Stopping on a dime...

“Experiences never end. They’re just semi-colons

where the story takes a break…”

- Anonymous

The request came unexpectedly. The spring semester was barely over, and I was thinking about what I might do during the summer. I listened politely but wasn’t sure I wanted to take it on.

The topic at hand was a five-week accelerated Anatomy and Physiology course that would cover sixteen-weeks of material. It would be taught virtually and was the healthcare track, prepping students for nursing or other health related careers. It is one of the toughest courses we teach.

“It’s only five weeks,” said my department chair. “I thought it might be a good fit and it’s not like the material is brand new.”

Yes, but it would be five weeks of irregular sleep and interfere with my social life. Wait, I don’t have a social life!

On the other hand, I have more frequently said yes to the partially or completely unknown, often providing me with meaningful life experiences.

Quick aside…

When the college went virtual in the middle of the semester in 2020, it wasn’t a model I was keen about. A people person, I love the classroom and the interaction with students. Virtual? I wasn’t so sure. As it turns out, however, by the second semester from my computer to theirs, I found it quite enjoyable.

Back to the five-weeker…

Trying to understand what this class entailed, I contacted several colleagues. I was looking for some insight and to see if any of them had a syllabus I could review. I was surprised by the feedback:

“No, I haven’t taught this course and never would!” and “The college shouldn’t offer this class in that time frame!” and“You couldn’t pay me to teach that material in five-weeks!”

One brief ray of hope was a senior faculty member who said the five-week summer class was one of his favorites. He did have a course outline somewhere but was leaving on holiday the following day – sorry.

While it was true, I had taught this course several times but never in this timeframe. It was a dilemma.

I called a retired colleague who had mentored me through the first semester I returned to the classroom. She invited me to her home, listened to my pros, cons and angst. Her input like the others, was that she would not teach this course. BUT she did have a lot of material, along with some video lectures that she would give me. The decision was up to me.

Time to choose…

Due diligence complete. It was time for the decision. I have a time-tested two-step process for this - little prayer and consultation with the boss. Molly reminded me that when my hands are idle, I am not the happiest of campers and that I have a habit of doing whatever it takes to get projects done. With some positive meditation and an attaboy from my girlfriend, I agreed to teach the class.

Now the work…

To put this in perspective, teaching a full semester’s material in five weeks means the following:

1. Four hours and twenty minutes of contact time, four days a week (Mon-Thurs).
2. New physiology systems taught almost every class rather than one per week (e.g., endocrine, heart, digestion, etc.).
3. Frequent, manually graded homework assignments.
4. Labs and quizzes due daily rather than weekly.
5. Weekly rather than monthly unit exams.
6. Fridays through Sundays spent constructing exams and grading homework/labs.

An upside, the class was virtual. Meaning the commute was from the kitchen to the office in the next room. In addition, the quizzes and exams were automated, meaning, once constructed, they were administrated and graded via a computerized learning system. An elegant online lab program provided students the ability to image anatomy in three dimensions. Thus, students could zoom in and out, rotate 360 degrees, and dissect whatever anatomical structure we were studying (e.g., heart, kidney, lungs, etc.).

Then there were the students themselves. The course began with twenty-four of them. My introductory comments came with the admonition that this material was going to be very challenging. For the next five weeks they would need to eat, drink, and sleep anatomy and physiology.

I think it is human nature for people to overestimate their capacity to get things done. Some of the students thought the course would be easier because of the short time frame. Others were pretty sure they wouldn't really need to put as much effort into the material as I suggested.

By the beginning of week two, six students had dropped the course, and by late in the third week, another five slipped into the ether. I was left with twelve disciples, all of whom finished the course exhausted, but relieved that they (and their instructor) had survived the gauntlet.

It’s always the end of a thing, isn’t it? From the class introduction it was game on. Five weeks later to the day, it was full stop! To use a theatre expression, we ‘struck the set’ at the final examination and went our separate ways as though we had never met. I always feel a little melancholy when the ‘play,’ the hard work, and the intimacy of the game, ends. But that’s just the way it is every semester.

The good news is that there will be another day where I will follow the familiar two-step process: a little prayer and consultation with the boss!

ted

A glimpse of the future...

“Life is an incredible adventure into

the mysterious unknown future.”
- Debasish Mridha,

Physician, philosopher

The boys were running down the street, one in pursuit of the other. As you can see, they are young and full of life.

