Why I Don't Teach Summer School and Why I Am Going To Kansas

Every summer I get asked some version of, "Why don't you teach summer school?" especially if it is known that summer school pays well relative to college teaching overall.

There's a practical work-related reason: As a field biologist I need to do research in the summer should I want to publish original science and have a chance of advancement in my field.  But anybody paying attention knows that I have not been spending most of the summer analyzing data, and in fact have steered clear or my office even when I have been in town.

Sometimes I'll mention needing a break, and anyone who has taught will relate to this, and more so if I mention the other kinds of activities (like re-painting my cabinets or going to the dentist) that I can only do in the summer.

If I mention my kids, most people will gently nod, "Oh, of course, your kids won't be little forever." That's completely true and I love traveling and baking and experiencing day-to-day life with Aster and Dianthus, but honestly I took off on an 8 week road trip (after a two week trip to Ecuador) in the summer of 2007, long before I had kids (and yes, you can read about those trips on this blog), so it is not just my kids.

Part of the reason I don't work in the

summer is my parents and my in-laws.  All four of them are healthy people around whom it is fun to be (that awkward sentence brought to you by my parents' voices in my head who still believe in not ending sentences with prepositions) and that won't always be the case (the healthy part).  As I was weeping about aging the other day, The Mister pointed out, "That's why we aggressively spend time with our parents and make sure that the boys really know their grandparents."  The ability to meet family in Yellowstone or Vancouver or Hilton Head or Tuscon (not to mention at their houses in Kansas and Colorado)  is a great reason not to teach summer school.

But kids and parents are not my main reason not to teach in the summer.  My main reason is because, much as I love my job (and most of the time I do), it is not all I want to do with my life.

I'm still surprised by the surprised reactions I get when I go out of my way to have fun rather than to work more.

My friend J, undergoing chemo to keep ovarian cancer at bay, and her new husband JR, undergoing radiation for cancer all over, get similar reactions when because they have a costume box and dress-up at the drop of a hat.  Some of their relatives act confused by how willing they are to have fun.  Based on conversations with them, they dress up, try new artistic endeavors, re-paint furniture with bright colors and explore herbal cocktails because it is fun.

I'm confused as to why this surprises people.  It's not a secret that our time here is limited and that possessions do not lead to happiness.  That seems to be repeated in most every thoughtful self-help book I've ever seen, not to mention religious practices and, well, common experiences. I am very fortunate to be in a position where I do not need to spend every moment working for survival.  I've been given an opportunity.  I'm not going to squander it.  

My family is driving 389 miles tomorrow in order to see a full solar eclipse on Monday and drive 389 miles back on Monday evening.  I'm really really hopeful that it will be an amazing experience to watch the stars come out at one in the afternoon.  But even if clouds obscure the dark side of the moon as it passes between us and the sun, and there will be another total solar eclipse closer in 2024, it will be worth the craziness of making alternative assignments for the first day of class, because it will be an adventure with friends, and if we are all here in April 2024, then I'll be up for a second once-in-a-lifetime eclipse adventure.

Just today I asked someone to cover my classes then.

[Waterfall images are completely gratuitous, by the way, and since I am up late writing disconnected thoughts, I should mention that they Mississippi kites were lining up and acting very unsettled this morning  (and very loud this evening) perhaps they are leaving early this year.]

Happy Groundhog Day from the Star Boys

What do these have to do with Marmota, weather predictions and the end of winter? Not much, but they make me happy. In their glow-in-the-dark star pjs, Dianthus was watching bunnies and Andrew was watching Dianthus (taken in December in Colorado).

Better to shoot for the stars and miss . . . *

I did not do nearly as much stargazing as I intended in star year. Nor did I watch any star movies (which is odd. Since we own all of the Star Wars movies, I could have at least re-viewed my beloved New Hope [aka original Star Wars] even if I didn't find the time for Starman, Stardust, or any of the 14 movies titled "Star" on imdb) or eat any starfruit.
I did twice bake star shaped cookies with Dianthus (peanut butter and gingerbread).
I read many star books, and a few Starr books (to be discussed later).
I watched an embarrasing quantity of reality TV with "star" in the title (only a few episodes of "Dancing with the Stars" but nearly two whole seasons of "The Next Food Network Star" [no "Top Chef" but I loved it while pregnant] and, much as it pains me to admit it, a whole season of "Design Star").
I learned that star anise can be great in mulled wine, spiced apple cider, port poached pears and red cabbage with apples.
I made no star quilts, but then nobody really thought I was going to, and I admired many.
For the last month, I've taken my Dianthus out nearly every night. He knows now that we don't see the moon every night; sometimes the stars are behind the clouds; Venus and Jupiter are beautiful, and there are "more stars" and "more stars" and on clear nights "more more more stars, Mommy, more stars." And he tells me about more stars until I acknowledge every one. And I hug him and hold him and he sees some more. There are always more stars in the sky.
That's the kind of thing I was shooting for.

