You all know the refrain: I have a ton of work to have done before tomorrow's classes; I have an 11:30 meeting followed by P&B, so I don't really have enough time to get all the work done--but I'm feeling whiny and petulant, so I'm hanging it up for tonight. I've tried to tie up one or two little loose ends (one of which wasn't even on my triage sheet: I had to rework the final essay assignment for the 102s so I can distribute it this week)--but I still have an enormous, steaming pile of student work on my desk, and I really do need to get it back to them. I'm rather hoping for a "magic pony" moment: that I will finish this blog post--or even interrupt it part way through--and crank through another paper or two.
Hah. There's delusional thinking for you.
The problem, of course, is that because registration starts on Wednesday, we had students back-to-back-to-back today in Advisement--and that trend will pretty much continue for the remainder of the term. The students weren't lined up out the door, but there was a steady stream of them, so just when I'd think the waiting area was empty, nope, there was another student for me to see. Only one was painful--and it's a pain we're all used to: the completely unprepared, incapable student who wants to get into the nursing program. I'm suddenly reminded of a student I had years ago who took one of the comps from me (101, I think) twice, failed it twice--and thought he was going to become a surgeon. I know that surgeons don't necessarily have to be brilliant at English-type topics, but the kid couldn't read with any understanding, couldn't write at all--and was doing equally "well" in all his other courses, too. He was so sweet and friendly and charming, I had to like him, but talk about someone whose thinking was delusional. The sad thing is, he'd gotten this far with no one ever demanding of him that he actually master any of the skills needed to be an adult in the world, never mind a college student. And the young nurse wannabe today struck me as being very much of the same ilk. It breaks my heart.
Class today was rough: one of the smart whips in the class was there, but a couple on whom I rely to keep the ball bouncing were out, so there wasn't much in the way of conversation. However, I did meet with the young woman who left her papers on my office door for millennia. She sent me a rather sad e-mail last night, saying she couldn't understand the book and wondering if she should withdraw. I told her we should talk--and since I let class out very early, she and I sat there in the classroom and went over her reading.
She says she has a significant anxiety disorder, for which she has yet to find the correct medication, and she also has ADHD--but can't medicate both at the same time. However, I said she needed to set all that aside and develop a reading strategy that might work for her. When she reads paragraph by paragraph and simply focuses on each one without trying to go beyond simply what happened, she does fine: the problem is that after a few pages, her attention has wandered and she has no clue what she's been reading. I suggested that she make a brief note about each paragraph as she reads, jot down just enough so when her mind wanders, instead of having to reread the pages in the book, she can simply look at her own notes and think, "Oh, right, I remember now" and keep going.
We talked, too, about the sometimes painful calculus of time: reading that way will be very very slow--and she may find that her other courses are suffering because she's putting so much time into her English class. If that turns out to be the case, she should withdraw and put her energy into the classes where her grades can be better. She acknowledged that she barely squeezed through 101, so it's not terribly surprising she's struggling in my 102. We'll keep in touch about her progress and revisit her case after spring break.
But I found the whole thing very moving. She'd made friends with another young woman in the class--who showed up today to withdraw. I didn't try to talk her out of it (she's right; she should), but they both said I'm an "awesome" professor. I don't tend to take that kind of compliment very seriously--easy to say, doesn't necessarily mean anything--but the young woman I was working with said that she'd been at another school before coming here, and her teacher for 101 assigned even more work than I do (can you imagine?) but provided no support: she'd essentially throw the students into the deep end and leave them there. I at least will be shouting from the sidelines with instructions how to dog-paddle--and this young student was deeply grateful for that. I don't know that it will help her in the long run; this feels very much to me like too little too late. But I'm glad that she's at last coming to me for help--and realizes she'll get it.
As frustrated as I get with the students, their lack of responsibility, their cavalier attitudes, their resistance to actual learning, I also truly do love working with the ones who are willing to listen and try. I love helping them. I love the fact that I can give them something of value--not just for my class but for life in general. I truly love that feeling. it's why I do what I do.
It's still light out--ah, spring truly is coming!--and I'm going to head for the hills. I'm going to try my damndest to set an early alarm, get here molto pronto, and hit the ground running tomorrow. There's always the fall back and punt option, when all else goes awry. As it may well do--but only briefly. No matter what, there are six more weeks of class to go this semester (seven weeks total, given spring break), and then it's over--and somehow, as is always the case, it will all be finished. Till then, I just keep breathing and putting one foot in front of the other, keeping on keeping on.
Monday, March 31, 2014
Thursday, March 27, 2014
Huh.
Well, the Viking showed up to my office hour today, somewhat brisk but civil, reeking of cigarette smoke, mousey girlfriend in tow and two withdrawal slips in hand. First he handed me his--and handed one to her. Then she handed me hers. I looked at her rather sharply and said, "I'm losing you, too?" She nodded, tight lipped. For a fraction of a second I thought about sending him out and trying to talk her into staying, but I could all too clearly see the "I stand by my man against the forces of the Evil Empire as represented by you, you wicked witch" look on her face, so I simply said, "I'm disappointed by that. Very disappointed," and signed the form. She said something about devoting more of her time to her artwork, but all of us knew that was a face-saving sop, and that really, she's simply allowing him to bully her because she loves him. I hope she gets that syndrome out of her system young--but I also recognize that she may not. Ever. And simply staying in my class will not strike the shackles from her wrists and free her to blossom into a woman of power and authority. Ah well.
But Paul was ever so right. The class was helped by the presence of two of the brighter lights, who'd been absent last week, but almost everyone was more willing to speak up and get into the conversation in the Viking's absence. I think the students who were in class today will pretty much be it until the end of term. It was a good dynamic, and if this is how it ends up settling out, I'll be fine with that.
But if today's student population is all I've got left, there will be one sadness: my beautiful Calyx has been conspicuously absent, and I think I may have mentioned that I received an e-mail from her mother telling me that Calyx is suffering from an eating disorder--and lots of shame, and so she won't come to me for help. I'm afraid it's getting to the point that there is little I can do. I wrote her an e-mail suggesting that she come meet with me--but I'm not sure she's even able to do that much right now. I can't help but compare what I'm seeing from Calyx and the ongoing drama from Judy Blue-Eyes last semester, and what I see in Calyx is genuine anguish--and pride, and, as I said, shame. I hope she comes to me. There's no way she can salvage the semester in the time remaining, but I have an idea about what she might do instead. I won't mention it here, yet--too many possible barriers to it--but I don't want her to vanish: I want to at least do what I can to alleviate a little of the shame.