“Full of life.” It is the cycle; you know one generation has a run, full of breath and adventure, and before you know it, the stage manager from the darkened house shouts, “Exit stage right." It's time for the next scene.

Man, it seems the play has just begun, but other actors are waiting in the wings. They are ready for their '…time in the sun…'

What advice can be given to those just entering the game? They don’t know what they don’t know…the look of enthusiasm in their eyes belies the ‘…don’t know…’ part.

I might share a thought from the twelfth-century Persian poet Hafiz, “Stay close to anything that makes you glad you are alive.”

  

What would I like for them to tell me, had they a breadth of thought? Perhaps they would quote Mohammed. “A man’s true wealth hereafter is the good he does in the world to his fellow man. When he dies, people will say, ‘What property has he left behind him?’ The angels will ask, ‘What good deeds has he sent before him?’”

The angels…yes indeed. It's hard to know, isn't it? I mean, what is it we should say? What is it we want (need) to hear?

Confession helps…

I have harbored a sense of disappointment as I look over my shoulder, and as I look forward to a time when I step off the stage and into the wings – angels I hope (pun fully intended).

Disappointment may be too strong a word. Maybe it’s a longing to know, clothed in the realization that I never will. Ah, the blessing and the curse…

The blessing? Belonging to a species arriving on the planet with three astonishing tools in our kit: faith, curiosity, and imagination. The curse? The same as the blessing.

On the one hand, the promise of a yet unlived future. On the other, regret for all that wasn't done…was not said…was not loved. I am not disingenuous enough to pretend I have not experienced both.

A simple thought experiment…

People often ask one another if they had an opportunity to dine with anyone in history, who might that be. The question, of course, is a fool’s errand, irrational. And yet for some reason, many folks find it tantalizing.

In truth, you are only alive as these words pass your eyes and into your mind - the single breath you are taking at this very moment. What you have read to this instant is irrevocably in your past, the next sentence and paragraph still unread.

You are only alive at the moment you read these words as was I when I wrote them. Maybe this is a little too granular a digression.

The thought experiment as to who you might want to share a meal with, will at the very least, cause you to dig into your memory banks for events and people of whom you have heard.

Let the games begin…

If I’m gonna play, I know exactly with whom I would have dinner. It would be my father. By the time the sound and fury of my early years finished and my working life began, he was gone. He slipped out past the footlights and into a waiting limousine that whisked him away, taillights disappearing into the darkness.

My mother was less of an enigma, yet also mysterious.  But she did take the time and effort to teach me many things. From her, I got tools to navigate new places, new people, new experiences, all with the intentional foundation of faith. In private, she taught me that fear was a state of mind and not be afraid to step into life’s unknown adventures. In public, she chose the life of a minister's wife and as such, was a quiet and supportive spouse. People that knew her loved her. If they had known how fiercely independent and competitive she was, they would have loved her more!

It wasn’t until my father was gone that I discovered he was a nuanced, well-read thinker, and collector of written thoughts. In saved correspondence and sermons, I discovered his humanity, frailty, and passion. It wasn’t until he was gone that I realized I had never wondered about his mind. We did what I suppose most fathers and sons do, we newspaper reported our lives…the who’s, what’s, where’s, when’s and how’s. By the time the meaningful questions arrived, well, the library was closed.

The future of the unknown…

What about the going forward? With whom would I like to nibble away over mindful conversation and a table of healthy calories and drink?

It would be my great-nephews or newly arrived great-niece. You see, to them, I am an old fellow who plays with them some and tells them he loves them. With the pandemic, it happens virtually through the internet. Well, not the playing part.

 

Maybe if I am lucky and my health survives the COVID and their teenage years, I might see their lives beginning to emerge…just beginning to emerge.

If it is not too strong a word, I feel some melancholy that I will never know these kids as they become fully formed human beings. Don’t misunderstand, it is not about seeing these boys and girl grow up - although that would be pleasant. It is the desire to see them fully formed.

I would love to be able to freeze my life, let them experience the future as it comes to them at lightning speed. Then when the wine barrels of their lives have matured, find a small café, a quiet place, and plumb their minds. I suppose I would be interested in what they had done, but like my paternal eating partner, I would want to know what and how they thought. What touched their souls? Who had been their mentors? How had the serendipity of life, intervened to bring them to this table and this conversation? If they could turn back the clock in their imaginations, would they want to have dinner with their dad and mum? 