*. . than to shoot for a manure pile and hit. While I appreciate the cliched intent that it is better to aim high, I'm too much of a scientist not to think that floating in space after you've missed the star is considerably worse than being on earth covered in a little dung. But isn't floating in space preferable to actually hitting a star?

If thinking were writing . . .

. . then I would have written these posts long ago.
Lessons from Jane Austen Light I: 16 is too young. A comparison of the ages of heroines in Jane Austen novels and the derivatives and a tribute to my requited-but-unfulfilled love at 16 (who turned 40 on Monday) and our right-for-us spouses.
Lessons from JAL II: "I guess being sarcastic isn't necessarily modern." Like Amateur Reader, I laughed when a 21st century character in Jane Austen in Boca suddenly realized this from reading Pride and Prejudice. But then I found myself surprised by the sarcasm in Thorne Smith's Night Life of the Gods and Stella Gibbons' Cold Comfort Farm, both written in 1932, as if I expected 1932 life everywhere to be like Richard Peck's A Long Way from Chicago (1999) and A Year Down Yonder (2001 Newberry Award Winner) which take place in 1932. With thanks to Jenny, AR and VJ for the books and suggestions.
Lessons from JAL III: And I'm Pretty, Too! If a whole bunch of heroines [list here] can suddenly realize that they are pretty as they turn 40*, I can, too.
Star Books I Short reviews of the star books I read last spring [list goes here].
The Next Star on the Shelf Comparisons of the books I've read simply because they have had star in the title [list goes here].
Judging Books by Their Covers Discussions of books I selected because their spines intrigued me at the library [list goes here].
Not Quite Stars Report from looking at the moon and planets every night with a two year old.
Glowing Stars Adorable images of my sons in their space pjs.
Sledding Stars Video of my family sledding
Noodles! I made homemade noodles! Just a year late.
Ravioli! I made homemade ravioli for the first time. Also a year late. There are images on my friend's facebook page. I know because I am now also on facebook (Ack!). There will be images here someday.
Star Cookies I baked with my students and Dianthus baked with both grandmas and it was all good fun. I also bought the ingredients to make Zimmsterne but didn't bake them.
Star Anise Cider It's actually pretty good.
STIR Reports What we read this year, what's coming up.

Of course, if thinking were writing my assignments would also be written, which means that I would have time to actually write the above posts rather than just summarize my intentions (and if thinking were cleaning who knows what I would accomplish?) and, alas, that is not the case.
Let me know what you'd like to learn more about.
*Yes, a series of books full of women suddenly realizing they were pretty initially caused me to gag more than the streak of gorgeous heroines I had been reading about. Then they were inspiring and now I'm pretty as a result.

Guest Star: Quilts from my MiL

From Guest Star Prairie Quilter:
The big star is a replica of a quilt from Kentucky made around 1870. I call it My Kentucky Star. The multi star quilt is "My Williamsburg Stars". It is a replica of a quilt I saw in the museum in Williamsburg when we were there two years ago.

Note from SpSq: These are but a small sampling of Prairie Quilter's fabulous star quilts.
Thanks for sharing, Prairie Quilter!

Black-eyed Peas and Stars

Tonight I'm going to see the old year out looking at the Milky Way from the Smoky Hills of Kansas*.
Tomorrow, I'll be introducing the in-laws to the all-important lucky legumes of the New Year: black-eyed peas.
Wishing you a 2012 filled with laughter, learning and good luck. Don't forget to eat the black-eyed peas, lentils, tamales, sauerkraut, apples and honey, dumplings. or whatever it is that brings you good fortune.
*Themed resolutions run through the Chinese New Year or Janet's birthday, so I technically have more time to observe the constellations, but I will have few chances as good as a winter night on the ranch.

And it scares away monsters, too

I designed* and pieced this quilt top in January 2008, several months before its recipient was born. Summer 2010 I gave up and asked my mother-in-law** to do the actual quilting. She came up with this fabulous star pattern just for me, brought the quilt to our new house and proceeded to show me how to finish it by binding it by hand (thanks so much prairie quilter!). Then the quilt sat in my house for a few months and sometime about a year ago, when its recipient was 2 1/2, I actually mailed it.
According to her mother, the recipient loves it and says it keeps away crocodiles or some other monsters.

I present it to you now because it is star year.

*In this case, I designed by combining several published ideas and selecting fabrics. No individual element is original from me.