Nature in Lit is getting fun, after the teeth-pulling of the first half of the semester--and I think when we embark on the Le Guin novella with which we finish, it will be even more fun. I'm frantically trying to keep to the tattered remains of the schedule, but that's different from the class dynamic, which is pretty nifty.
And today's 102 went surprisingly well. The period started with two students showing up to withdraw, and another reappearing in class after registering late, turning in two assignments (no papers), and then being absent for more than half the classes. I was surprised to see her back, but she's an adult, and it turns out A) her life went to hell (husband lost his job, home may be foreclosed on) and if she withdraws, she may have to return the loan money she got for the semester--as in return, not repay. Right now: $1200. I suggested she go to the Center for Educational and Retention Counseling, find out what her options are, and let me know what works best for her.
But once all that was cleared out, the students who remained (well, most of them) were doing a reasonable job of talking about the book, understanding what's going on, asking good questions, picking up on important points. They're not as scintillating as the other 102: the other one has several very bright students and they're all willing to talk; today's has two bright students, one who almost never speaks, for reasons that remain mysterious to me, and one who is utterly silent--but in her case I know why: shy, non-native speaker, and wears braces: a veritable trifecta of reasons why she won't talk in class). The rest are OK. Some will talk, some won't, but there simply isn't the same wattage in terms of intellects or personalities. But still, they're doing their best.
After class, a student came in to withdraw--and that was a hard one to see go. She started out the semester being late to virtually every class because of her job; then just as it seemed like she was going to be able to be there regularly and get on top of everything, she disappeared. But she was not only very bright, she also was good at participating in the class discussions, and I really had wanted her to make it. Turns out, she was offered a full-time job that she really couldn't say no to, but the job makes it impossible for her to get to class on time. She really wanted to take 102 with me again--she even said that she's reading the novel on her own, knowing she wouldn't be able to make it to class--and I felt a real pang that this is the first time in ages that I haven't been able to say "sure, take it from me again in the fall." I couldn't even say, "well, you can't take it from me in the fall, but you will be able to in the spring." But she may well sign up for Fiction Writing--assuming she can schedule it (which, actually, I rather doubt, given her job)--simply because she likes the way I teach and wants to work with me. (I was rather gratified to hear that my Rate My Professor ratings are now largely positive: students acknowledge that I'm very challenging but they say I'm a "real" college professor, which is nice.) I said that if she ever wants to come see me at an evening office hour or set up a time to meet with me, just to talk about the book, I'd be delighted. I hope she takes me up on it. Even if she's never my student again, she's one I want to keep an eye on, because she's set to do extremely well indeed.
And as a very sweet coda, as I was packing up to leave, the next class was filing in--and one noticed that on the board was a discussion of sex versus gender. She asked what the class was, and when I said it was 102, she clearly wondered why, then, all the stuff about sex/gender--so I told her that it's from the book we're reading. She immediately wanted to know about the book and took down the title and author, said she'd read it. I hope she does. It really is simply a terrific read.
And I really am simply terrifically tired. Stick-a-fork-in-me done. There's more I could say (there always is: it's sort of endless, if in some ways very repetitive), but I'm fresh out of the desire to say any of it. Mum's the word, until Monday.
But Paul was ever so right. The class was helped by the presence of two of the brighter lights, who'd been absent last week, but almost everyone was more willing to speak up and get into the conversation in the Viking's absence. I think the students who were in class today will pretty much be it until the end of term. It was a good dynamic, and if this is how it ends up settling out, I'll be fine with that.
But if today's student population is all I've got left, there will be one sadness: my beautiful Calyx has been conspicuously absent, and I think I may have mentioned that I received an e-mail from her mother telling me that Calyx is suffering from an eating disorder--and lots of shame, and so she won't come to me for help. I'm afraid it's getting to the point that there is little I can do. I wrote her an e-mail suggesting that she come meet with me--but I'm not sure she's even able to do that much right now. I can't help but compare what I'm seeing from Calyx and the ongoing drama from Judy Blue-Eyes last semester, and what I see in Calyx is genuine anguish--and pride, and, as I said, shame. I hope she comes to me. There's no way she can salvage the semester in the time remaining, but I have an idea about what she might do instead. I won't mention it here, yet--too many possible barriers to it--but I don't want her to vanish: I want to at least do what I can to alleviate a little of the shame.
Nature in Lit is getting fun, after the teeth-pulling of the first half of the semester--and I think when we embark on the Le Guin novella with which we finish, it will be even more fun. I'm frantically trying to keep to the tattered remains of the schedule, but that's different from the class dynamic, which is pretty nifty.
And today's 102 went surprisingly well. The period started with two students showing up to withdraw, and another reappearing in class after registering late, turning in two assignments (no papers), and then being absent for more than half the classes. I was surprised to see her back, but she's an adult, and it turns out A) her life went to hell (husband lost his job, home may be foreclosed on) and if she withdraws, she may have to return the loan money she got for the semester--as in return, not repay. Right now: $1200. I suggested she go to the Center for Educational and Retention Counseling, find out what her options are, and let me know what works best for her.
But once all that was cleared out, the students who remained (well, most of them) were doing a reasonable job of talking about the book, understanding what's going on, asking good questions, picking up on important points. They're not as scintillating as the other 102: the other one has several very bright students and they're all willing to talk; today's has two bright students, one who almost never speaks, for reasons that remain mysterious to me, and one who is utterly silent--but in her case I know why: shy, non-native speaker, and wears braces: a veritable trifecta of reasons why she won't talk in class). The rest are OK. Some will talk, some won't, but there simply isn't the same wattage in terms of intellects or personalities. But still, they're doing their best.