Imagination indeed…

Both of these meals, the one looking back to my father and forward to my great-nephews and niece, are figments of my imagination, prompted by an unrequited curiosity.

On the blessing side of things is the ability to create anything in our mind's eye that we like. So many things to be curious about…so many things.

The circle? I have faith…

This leads me to return to the tools with which we arrive on the planet: faith, curiosity, and imagination. Considering the thought game above, I have required a well of curiosity and the imagination to 'see' my father as I would like to have known him and the boys and girl as they might be.

The third tool in the kit: Faith.

In the New Testament scriptures, the book of Hebrews says: "…Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen…" (Heb 11:1)

We know these words to be true because of our empirical experience. The houses in which we live, the cars we drive, the food we eat and the clothing we wear were nothing more than thoughts in someone's mind. They 'saw' something that was 'yet not' and brought from naught the things above because they believed enough to act and bring their thoughts (unseen) to fruition (things seen). We are, as the comedian Steve Martin so aptly put it, "...thought machines..."

In that same way, I have faith in a kind of substance - this substance…I will know my father, mother, great-nephews, and niece in a time and space that is not yet seen. I will know my late sister and others I have loved the same way I knew and loved them in this dimension.

Genuine love comes from a place of mutual resonance…harmonies in the music of the spirit – who knows how? It is not the color of the eyes, nor the dimples in the cheeks. It is the unspeakable but true language, the communion, of two hearts. That is what causes the bond, that is what makes them an essential part of our lives in this dimension and it is what will strengthen that bond in the next.

A thought game or enigmatic exercise? The unknown? Sure. It’s one I have played my entire life…one that I fully embrace…one to which I look forward.

Finally, lest this piece sounds somewhat maudlin, I should be clear it comes with considerable enthusiasm of mind. When the stage manager calls for me to exit stage right, making room for a new act, I look forward to hopping in that limousine and finding those souls past and those things yet to come.

- ted

Max in the mornings...

“Consistency, thou are a jewel…”

- William Shakespeare (maybe)

The first order of business after stumbling out of bed is no business at all. It is the quiet time of shared waking with nature in the surrounding desert. Slipping outside in the early morning with a cup of coffee, twenty-ounces of lemon-tinged water, and something to read, the morning begins by just sitting and breathing. There is nothing like a few moments to appreciate the wonder of the impending light of day as it slowly peeks over the Santa Catalina mountains' tip.

Living in the Sonoran Desert is nothing like I thought it would be. My only prior experience in arid land was driving through the Mojave Desert between Las Vegas and San Diego many years ago. It looked pretty barren to me with lots of creosote bushes growing out of the rough ground. It was surprising because my image of the desert had been rising sand dunes, you know, without the camels.

A few years passed, followed by a move to San Diego. Then, in the fall of 2013, the adventure shifted to Oro Valley, Arizona, where we have remained.

There may be a lot of life in the Mojave Desert, but in the passing glimpses on Interstate-15, I didn’t see anything notable. No so in the Sonoran Desert in Southern Arizona.

The Sonoran Desert…

In the first instance, this landscape is filled with majestic fields of Saguaro Cactus. It is the only place in the world they are found. Reaching a couple of hundred years in age, it takes nearly eighty-years before they sprout the arms for which they are most famous. You see them with appendages outstretched as though sentinels protecting the surrounding desert.

During the desert flowering season between April and June, delicate and beautiful flowers emerge from the amazing variety of thorny cactus plants, daring you to touch them. There isn’t just a multitude of life in the desert, there is a vibrant and beautiful life.

Additionally, the desert is filled with all manner of creatures, from dog-like coyotes, bighorn sheep, mountain lions, pig-like Javelinas, ground squirrels, rabbits, deer, packrats, spiders, snakes, scorpions, and lizards, just to name a few.

In the morning, it is the birds that seem to be most plentiful. It’s like rush-hour, watching and listening to them as they rush to their morning’s work – whatever that may be in the hunter-gatherer lifestyle of the desert. They sing and chirp as they glide through the air. It is a dissonance of sound like individual instruments in an orchestra tuning before a concert, and yet, there is a beauty in the music.