**Prairie Quilter machine quilts professionally and obviously does a great job. Let me know if you need contact information.

When botanists were rock stars

I've read a great deal about Luther Burbank while preparing for my Economically Important Plants Class*. Burbank (1849-1926), the "Wizard of Santa Rosa", was a plant breeder responsible for russet ("Burbank") potatoes, shasta daisies, white blackberries, stoneless plums and a thousand other specialty plants. Self-taught and some sort of crazy, Burbank was a popular sensation. The Carnegie foundation sent a post-doc (George Harrison Shull, one of the first breeders of hybrid corn and the founder of the journal Genetics) to observe him, both sides of the Scopes Monkey Trial asked him for expert testimony, he was given a professorship at Standford, Swami Paramahansa Yoganda dedicated Autobiography of a Yogi to him, and he went camping (or at least was invited to go camping) with his peers seen here, Thomas Edison and Henry Ford, every year. Frieda Kahlo and Diego Rivera both painted him. People bought subscriptions in advance for multi-volume books of his life and works. In 1906 Burbank, a childless bachelor semi-reclusive yet self-promoting plant breeder wrote The Training of the Human Plant, a book about raising children. It was a best seller. It is still quoted today.
His letters allegedly help change federal policy posthumously, 'cause Fiorello LaGuardia wouldn't vote against the wishes of the man he considered, "the outstanding American of his time."
I don't quite get this sensation.
I pretty sure my congressman wouldn't read a book by a plant breeder on plant breeding, much less consider him an expert on other policies.
I doubt any congressman could name a current plant breeder.
Heck, I can't name a current plant breeder and I work in this field.
How times have changed.

In related news, I was a panelist at the Oklahoma Women in Science Conference yesterday (see pg. 21 for everyone's favorite fire-twirling plant ecologist and her sons). Four young women asked for my autograph. Seriously.
Botanists, rock stars, almost the same thing.

*Jane S. Smith's The Garden of Invention is a very readable biography that doesn't shy away from Burbank's oddities, poor financial decision making and the scientific and practical consequences of his work. Mendel in the Kitchen: A Scientist's View of Genetically Modified Foods by Nina Fedoroff and Nancy Marie Brown is an excellent look at the science of transgenic organisms and points out just how "dangerous" and "unnatural" some of Burbank's "traditional plant breeding" was. The Training of the Human Plant is available through the Library of Congress (there is a special Burbank collection there) and is quacky but delightful. Who am I to argue against the idea that children need sunshine, both literally and of love?

Star Anise Guest Haiku

Before I present this Haiku from guest star SalSis, I'll note that I like star anise, in moderation (although I have ruined several stir fries by overwhelming them with Chinese Five Spice) and have poached pears in red wine and star anise recently to wild acclaim (by me). I'll also note that somehow I have three jars of star anise in my cupboard, so nobody need give me any in my stocking.
Salsis, however, has had more traumatic experiences with star anise, as she pointed out when the star theme was first revealed and now submits this poem:

The taste and odor of star anise forever changed by a bad batch of apples

Star anise you make me puke,

The smell of you and taste.

Batch of apple crisp gone wrong.

You're a star, SalSis. Thank you. And may all your apple crisps be star anise-free this season.

My Brother is a star . .

. . for many reasons. At the moment he's a star because even though he is a publishing maniac hot shot scientist, has two very busy daughters, is planning a trip to the US soon, and is on crutches in a multi-story house, he sent me this photo to guest star on my blog.
This close-up of an Ohio Star is for the quilt my mother made him. The quilt contains about 15 such stars and, in my memory, is more of a royal blue than this image shows. The quilt is bright and beautiful. It was hand-quilted over a period of time, mostly in 1978-79 when we lived in Fort Worth.
Thanks MB.
Other readers take note! You, too, can be a guest star.

Guest Stars: Your chance to shine!

I think Janet was joking when she suggested that I could save time by having someone ghost write my blog. None the less, she wins some Lucky magazines (if she wants them) because ghost writers are a great idea, except that I'm calling them guest stars and I'll try to keep blogging and they will sign their names (so they really won't be ghost writers at all).
I want all of you to be guest stars this fall.
All you need to do is write or photograph something star related and send it to my plant nerd e-mail.
Ideas:
two sentences to two paragraphs about your personal hero (a star)
a photograph of a star quilt you made or someone made for you
a description of how you entered space science (yes, Ad Astra, that's for you)
an image of a star plant (starflowers, asters, stellaria, shooting stars . . .)
a review of star media (Starman, Star Wars, Star Trek . . . )
thoughts on how well you fit your zodiac sign

Read Sparkling Squirrel this fall for great guest stars!

Oh, and check out Wuthering Expectations for Jane Austen music in response to Austen in August!