After class, a student came in to withdraw--and that was a hard one to see go. She started out the semester being late to virtually every class because of her job; then just as it seemed like she was going to be able to be there regularly and get on top of everything, she disappeared. But she was not only very bright, she also was good at participating in the class discussions, and I really had wanted her to make it. Turns out, she was offered a full-time job that she really couldn't say no to, but the job makes it impossible for her to get to class on time. She really wanted to take 102 with me again--she even said that she's reading the novel on her own, knowing she wouldn't be able to make it to class--and I felt a real pang that this is the first time in ages that I haven't been able to say "sure, take it from me again in the fall." I couldn't even say, "well, you can't take it from me in the fall, but you will be able to in the spring." But she may well sign up for Fiction Writing--assuming she can schedule it (which, actually, I rather doubt, given her job)--simply because she likes the way I teach and wants to work with me. (I was rather gratified to hear that my Rate My Professor ratings are now largely positive: students acknowledge that I'm very challenging but they say I'm a "real" college professor, which is nice.) I said that if she ever wants to come see me at an evening office hour or set up a time to meet with me, just to talk about the book, I'd be delighted. I hope she takes me up on it. Even if she's never my student again, she's one I want to keep an eye on, because she's set to do extremely well indeed.
And as a very sweet coda, as I was packing up to leave, the next class was filing in--and one noticed that on the board was a discussion of sex versus gender. She asked what the class was, and when I said it was 102, she clearly wondered why, then, all the stuff about sex/gender--so I told her that it's from the book we're reading. She immediately wanted to know about the book and took down the title and author, said she'd read it. I hope she does. It really is simply a terrific read.
And I really am simply terrifically tired. Stick-a-fork-in-me done. There's more I could say (there always is: it's sort of endless, if in some ways very repetitive), but I'm fresh out of the desire to say any of it. Mum's the word, until Monday.
Wednesday, March 26, 2014
Lovely end to a day
Today was less flurried than I thought it might be; fortunately, I'm at the stage in semester when less is flying about--although the assessment meeting did bring to my attention places in which I have once again over-extended myself, because I get interested in stuff, dammit. I have to stop that, apparently. In any event, I finally have realized that I must make peace with the fact that I am simply going to have to find a day, soon, to devote almost exclusively to Taskstream mania. The thing was constructed by people with Information Technology brains for people with corporate brains and I'm a person with a humanities brain trying to use it for humanities purposes--so every time I'm away from it for more than about 35 seconds, I cannot remember what's where or how it works or what's possible. And we have a shit load of stuff to input--and one of the members of the subcommittee is heavily pregnant and so exhausted she can't do much and the other is out recovering from a very difficult and troublesome surgery. So it's all mine. Which in a way makes it easier: I'm going to just make a plethora of executive decisions and inform the committee as a whole what I've done. Anyone dislikes it, they can tell me what to do instead--if what they suggest is easy and makes sense--or they can do something a great deal more physically challenging.
I'm relatively sure I have the triage correctly sorted in terms of the pile of student assignments on my desk, and I did initiate scheduling two adjunct observations plus tagged a very helpful and kind colleague to undertake a third, so that's in the works and, for the nonce, off my list. I have an important committee meeting tomorrow--the one I've turned over to my alternate twice already, so I just am not missing that one again if I can help it (or until I'm on sabbatical)--but I still think I can get enough work done for tomorrow's classes and then just be in regular work rhythm next week. I have to check my calendar and see when else I have meetings and so on in the next two weeks, and then it will be spring break. And then we will be deeply into the "hang onto the safety bar and scream" end of the semester. That's such a funny and abrupt tipping point, and it's almost instantaneous: from "Will this semester never end?" to "Oh My God, it's almost over and I have so much to do!!"
I had a little mini freak-out earlier, because the next mini-paper from the Nature in Lit students is due tomorrow--and I'm not sure I ever handed out the assignment. I'm ready with the ten zillionth schedule change if I did not hand it out, but God I hope I did.
I had a lovely discussion after class with Mr. Dad: a lot of Le Guin's philosophy as revealed in the novel is speaking loudly to him, specifically the emphasis of presence over progress, the idea of being fully immersed in the moment and otherwise trying to maintain a positive kind of ignorance--not as in ignoring anything but as in not bringing any expectations or baggage into each new moment but allowing it to arrive as fresh and pure as possible. We got into a brief discussion of Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs and Taoism and Eckhard Tolle's The Power of Now.... I love having student conversations like that. This is why I want to establish "salon" hours in the creative writing "library," so student can simply drop by, hang out, and talk with people who are intellectually awake and aware. I hate to say it, but it's not an experience they often get here. For a community college, this place has a magnificently large proportion of superior brains that are alert and active, but still, there is quite a bit on the other side of the bright to dim spectrum as well. So it was cool to have a chance to toss some sparks around with a young man who is looking for that kind of experience.
I came back to the office intending to crank through a few more assignments, but instead I ended up in a conversation with Paul, which was one of our usual fun and fascinating and wide-ranging mental smorgasbords. And then I decided to check e-mail before blogging and found a reply from Le Guin about my questions as raised by the student. I was both relieved that my assumptions were correct and delighted that she, too, was fascinated by what the student found. Very cool beans.
Oh, and one other piece of good news today: the guy I was helping through the promotion to tenure and assistant professor process, the brilliant teacher who couldn't jump through a hoop to save his life, the one whose application was, in my estimation, far weaker than it should have been by rights: that guy told me today that his tenure has been confirmed. I'm so glad. I'm not actually surprised: tenure isn't competitive here (thank god, or he probably wouldn't have gotten it). But I'm definitely very glad and relieved that it's fait accompli. Any other outcome would have been truly a miscarriage of any kind of justice.
But now the fact that I woke up at 4:30 this morning is starting to catch up with me. (My body clearly is confused about sleep/wake cycles, after the last three days of illness and recovery.) And I do want to try to get in as early as I can stand in order to get through as much student work as possible before that meeting. So, I'm off for tonight. I'm also leaving. (Oh hah hah.)
I'm relatively sure I have the triage correctly sorted in terms of the pile of student assignments on my desk, and I did initiate scheduling two adjunct observations plus tagged a very helpful and kind colleague to undertake a third, so that's in the works and, for the nonce, off my list. I have an important committee meeting tomorrow--the one I've turned over to my alternate twice already, so I just am not missing that one again if I can help it (or until I'm on sabbatical)--but I still think I can get enough work done for tomorrow's classes and then just be in regular work rhythm next week. I have to check my calendar and see when else I have meetings and so on in the next two weeks, and then it will be spring break. And then we will be deeply into the "hang onto the safety bar and scream" end of the semester. That's such a funny and abrupt tipping point, and it's almost instantaneous: from "Will this semester never end?" to "Oh My God, it's almost over and I have so much to do!!"