The big birds float through the air with even wing strokes, like professional swimmers. The little ones bob up and down, beating the air unmercifully as though trying to tread water. There are Cactus wren, Mockingbirds, Ravens, Flycatchers, Quail, finches, and birds of prey – Cooper's and Red-tailed hawks.

Our piece of Sonora…

Max usually shows just a little before daybreak. The sun is still hiding behind the crest of Pusch-Ridge on the western slope of the Catalinas when she appears. In the transitional greyness of morning, the first notice of her presence is the buzzing of her wings. I have never quite understood why they are called hummingbirds. To my ear, they sound more like enormous bumblebees. I suppose they could have been called buzzing birds – although that name does not have the elegant sound of a bird that hums.

I am pretty sure Max (Maxine) is a female because even after daylight arrives, she is greyish in color. There are several kinds of hummingbirds in the desert areas of Tucson. But we are pretty sure she is an 'Anna' hummer. As the sun becomes brighter, Max moves on to greener pastures, having had her fill of the Chuparosa, Desert Willow, Grapefruit, and Mexican Bird of Paradise nectar in our backyard.

From time to time, while still on the premises, Max takes a feeding break to make sure I'm authorized to be on the patio. This morning, she buzzed my head and zipped a couple of feet directly in front of my face. When Max does this, it is unnerving because she hovers within eight inches of my nose, holding position. Then, in the blink of an eye, she is off to continue her morning feed.

These amazing creatures weigh between 0.14 to 0.16 ounces (3.9 to 4.5 gm) and appear fragile. In fact, they are fierce warriors, protective of their grazing territory. Occasionally, another hummingbird will venture into the back yard while Max is sucking nectar from a chuparosa or desert willow. In an instant, she breaks off her feeding and attacks the intruder. Like jet fighters, aerial battles between two hummingbirds are a wonder to behold. They dart, stop, turn, elevate, and drop almost instantaneously.  Their agility is practically indescribable.

The right place…

    Three years ago, we updated our back yard into a more desert friendly landscape. Our home had a standard ‘developer organized’ back yard. It was attractive, but little attention had been paid to water run-off (during monsoon rains) and robust desert plants that needed little watering. We found a desert botanist who helped us think through the design. In the end, we added flowering, drought-resistant plants, and two desert willows. We also landscaped the ground with swales - hollow places to gather water during the rainy season.

He assured that as soon as these plants flowered, hummingbirds, carpenter bees, and other airborne creatures would visit to nibble and enjoy the flowering plants. He was exactly right! As the plants and trees have grown, those critters and more, wander in and out during the day. However, Max has a daily yard routine in the mornings and is here with the regularity of a factory worker.

We are, by now, three years into the venture and can’t wait until the trees get tall enough to provide shade.

The mornings are always good here. Over the past few years, they have become even better. Instead of sitting alone in the mornings, Max has become a regular. I talk to and welcome her. She doesn’t seem to notice, but she does keep coming back.

Of course, we are quite different species, but I like to think she looks forward to seeing me as much as I look forward to seeing her. I like to believe we have an interspecies understanding. After all, she does keep coming back…

- ted

It could have been worse...

“You’ve got to know when to hold ‘em.

Know when to fold ‘em

Know when to walk away

And know when to run…”

- The Gambler, Kenny Rogers

(lyrics by Don Schlitz)

 

It started simply enough.

 

The email from my course coordinator for the coming semester asked her faculty to link to a website and list the textbooks we recommended for our courses.

 

The instructions were pretty clear. Go to the college website, find our course, then link to the "…registration/class schedule page." The email went on to say this was "...VERY IMPORTANT..." and needed to be done by the end of the week.

 

I was in the middle of restructuring my course for the fall when the email arrived. It was a good breakpoint, so I stood up, stretched, got something to drink, and returned to the computer. This would take less than five minutes.

 

Navigating to my course was not a problem, but I could not seem to find the "…registration/class…" page. Maybe I would do a quick site search. 

Hmm…that resulted in a blank page saying, "Item not found…"

 

Undeterred, but feeling stress levels begin to slightly rise, I took a deep breath, shook it off, gathered myself, and poked around the website a little more.  Nada!

 

Thirty frustrating minutes later, I managed to find my course through a variety of pathways. But, that pesky ‘registration/class schedule page’ was nowhere to be found.

