August 31, 2006 @ 3:21 pm | Filed under: School Stuff
1. The Religions of the World. This text is for the class I’m taking to satisfy my philosophy credit. While I’m thoroughly enjoying the class discussions and the, um, very…colorful characters in the class around me, this text is B-O-R-I-N-G. That’s right, with all CAPS!
2. A hot pink 3-subject notebook, with built-in manilla folders. This notebook is making my life very simple. I have three classes. There are three compartments. One notebook. How handy is that?
3. An assortment of pens, pencils, and highlighters. Basically I just need A pen. But I tend to plan for the unexpected. You just never know when you’re going to need a neon orange highlighter or be called upon to whip out a handy, dandy mechanical pencil.
4. America: A Narrative History. This 758 page text is my U.S. History book. I thought I knew a lot about the history of this great country, you know, being raised by a history teacher-turned-principal and all. But evidently I must have nodded off a time or two during my high school U.S. History classes because I’ve learned lots of really neat facts…in just TWO days!
5. A bookmark from the Writing Center in the library. My Composition & Rhetoric class has a required lab attached to it: three hours in the writing lab. (Oh, come on, twist my arm – make me write!)
6. A maroon-covered academic dayplanner. I keep it tucked in the bag so I can jot down class assignments and be able to see at a glance what my week looks like.
7. My wallet. It holds my license, my school ID, library card, and – of course – a little cash. You never know when you might need a Diet Coke bottle of water or a granola bar. (Water, I meant water. Really.)
8. Making Literature Matter, An Anthology for Readers and Writers. Okay, I simply cannot say enough great things about my Composition & Rhetoric textbook. I love, love, LOVE it! Now granted, I’m a writer, a voracious reader, and a Literature major – but, folks, this book is like water to my soul. I flip through the pages, drinking in each delicious word, relishing the feel of the pages between my fingers. (I know, you’re wondering what my nerd quotient is, aren’t you?)
9. My keys. They somehow manage to find the darkest corner in the furthest reach of the bottom of the bag. The biggest challenge I have each Tuesday and Thursday afternoon is hunting for the ever-elusive car keys.
10. The Syllabi for each class. So I can double-check any ‘ol time I want to see just exactly how many papers I GET to write this semester for all three classes. Call me lucky, or call me crazy, but between these classes I will be writing a grand total of 16 papers this semester. I’M LOVIN’ THAT! (If I was skating around the edges of nerdiness before, I just now fell face-first into nerd-dom, didn’t I?)
11. My cell phone. This is the first time in I-don’t-know-how-many-years that I have to remind myself to check for messages between classes. This is my connection to my husband, children, and my real estate agent.
12. A bottle of water. Just to stay hydrated. I really AM being faithful to my Diet Coke ban and a bottle of water has become my constant companion. I am literally never without one these days. Except maybe at church. Then I leave it in the car.
13. Last but certainly not least…{drum roll, please}…my blogging notebook. Yes, you heard me right. I have a small 4×6 notebook whose sole purpose is to hold recorded notes on all the "characters" (just wait!) in my classes, funny things I overhear, class activities, and my personal take on all that this wonderful journey of going back to college is so lovingly granting to me.
To quote the now famous McDonald’s slogan: I’m Lovin’ It!
July 26, 2006 @ 12:32 pm | Filed under: School Stuff
"Mathematics is not a careful march down a well-cleared highway, but a journey into a strange wilderness, where the explorers often get lost." —W.S. Anglin
_________________________
THANK. YOU.
I couldn’t have said it better myself.
For me math is, at best, a grand test of patience, endurance, and that gnarly feeling you get in the pit of your stomach when you know (you just…know) that things are about to get very, very bad.
Math and I go way back. All the way back to first grade, in fact.
The relationship started off well, with grainy, purple-ish mimeographed pages (remember these predecessors of color copies and laser-printed sheets?) of neatly printed addition and subtraction problems.
"Staci, meet the plus sign. Plus would like to add two apples to your pile of four oranges. How many pieces of fruit do you have now?"
As long as I could equate math with fruit or cookies, or even pencils or pennies, it was all good. Dare I say, even a tad bit…fun?
It all began to go awry mid-semester of my freshman year in high school. One word says it all, seven little letters. A-L-G-E-B-R-A.
I went into the class a little cocky (because I’d never had to work very hard to make good grades before) and more than a little naive (who knew that polynomials and variables could BE so obstinate?)
By the time I’d managed to crawl through Algebra I by the hair of my chinny-chin-chin, I walked into Mrs. Payne’s sophomore geometry class with my tail tucked between my legs.
I was cautiously hopeful that isosceles triangles and terms like area, volume, and perimeter would be kinder and gentler in nature – but I was not holding my breath.
Good thing.