I had a little mini freak-out earlier, because the next mini-paper from the Nature in Lit students is due tomorrow--and I'm not sure I ever handed out the assignment. I'm ready with the ten zillionth schedule change if I did not hand it out, but God I hope I did.
I had a lovely discussion after class with Mr. Dad: a lot of Le Guin's philosophy as revealed in the novel is speaking loudly to him, specifically the emphasis of presence over progress, the idea of being fully immersed in the moment and otherwise trying to maintain a positive kind of ignorance--not as in ignoring anything but as in not bringing any expectations or baggage into each new moment but allowing it to arrive as fresh and pure as possible. We got into a brief discussion of Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs and Taoism and Eckhard Tolle's The Power of Now.... I love having student conversations like that. This is why I want to establish "salon" hours in the creative writing "library," so student can simply drop by, hang out, and talk with people who are intellectually awake and aware. I hate to say it, but it's not an experience they often get here. For a community college, this place has a magnificently large proportion of superior brains that are alert and active, but still, there is quite a bit on the other side of the bright to dim spectrum as well. So it was cool to have a chance to toss some sparks around with a young man who is looking for that kind of experience.
I came back to the office intending to crank through a few more assignments, but instead I ended up in a conversation with Paul, which was one of our usual fun and fascinating and wide-ranging mental smorgasbords. And then I decided to check e-mail before blogging and found a reply from Le Guin about my questions as raised by the student. I was both relieved that my assumptions were correct and delighted that she, too, was fascinated by what the student found. Very cool beans.
Oh, and one other piece of good news today: the guy I was helping through the promotion to tenure and assistant professor process, the brilliant teacher who couldn't jump through a hoop to save his life, the one whose application was, in my estimation, far weaker than it should have been by rights: that guy told me today that his tenure has been confirmed. I'm so glad. I'm not actually surprised: tenure isn't competitive here (thank god, or he probably wouldn't have gotten it). But I'm definitely very glad and relieved that it's fait accompli. Any other outcome would have been truly a miscarriage of any kind of justice.
But now the fact that I woke up at 4:30 this morning is starting to catch up with me. (My body clearly is confused about sleep/wake cycles, after the last three days of illness and recovery.) And I do want to try to get in as early as I can stand in order to get through as much student work as possible before that meeting. So, I'm off for tonight. I'm also leaving. (Oh hah hah.)
Tuesday, March 25, 2014
Sick day #2
It's interesting how the body will give us what we want, whether we really want it to or not. Despite the snow days, and Presidents' Week, and the upcoming spring break, I've been moaning and whining about needing a day off--so on Sunday, I got well and truly ill. Yesterday I still was not well enough to teach. Today, I probably could have done it--and indeed, I got myself all the way to campus and sat at my desk for about ten minutes before I thought, "Nope, not gonna," told the office to cancel my classes and came home. So I got my days off. I know the consequent pile-up of more things on the to-do list will be a bit frantic-making, but I have to say, it's been good to be home, answer e-mails, think about some committee work, and otherwise rest.
Having been to the office today, however, I am reminded that I am currently somewhere between livid and hopelessly resigned over one student in 102. I believe I've bitched about her before: this is the one who gave me a series of excuses for why she couldn't pick up the final version of her first paper and just wanted to know the grade--then was astounded by the grade when she'd worked so hard. She tried it again: She was late submitting the second version, so I told her I'd leave the comments on my office door (two other students were in the same boat). Then I got an e-mail from her, saying couldn't I just send her the comments? I wrote a blistering e-mail in return, pointing out that 1) I didn't have her paper to refer to; I'd left it on my office door, and strangely enough, I don't remember her paper individually well enough to give her comments without the actual paper to refer to and 2) I'd already done my job writing the comments on her paper; I wasn't going to do it again because it's inconvenient for her to get to campus to pick up her paper and 3) she says she's "working hard" but I note that her first paper--which presumably has comments that might have helped her with the second one--is still sitting on my office door, and if she can't take that much responsibility, then how hard is she really working?
I got back an abject reply that I'm right (yeah, I know) and thanking me for my comments.
Which she still hasn't gotten--because now two of her papers are sitting on my office door.
Of the three students who needed to pick up comments in order to do their final versions, only one did. I think maybe eight students actually showed up for class yesterday: Paul kindly agreed to go there to collect papers and to remind them that they need to follow the schedule of assignments for Wednesday. I almost asked him to do it again today, but then I thought "Fuck it." Maybe three students got the e-mail saying they should leave their papers on my office door. Maybe one actually will.
I'm so sick of their lack of responsibility, it's hardly surprising I've got a stomach virus. But I must say, it makes me look forward to teaching 101 in the fall--because I'll have absolutely no illusions about it. I'll expect them to be utterly irresponsible, to have to be taught everything--and I do mean everything--about how to behave as college students. I expect 102 students to be at least a little better, and in my experience lately, they're not. So, note to self: when I next teach 102, make no such assumptions.
On a much more positive front, however, Mr. Dad from 102 did some work that prompted me to check in with Le Guin on something regarding the book. I'd always dismissed the similarity between a character's name in her novel--Ennoch--and the biblical character Enoch, but my student did some research that made me wonder if I should be so quick with my assumptions. I've sent her an e-mail with the question and await her reply; whatever she says will be interesting to take back to the class.
Tomorrow will be a long day--and I'm sure I'll be feeling well enough for it. I'll start with a 9:30 departmental assessment meeting (always a fun-fest), then Advisement, then class--and if I have any energy left (please god), I'll write up the two observations I've done and think about scheduling a few more observations of new adjuncts. And check my triage lists. And on we go.
Having been to the office today, however, I am reminded that I am currently somewhere between livid and hopelessly resigned over one student in 102. I believe I've bitched about her before: this is the one who gave me a series of excuses for why she couldn't pick up the final version of her first paper and just wanted to know the grade--then was astounded by the grade when she'd worked so hard. She tried it again: She was late submitting the second version, so I told her I'd leave the comments on my office door (two other students were in the same boat). Then I got an e-mail from her, saying couldn't I just send her the comments? I wrote a blistering e-mail in return, pointing out that 1) I didn't have her paper to refer to; I'd left it on my office door, and strangely enough, I don't remember her paper individually well enough to give her comments without the actual paper to refer to and 2) I'd already done my job writing the comments on her paper; I wasn't going to do it again because it's inconvenient for her to get to campus to pick up her paper and 3) she says she's "working hard" but I note that her first paper--which presumably has comments that might have helped her with the second one--is still sitting on my office door, and if she can't take that much responsibility, then how hard is she really working?