 

Yes, I could simply have contacted my coordinator, but she was on holiday, and I knew it would take at least a day for her to get back to me.  Plus, I did not want her to think I could not sort out such a simple assignment.

 

"Keep Calm and Carry On" (the phrase from a British World War II poster) wafted through my mind. 

 

I know…sometimes you just need to let things go, but I was NOT going to be humiliated by this. After all, I have a Ph.D.!

 

Like a lightning bolt from the sky, the solution struck me. I would call the tech support help desk and explain my problem. This thing would be done with no one the wiser.

 

I would make a quick call to the college switchboard to get the tech support number and all would be well in my little office in Oro Valley. 

 

The recorded voice was pleasantly welcoming, letting me know I was important.  Reminding me options had changed, so I should listen carefully to the possibilities. "Push 9 for student registration." I, of course, was interested in tech support, not registering. I waited for the other choices when the voice politely said, “Push 1 to repeat the options.” What options?

 

Thinking I had misdialed, I repeated the process and once again discovered ‘9’ was all that was offered. No more and no less.

 

Okay, I’ll play.

 

Having had experience with push-button automated systems, I knew exactly what I would do.  Repeating the call a third time, listening through the introductions again (I was still important), I Pushed '9' and waited. 

A different recorded voice asked me to hold. The anonymous agent indicated the call might be recorded for training purposes, reminding me my call was important. I was inline for the next available representative. After a couple minutes, a real person introduced herself and asked what my questions were about registering.

 "I'm not a student, but faculty," I said.  "I'm trying to get to tech support. Apparently, there is something wrong with the automated answering service, and you were my only option. Would it be possible for you to look in the phone directory for the tech support number?”

 

She hemmed and hawed a bit, giving the impression that this was not her job. A little more officiously, she said, "Just a minute, sir, I'll see if I can find a directory.”

 

A couple of minutes later, she returned with the number for tech support. She also assured me she would get with her supervisor about the automated answering service problem.

 

I didn't care. This thing was as good as done.

 

By now, I was into the game for more than an hour. But that was okay. Tech support was in my wheelhouse. They had helped me several times in the past, and they were WONDERFUL!!

 

Punching the number and humming to myself, a recording answered saying I would get the next available tech. No problem. A few minutes of background music and before I knew it. “Hi, this is Larry, how can I help you?” 

Hot dog!!

 

I introduced myself, indicating I was faculty and had a pretty simple question.

 

“What is your faculty identification number?” Larry asked. Routine...I gave it.

 

“What is your phone number?” You should be able to look that up, but okay. I rattled it off.

 

“What is your birth date?” he asked. Wait! What?

 

I expressed something unkind, indicating I had used tech support repeatedly and never had been asked this. At any rate, if Larry really needed it, why didn't he just look it up?

 

Nonplussed, he repeated the request and then asked about my problem. I told him it was pretty simple. Would it be possible for him to direct me to the college webpage for ‘…registration/class schedule…’?

 

“I don’t exactly know, but I’ll make a ticket for this and get back to you. What is your email address?” It was then I realized Larry was NOT going to be of any help.

 

You know the cliché about the straw and the camel's back? It came when, having been of no help, Larry asked, "Would you be willing to fill out a survey about our call today?"

 

Counting to ten, I took a breath and replied, “Larry, the way this call and my day has been going, you truly do not want me to fill out a survey about anything.”

 

With that, Larry and I were done, and my problem was still unresolved!! (As it turned out, tech support was no longer on campus but had been outsourced to call centers in Texas and Kentucky - I digress).

 

Apologies to the Brits. I was no longer Calm.

 

Just before climbing on the desk, in preparation for jumping to my death, my inbox signaled an arriving email. It was a copy of an email to my coordinator from another faculty member confirming she had completed the task.

 

I am not the sharpest scalpel in the biology labs, but in my utter despair, I realized there was a way out of the cave of ignorance…a path to enlightenment. Plato had written that parable for just this moment - God bless him!

 

Dropping her a note, I asked where she found the page in question. She replied almost instantly, indicating she didn't know either. But if I followed the link in her email (a completely different one), I would be able to record the course materials for my students.

 

Following her instructions, I found the page where I indicated the materials I wanted my students to use.

 

As it turns out, I was wrong how much time it would take to execute the request from my course coordinator. Forget the wasted angst-ridden hour and a half…

 

Making the change took less than two minutes!

 

- ted