It became a joke in the class that I would treat myself to a banana split at Braums if somehow – by the grace of God or osmosis or whatever worked – I managed to pass the increasingly difficult tests.
Mrs. Payne had the very annoying habit of reading the test grades aloud before handing them back. As if the humilation of a failing grade wasn’t enough on its own, now we had the added bonus of wanting to crawl beneath our desks whenever our name was called.
"Rogers," she would peer over her half-rimmed, silver reading glasses and make direct eye contact.
With bated breath, I would wait like a defendant on trial to hear my fate.
"Looks like you’re going to Braums today," she’d nod and give me the barest of grins. "You got a C."
I still remember the cheers of my classmates and that afternoon, about four o’clock, found a large group of my friends and fellow geometry cellmates clustered around a white Formica table at our local neighborhood Braums.
Some things in life just need to be celebrated, you know?
When (NOT if) I manage to bag the three credit hours of college Algebra that I need in my degree plan, I will celebrate large!
Anybody want in?
________________
Mike snapped this picture of me registering on-line for my classes at Quad C. He and the boys thought it would be "payback" for the many times I’ve declared "Scrapbook moment!" Do I look embarrassed? Nah – not a smidge!
July 19, 2006 @ 11:01 am | Filed under: School Stuff
Do you dare to pursue your dreams – even if the road leading to them scares you silly?
A few weeks ago my friend, Dawn, asked the question: What makes you smile? It sounded simple enough and I automatically clicked into the comment section, poised my fingers over my keyboard, and…froze.
What makes me smile?
I could answer the obvious, but wouldn’t that sound a bit cliche? A toddler’s laughter. My husband’s jokes. A gorgeous day.
I smile about a lot of things. But what truly triggers that deepest of smiles, the one that starts somewhere within my soul, and then slowly radiates in fantastic ripples until it ultimately crawls across my face?
This morning I finally have the answer.
Feeling Jesus’ great unconditional love for me brings me the most sincere joy.
How amazing to know He loves me, but how utterly mind-blowingly amazing it is to know He loves me in spite of my shortcomings, my weaknesses, and my limitations.
I feel His gentle nurturing hand today as I wage a war of insecurity and doubt. He’s whispering words of encouragement even as I question the logic of recent decisions.
In my Thursday Thirteen a couple of weeks ago I alluded to the fact that I would be starting college this fall. Yep, that’s right. You heard it here first. Twenty years out of high school and I’m now stocking up on pens and pencils and three-subject notebooks.
For me.
Now that I’ve hung it out there for everyone in blog universe to know, now that I’m officially enrolled, advised, and equipped to start classes in a mere five weeks <gulp>, I’m experiencing real, honest-to-gracious panic attacks.
The kind where I wake up in a sweat, my thoughts spiraling in dizzy waves of What on EARTH was I thinking?
The kind where my heart races with such velocity that it’s actually painful.
The kind where I’m certain that I’m in no way at all intellectually or emotionally prepared for this adventure I’ve signed up for. That I’ve <Holy Cow!> paid money for!!!
The fear, trepidation, and anxiety all stems from one measley, four-letter word: M-A-T-H. Right now it is the bane of my existence as I painstakingly make my way through the workbook Forgotten Algebra in preparation for the Accuplacer exam I’ll be taking this next Monday morning.
This fear is a very real and present obstacle in my pursuit of a dream I’m daring to reach for. I want a degree in literature, for crying out loud. What place do binomials and quadratic equations have in this quest, I ask you?
And yet facts are facts. I have to have three credit hours of math.
Math and I have a wicked history that goes WAY back, but that’s a story for another day, another post.
Suffice it to say, it’s a bit like being locked up with your most formiddable acquaintance. The one person you’ve just never been able to see eye-to-eye with. You’ve both made peace with the knowledge that you’ll maintain a healthy, respectful distance from one another and go your separate ways. Now – all of a sudden – you’re imprisoned in a cell together and the key to getting out is…getting along!
And yet…
Right now I’m smiling through tears because Jesus has met me this morning, right here in my room-with-a-view, as I’ve struggled with feelings of ineptness, insecurity, and even a brief lapse of mental clarity.
It’s a smile that started in the deepest part of me, the part that only He has access to. I’m sure He’s had easier jobs to do, but He was persistent, and loving, and firm – all attributes of a great father.
I am not proficient at math, but He loves me anyway.
Algebraic expressions do not, nor will they ever, define who or what I am or in any way control the life He’s destined for me to lead. (Can SOMEBODY give me an AMEN?)
But my smile represents so much more than just this realization. I smile because He loves me in moments of success and in moments of failure. He loves me when I thrive and when I flounder. He loves me for everything I am and equally for everything that I am not.
He loves me for who He knows I will ultimately become.
And – because of that – I’m accepting the dare. I will pursue this dream of mine.
Even if it sometimes scares me silly.