I got back an abject reply that I'm right (yeah, I know) and thanking me for my comments.
Which she still hasn't gotten--because now two of her papers are sitting on my office door.
Of the three students who needed to pick up comments in order to do their final versions, only one did. I think maybe eight students actually showed up for class yesterday: Paul kindly agreed to go there to collect papers and to remind them that they need to follow the schedule of assignments for Wednesday. I almost asked him to do it again today, but then I thought "Fuck it." Maybe three students got the e-mail saying they should leave their papers on my office door. Maybe one actually will.
I'm so sick of their lack of responsibility, it's hardly surprising I've got a stomach virus. But I must say, it makes me look forward to teaching 101 in the fall--because I'll have absolutely no illusions about it. I'll expect them to be utterly irresponsible, to have to be taught everything--and I do mean everything--about how to behave as college students. I expect 102 students to be at least a little better, and in my experience lately, they're not. So, note to self: when I next teach 102, make no such assumptions.
On a much more positive front, however, Mr. Dad from 102 did some work that prompted me to check in with Le Guin on something regarding the book. I'd always dismissed the similarity between a character's name in her novel--Ennoch--and the biblical character Enoch, but my student did some research that made me wonder if I should be so quick with my assumptions. I've sent her an e-mail with the question and await her reply; whatever she says will be interesting to take back to the class.
Tomorrow will be a long day--and I'm sure I'll be feeling well enough for it. I'll start with a 9:30 departmental assessment meeting (always a fun-fest), then Advisement, then class--and if I have any energy left (please god), I'll write up the two observations I've done and think about scheduling a few more observations of new adjuncts. And check my triage lists. And on we go.
Thursday, March 20, 2014
Some times, it's the little things
There were good things about today, which I want to focus on, as sometimes those small things are actually more important than the bigger stuff.
In terms of the bigger stuff, today was not fun. One of my students from Nature in Lit showed up today to talk to me. First he and his girlfriend showed up 20 minutes before my office hour started; I shooed them away until the official start of the office hour (as I was madly grading papers). He came back--and was (and remains) furious with me, because the class is too hard. At one point I said, "Whoa, you're being very defensive here" and he started in about yeah, he was, because he'd trashed his step-father's car... I cut in and said that, although I could understand that he had a lot to deal with, the situation with the car is not part of what he and I needed to discuss. Although he kept telling me he needed help with his papers, when I'd actually offer the help, he batted it away with increasing hostility--because what he really wanted wasn't help with the papers but for me to make the class easier. I tried to calm him down, but he didn't want to be calm (probably because then he'd have to feel scared and humiliated--and oh, angry is so much more powerful a feeling). When he started "accusing" me of having lied when I spoke to him in Advisement, how I'd said we'd go over things in class but I was assigning too much work and rushing through it too fast, I stopped it: I said, "Then you need to withdraw." He stormed out of the office, bellowing for his girlfriend, enraged--and not to my surprise, she wasn't in class today. She registered because of him, and my concern is that he'll bully her into dropping, too, even though she actually could get something out of the class.
I am a little sorry to lose him because, even though he's a bit out of control--an autodidact who needs to be right always (and a young man who really wants to be a Viking at heart)--at least he could be counted on to bring up ideas in class. Of course, after his outburst, I feel a great deal less sorry to see him go--but the class is dwindling significantly, and today there was no discussion to speak of. Discouraging, but I'm hoping that when a few more bodies are back in class--and when the students have done the reading (which many had not today), it will go better, even without him.
And I have to say, I'm hoping that the Viking's mousy but intelligent girlfriend returns despite him.
The discussion in 102 was a bit better today. I was thrilled that most of the students had done all of the reading and were ready to discuss it, and the brief conversations with them at the end of class, regarding their papers, were also very productive. Of course, one of the students with the most potential seems to have vanished, which breaks my heart, but the others do seem to be picking up the slack. Both the women who came close to withdrawing early on are very lively participants in the group discussion: one of them doesn't get the reading very well but is working hard; the other is getting better with each reading and each draft of a paper. Nice. Of course, there was the moment when a student walked in after class had started and wanted me to drop everything to sign his withdrawal form (I told him to come back later; he didn't), and there's another student who waited to see his second version of his paper but then presented me with the withdrawal form at the end of class. But slowly, the dead wood is being pruned away, and what's left is at least showing signs of life.
Oh, and I should mention that I did get all the papers graded before class. Whew.
But the final "little thing" that put a lovely cap on the day had nothing whatever to do with class. I was walking back to the office after 102, and I saw the "Geese Away" car come by--but then it stopped, and the driver released the very happy and beautiful border collie, who gleefully chased the geese off the quad. It didn't take anywhere near long enough (for the dog or me: we both wanted a longer chase), but it was lovely to see.
And now, even though my stuff is in a chaotic mess strewn across all my work spaces, I'm going to pack it in for the week. I'll figure out what I have that needs to be marked when I return on Monday. I feel like I've been run through a mangle, which tends to suggest that I should at least mentally act like a goose being chased by a border collie and get the flock out of here.
In terms of the bigger stuff, today was not fun. One of my students from Nature in Lit showed up today to talk to me. First he and his girlfriend showed up 20 minutes before my office hour started; I shooed them away until the official start of the office hour (as I was madly grading papers). He came back--and was (and remains) furious with me, because the class is too hard. At one point I said, "Whoa, you're being very defensive here" and he started in about yeah, he was, because he'd trashed his step-father's car... I cut in and said that, although I could understand that he had a lot to deal with, the situation with the car is not part of what he and I needed to discuss. Although he kept telling me he needed help with his papers, when I'd actually offer the help, he batted it away with increasing hostility--because what he really wanted wasn't help with the papers but for me to make the class easier. I tried to calm him down, but he didn't want to be calm (probably because then he'd have to feel scared and humiliated--and oh, angry is so much more powerful a feeling). When he started "accusing" me of having lied when I spoke to him in Advisement, how I'd said we'd go over things in class but I was assigning too much work and rushing through it too fast, I stopped it: I said, "Then you need to withdraw." He stormed out of the office, bellowing for his girlfriend, enraged--and not to my surprise, she wasn't in class today. She registered because of him, and my concern is that he'll bully her into dropping, too, even though she actually could get something out of the class.
I am a little sorry to lose him because, even though he's a bit out of control--an autodidact who needs to be right always (and a young man who really wants to be a Viking at heart)--at least he could be counted on to bring up ideas in class. Of course, after his outburst, I feel a great deal less sorry to see him go--but the class is dwindling significantly, and today there was no discussion to speak of. Discouraging, but I'm hoping that when a few more bodies are back in class--and when the students have done the reading (which many had not today), it will go better, even without him.
And I have to say, I'm hoping that the Viking's mousy but intelligent girlfriend returns despite him.
The discussion in 102 was a bit better today. I was thrilled that most of the students had done all of the reading and were ready to discuss it, and the brief conversations with them at the end of class, regarding their papers, were also very productive. Of course, one of the students with the most potential seems to have vanished, which breaks my heart, but the others do seem to be picking up the slack. Both the women who came close to withdrawing early on are very lively participants in the group discussion: one of them doesn't get the reading very well but is working hard; the other is getting better with each reading and each draft of a paper. Nice. Of course, there was the moment when a student walked in after class had started and wanted me to drop everything to sign his withdrawal form (I told him to come back later; he didn't), and there's another student who waited to see his second version of his paper but then presented me with the withdrawal form at the end of class. But slowly, the dead wood is being pruned away, and what's left is at least showing signs of life.
Oh, and I should mention that I did get all the papers graded before class. Whew.
But the final "little thing" that put a lovely cap on the day had nothing whatever to do with class. I was walking back to the office after 102, and I saw the "Geese Away" car come by--but then it stopped, and the driver released the very happy and beautiful border collie, who gleefully chased the geese off the quad. It didn't take anywhere near long enough (for the dog or me: we both wanted a longer chase), but it was lovely to see.
And now, even though my stuff is in a chaotic mess strewn across all my work spaces, I'm going to pack it in for the week. I'll figure out what I have that needs to be marked when I return on Monday. I feel like I've been run through a mangle, which tends to suggest that I should at least mentally act like a goose being chased by a border collie and get the flock out of here.
Wednesday, March 19, 2014
Sit on your hands, Prof. TLP
Our department is begging for someone to run as alternate for representative to the union, and I just came within a hair's breadth of agreeing to go for it--but then I mentally slapped myself, and I've returned to my senses. I know how deeply important the union is, and how much it matters that we have someone with some modicum of intelligence and clarity in the position (which can't be said with full confidence about the one person running for representative), but I already feel more than maxed out, and although part of me thinks "yes, but it's good for possible promotion to full professor," I'd rather take my chances on not getting the promotion. I know this means I can't complain if the union lets us down (which may happen)--but I'll still complain. Still, I must say, the lack of candidates for various positions is largely because many of the people in the department who routinely do all the work will be on sabbaticals next year (and yes, the fact that I'm one of them is part of why I'm not jumping into the ring for union rep). It's a universal phenomenon: one can see it in operation in any situation that requires a number of people to work together on a variety of tasks: the same minority of people will always be the ones doing all the work. Maddening, but there it is.
The other disappointing realization, looking at the candidate statements, is that there are two openings on scheduling and only two people running: me, and a colleague I've worked with before but whose demeanor and general approach I find moderately annoying. When I was first elected to committees with him, I swore I'd step down rather than work with him; now that I've actually worked with him on the committees, I know that he's more tolerable than I thought--but I'm still not thrilled. Ah well. The main thing is, this means I'll still be on scheduling, which I like.
In terms of student interactions today, I seem to have re-found a soupcon of patience somewhere. I had one student in Advisement who might well have driven me barking mad but for whatever reason--conjunction of the stars?--I was able to work with him and not get testy. He started with a "yeah, yeah, I know all about that" attitude (which rather begs the question, "Then what are you doing here?"), but when I suggested that he could take the materials I'd given him and go work on figuring out the rest on his own, he suddenly became very young and vulnerable and insecure--at which point, I realized the initial affect was pure bluster and bravado. After sitting with him for ages (my only sense of impatience arising from my need to grade papers), I finally pointed out that I wasn't actually doing anything: he was doing all the work; I just handed him chunks of information he needed to then play around with, doing various "if-then" scenarios on his own. I think the main thing that settled him down was when I pointed out that he wanted to have two priorities that were in conflict, and that ultimately he needed to pick one of those priorities and let the other go. He didn't like it, but he saw the truth in it, and things got easier from there.
And in the event, I still got the papers graded before class--barely, but "done" is beautiful. Of course, most of the students hadn't done all the reading (and there sure aren't many of them left), but we got the basics covered well enough--and I then returned version two of papers to those who'd done them and answered questions while the other students left. I had to have the "you can't pass" conversation with another student today (and I could have predicted that one from the first day: he's one of the student who did not, in fact, surprise me with his progress, or lack thereof), but one of the two I had the conversation with on Monday has opted to stay. He's the one who is highly articulate and sophisticated in class participation but simply is not turning in work--and today I had to point out to him that he's putting his energy into making up log assignments and not turning in actual essays, which is the reverse of what he should be doing.
They don't understand the consequences of a zero. They don't understand the concept of triage. I admit that I, too, have a bit of a problem with magical thinking (if I tell myself I'm doing fine on X and such, surely it must be true), but they barely recognize reality when it's lapping around their nostrils, about to drown them.
Some of them. Not all. A few get it. But this semester for some reason I'm having a particularly difficult time getting them to understand that for each version of each paper, they need to submit a hard copy and upload to Turnitin--and do so on time. I got three papers today that theoretically I shouldn't accept (my rules say that the version 2 deadline has come and gone)--but I took them. However, I did tell the students that they won't get them back until I've graded the papers I have for tomorrow's class (which at the moment stands at ten--yikes--and I may get a few more yet, left on the office door tonight). I'm going to have a hell of a day tomorrow, getting it all done, that's for sure. But once again, I'm taking that calculated risk.
Apropos of nothing and raiding from Paul (why can't he and I do a Vulcan mind meld?), I just had another thought for 101 in the fall: I don't simply want to tell students "You need to develop a literal as well as a metaphoric tool kit," I actually want to have them create one, write it down, add to it as the semester progresses.
Which just led to the thought, "Maybe I will have them actually keep journals--as in one of those bound 'composition books': not for their responses to the reading, but for their thinking about being college students, what they're learning and what they're struggling with." I'm actually having a blast coming up with ideas for that course: this is the benefit to having been away from it for a good while.
Abrupt shift of gears, but I thought I'd mention that as I was walking to Advisement today, I crossed paths with the colleague with whom I've had the bizarre e-mail exchange I mentioned. I smiled and said "Hello"--but she'd been all set to pretend she didn't see me, so when I met her gaze and was civil, she "had" to respond, but the best she could manage was curt and decidedly frosty nod. It reminded me of my own childish behavior with another colleague, my pretending not to see him when we'd pass each other on the way to or from classes--and how glad I am that I took the moral high road in that circumstance and re-opened civil communication. The "I'm mad at you so I'm going to pretend you're not there" game is simply tedious--and honestly, I have no idea what this woman is so pissed off about. But I also have no intention of finding out. I'll smile and say hello and treat her like the coworker she is; anything beyond is in her court now.
God, we're all such babies. And we get annoyed (I get annoyed) with our students for being immature. Perhaps we need to pay a bit more attention to our own behavior, especially as, whether the students admit it, whether we like it, we are serving as role models for the students. It's good, periodically, to be reminded of that--and to carefully consider what behaviors we want to model.
I'm meeting Paul for dinner in a bit; I wanted to have time to write this post, and as it happens, I allowed myself more time than I strictly need, so now I have a bit of time in which to noodle around before I leave to meet him. I'm far too tired to mark any assignments (not even homework), but I can review the reading for Nature in Lit tomorrow: chapters from Linda Hogan's Dwellings. That's an enjoyable task indeed.
The other disappointing realization, looking at the candidate statements, is that there are two openings on scheduling and only two people running: me, and a colleague I've worked with before but whose demeanor and general approach I find moderately annoying. When I was first elected to committees with him, I swore I'd step down rather than work with him; now that I've actually worked with him on the committees, I know that he's more tolerable than I thought--but I'm still not thrilled. Ah well. The main thing is, this means I'll still be on scheduling, which I like.
In terms of student interactions today, I seem to have re-found a soupcon of patience somewhere. I had one student in Advisement who might well have driven me barking mad but for whatever reason--conjunction of the stars?--I was able to work with him and not get testy. He started with a "yeah, yeah, I know all about that" attitude (which rather begs the question, "Then what are you doing here?"), but when I suggested that he could take the materials I'd given him and go work on figuring out the rest on his own, he suddenly became very young and vulnerable and insecure--at which point, I realized the initial affect was pure bluster and bravado. After sitting with him for ages (my only sense of impatience arising from my need to grade papers), I finally pointed out that I wasn't actually doing anything: he was doing all the work; I just handed him chunks of information he needed to then play around with, doing various "if-then" scenarios on his own. I think the main thing that settled him down was when I pointed out that he wanted to have two priorities that were in conflict, and that ultimately he needed to pick one of those priorities and let the other go. He didn't like it, but he saw the truth in it, and things got easier from there.
And in the event, I still got the papers graded before class--barely, but "done" is beautiful. Of course, most of the students hadn't done all the reading (and there sure aren't many of them left), but we got the basics covered well enough--and I then returned version two of papers to those who'd done them and answered questions while the other students left. I had to have the "you can't pass" conversation with another student today (and I could have predicted that one from the first day: he's one of the student who did not, in fact, surprise me with his progress, or lack thereof), but one of the two I had the conversation with on Monday has opted to stay. He's the one who is highly articulate and sophisticated in class participation but simply is not turning in work--and today I had to point out to him that he's putting his energy into making up log assignments and not turning in actual essays, which is the reverse of what he should be doing.
They don't understand the consequences of a zero. They don't understand the concept of triage. I admit that I, too, have a bit of a problem with magical thinking (if I tell myself I'm doing fine on X and such, surely it must be true), but they barely recognize reality when it's lapping around their nostrils, about to drown them.
Some of them. Not all. A few get it. But this semester for some reason I'm having a particularly difficult time getting them to understand that for each version of each paper, they need to submit a hard copy and upload to Turnitin--and do so on time. I got three papers today that theoretically I shouldn't accept (my rules say that the version 2 deadline has come and gone)--but I took them. However, I did tell the students that they won't get them back until I've graded the papers I have for tomorrow's class (which at the moment stands at ten--yikes--and I may get a few more yet, left on the office door tonight). I'm going to have a hell of a day tomorrow, getting it all done, that's for sure. But once again, I'm taking that calculated risk.
Apropos of nothing and raiding from Paul (why can't he and I do a Vulcan mind meld?), I just had another thought for 101 in the fall: I don't simply want to tell students "You need to develop a literal as well as a metaphoric tool kit," I actually want to have them create one, write it down, add to it as the semester progresses.
Which just led to the thought, "Maybe I will have them actually keep journals--as in one of those bound 'composition books': not for their responses to the reading, but for their thinking about being college students, what they're learning and what they're struggling with." I'm actually having a blast coming up with ideas for that course: this is the benefit to having been away from it for a good while.
Abrupt shift of gears, but I thought I'd mention that as I was walking to Advisement today, I crossed paths with the colleague with whom I've had the bizarre e-mail exchange I mentioned. I smiled and said "Hello"--but she'd been all set to pretend she didn't see me, so when I met her gaze and was civil, she "had" to respond, but the best she could manage was curt and decidedly frosty nod. It reminded me of my own childish behavior with another colleague, my pretending not to see him when we'd pass each other on the way to or from classes--and how glad I am that I took the moral high road in that circumstance and re-opened civil communication. The "I'm mad at you so I'm going to pretend you're not there" game is simply tedious--and honestly, I have no idea what this woman is so pissed off about. But I also have no intention of finding out. I'll smile and say hello and treat her like the coworker she is; anything beyond is in her court now.
God, we're all such babies. And we get annoyed (I get annoyed) with our students for being immature. Perhaps we need to pay a bit more attention to our own behavior, especially as, whether the students admit it, whether we like it, we are serving as role models for the students. It's good, periodically, to be reminded of that--and to carefully consider what behaviors we want to model.
I'm meeting Paul for dinner in a bit; I wanted to have time to write this post, and as it happens, I allowed myself more time than I strictly need, so now I have a bit of time in which to noodle around before I leave to meet him. I'm far too tired to mark any assignments (not even homework), but I can review the reading for Nature in Lit tomorrow: chapters from Linda Hogan's Dwellings. That's an enjoyable task indeed.
Tuesday, March 18, 2014
OK, so not so quick, but another calculated risk.
I have some time to make up in Advisement tomorrow, since I had to leave early on Monday to observe a colleague, but I'm hoping that it will be quiet enough that I can get all my paper grading done. Not that there's a lot: I have eight in hand and another two only submitted electronically. I'm pretty annoyed about the two submitted electronically, not in hard copy: one of the students did this last time around and the other has been barely dragging along all semester. The first of those two is a young man who seemed at first as if he'd do well, be responsible, even though he made it clear in his self-evaluation that he'd manage the work despite detesting it. The second is the one who begged me to just let her know her grade and then whined about how she was surprised because, after all, she'd worked so hard....
Cleansing breath. I'll decide what to do about them tomorrow. My impulse is to chuck 'em out the door, but then, I'm tired and have a headache and am hungry and am consequently cranky as all hell. I originally intended to make this a quick post, but I find it's getting away from me--but even so, I'm taking the risk of leaving all further work undone. I'll finish this post and flee.
Both classes today were not precisely scintillating: no energy in the room, including from yours truly. Ah well. Thursday more of the students in Nature in Lit should be percolating: they'll have done the reading (I hope) instead of putting all their energy into trying to hatch a paper. I don't quite know what to expect of the 102: I suspect it may be deadly for the remainder of the semester, as too many of the students are not reading the book and the ones who are reading it are doing a crap job of it (can't pick out a salient detail to save their lives) or aren't talking. I may have to growl and snap and breathe some more smoke, if not actual flames: the "I've read the book. This isn't for me; it's for you, because you're going to have to write your final papers on this, so you'd better be damned sure you get it."
However, I did just finish going through the job applicants and rating the applications, from zero (unqualified) to 5 (excellent combination of qualifications). So that's something to cross off the to-do list. On the other hand, I have to add an adjunct observation to the list. And--since I just checked e-mail and was reminded of the stinking mess--I'm trying to gracefully get out of a truly idiotic e-mail exchange with a faculty member who is hysterical over nothing of any substance. She raised an issue about how scheduling is done, so William told me about it (since I'll still be on scheduling, assuming I'm re-elected, and he'll be on sabbatical), and together we decided to bring it to P&B. After discussing it with P&B, I wrote to her and said if she was concerned, she needed to find other faculty who share her concern and draft something up in writing to submit to P&B. You'd think I'd put her in public stocks and accused her of foul and heinous deeds, and no matter how I try to explain to her what happened and why, she's simply getting more wild and bizarre and throwing all sorts of idiocy into the mix. I finally simply replied, "Thanks for clarifying," though in fact she's muddied the waters completely--but this isn't a tempest in a teacup: it's a hurricane in her own mind, and there is not even a teacup's worth of matter from which to create all the sturm und drang. Mostly I simply want her to shut the fuck up and leave me alone. If she doesn't drop it, I may simply stop replying: I feel like I'm feeding a tantrum, when we all know that the best way to handle a tantrum is to ignore it utterly. I've been treating her with respect as a colleague, but I'm about out of patience (and have long since run out of even the most rudimentary collegial respect).
That's not particularly a note I like to end on, but as I noted above, this was supposed to be a quick post, and it's grown into something a great deal more substantive than I anticipated. And I really do want to do rudimentary self-care sorts of things like, oh, eat (another "missed lunch" day), get to bed as early as I possibly can (though it's unlikely to be as early as would be optimal). And take those cleansing breaths until tomorrow, which is that other day we're continually promised. Thank god.
Cleansing breath. I'll decide what to do about them tomorrow. My impulse is to chuck 'em out the door, but then, I'm tired and have a headache and am hungry and am consequently cranky as all hell. I originally intended to make this a quick post, but I find it's getting away from me--but even so, I'm taking the risk of leaving all further work undone. I'll finish this post and flee.
Both classes today were not precisely scintillating: no energy in the room, including from yours truly. Ah well. Thursday more of the students in Nature in Lit should be percolating: they'll have done the reading (I hope) instead of putting all their energy into trying to hatch a paper. I don't quite know what to expect of the 102: I suspect it may be deadly for the remainder of the semester, as too many of the students are not reading the book and the ones who are reading it are doing a crap job of it (can't pick out a salient detail to save their lives) or aren't talking. I may have to growl and snap and breathe some more smoke, if not actual flames: the "I've read the book. This isn't for me; it's for you, because you're going to have to write your final papers on this, so you'd better be damned sure you get it."
However, I did just finish going through the job applicants and rating the applications, from zero (unqualified) to 5 (excellent combination of qualifications). So that's something to cross off the to-do list. On the other hand, I have to add an adjunct observation to the list. And--since I just checked e-mail and was reminded of the stinking mess--I'm trying to gracefully get out of a truly idiotic e-mail exchange with a faculty member who is hysterical over nothing of any substance. She raised an issue about how scheduling is done, so William told me about it (since I'll still be on scheduling, assuming I'm re-elected, and he'll be on sabbatical), and together we decided to bring it to P&B. After discussing it with P&B, I wrote to her and said if she was concerned, she needed to find other faculty who share her concern and draft something up in writing to submit to P&B. You'd think I'd put her in public stocks and accused her of foul and heinous deeds, and no matter how I try to explain to her what happened and why, she's simply getting more wild and bizarre and throwing all sorts of idiocy into the mix. I finally simply replied, "Thanks for clarifying," though in fact she's muddied the waters completely--but this isn't a tempest in a teacup: it's a hurricane in her own mind, and there is not even a teacup's worth of matter from which to create all the sturm und drang. Mostly I simply want her to shut the fuck up and leave me alone. If she doesn't drop it, I may simply stop replying: I feel like I'm feeding a tantrum, when we all know that the best way to handle a tantrum is to ignore it utterly. I've been treating her with respect as a colleague, but I'm about out of patience (and have long since run out of even the most rudimentary collegial respect).
That's not particularly a note I like to end on, but as I noted above, this was supposed to be a quick post, and it's grown into something a great deal more substantive than I anticipated. And I really do want to do rudimentary self-care sorts of things like, oh, eat (another "missed lunch" day), get to bed as early as I possibly can (though it's unlikely to be as early as would be optimal). And take those cleansing breaths until tomorrow, which is that other day we're continually promised. Thank god.
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