Wherein Star beats Lucky and Lucky beats Star

Star by Danielle Steel is better than Jackie Collin's Lucky.
Considering how little I appreciated Lucky, (which I reviewed almost three years ago to the day) that's not saying much. Star, my very first Danielle Steel and selected only because the title fits my theme, is full of one-dimensional characters, way, way way too much ethereal beauty, heavy-handed drama and repetitive descriptions. At page 300 I almost gave it up because we'd already had rape, murder, love at first sight, fleeting stardom, marriage to the wrong person and two wars and I really didn't care how much more these two characters were going to have to go through to get together (because of course they were). It turns out it required an Academy Award, an illegitimate child, false accusations of murder, and Kennedy's assassination, among other things. Star is probably exactly what I would have expected of Danielle Steel if I hadn't read the much-worse Lucky first. Having read Lucky, my expectations were so low that Star was surprisingly good; still for crazy romantic drama, (based on having read one book each) Barbara Delinsky is much better than Danielle Steel.
Lucky the magazine way out-classes Star the magazine. Neither are exactly my cup of tea. But my baby is awake, I'll have to tell you why later. . . .

Unexpected Stars, Alcoholics and Dysfunctional Mothers

One of the many pleasures of staying with my in-laws on "the ranch" in Central Kansas is doing nothing. While here, "nothing" often entails watching food television (for the Mister more than me, but we're both plenty guilty of sitting down to an episode of Top Chef and then staying awhile) and reading children's literature (my MiL was a school librarian for many years). I picked Lost Star: The Story of Amelia Earhart by Patricia Lauber, Because of Winn-Dixie by Kate DiCamillo, The View from Saturday by E.L. Konigsburg, and Walk Two Moons by Sharon Creech off the shelf for reading over the last three days. I chose the first because it is a "star" book and the latter three because they are Newberry Award Winners or Newberry Honor books.
I was startled to find unexpected themes in these books: families are ruined by alcoholism in three of the four, two of them speak a great deal about constellations, and mothers leave their families in three of the four (or possibly all four depending on which of the Earharts left the other). Since I was expecting a book about a pioneering aviatrix, a book about a dog, a book about middle school quiz bowl and a book about Indian mythology (all of which are accurate except the last), death and dysfunction among mothers shook me quite a bit.
Have you ever discovered yourself quite inadvertently in the middle of themed reading? Was it coincidence or message from the universe?*
All four books are very good, by the way, and all, except the Amelia Earhart book, manage to have happy endings without the unresolvable being resolved (i.e. the dead stay dead and the divorced stay divorced). Walk Two Moons is the only real tear-jerker or the bunch and The View from Saturday a bit too much Slumdog Millionaire**, but I like angst with my sweetness in children's literature, and therefore didn't mind at all.
*I'm fairly certain that this is coincidence; "It will hurt your family if you drink too much and leave them," doesn't strike me as a particularly relevant personal message at the moment.
**Quiz bowl answers relate directly to vignettes of sixth graders lives.

Son's Stars

They're winners perhaps because they built tunnels, built a rocking horse, put together a slide, bought him clothes, gave him snacks, took him for walks, let him go on the big boy swings, read him stories, splashed in the bath or talked on the phone. But probably, they are stars to Dianthus because they are his family.
Dianthus was lucky enough to see grandparents in December, January, February, March and April and had a special bonus weekend with his Uncle in April as well.
The winds may blow way too much here, but there is a reason we moved.

Star desserts and signature dishes

At the end of spring break, Dianthus and I actually baked some peanut butter cookies, rolled and cut into star shapes. They were no better than ordinary round peanut butter cookies (and perhaps a bit worse) but they were stars, which at least allows me to make one tick towards my star resolution.
When the Mister's Parents visited for Easter, I baked a pavlova. I typically think of the strawberry center as being a floral design, but the case could be made that it is really a star pattern. Two star foods on the list.

On a related note, the Mister asked recently what our signature dishes are. We both could name his signature dishes (chicken biriyani and breakfast burritos with fabulous fried taters) but couldn't list mine. There was a time that pavlova was definitely it for me-- I used to demonstrate making pavlova in 4-H speech competitions and wowed numerous parties with the strawberry star, but apparently it is no longer; the Mister had never previously eaten one and I had forgotten my secret recipe.

What's your signature dish? What's mine?

Lone Star Foray the First

I traveled to Texas over the weekend; deep into Texas, to Junction on I-10 and the Llano River. Driving for a long time and only crossing a small chunk of the map reminded me of a few things about the Lone Star State:

1. It is a big state.


2. I have no good sense about the diversity of the state. As an adult, before this weekend I'd flown into Houston for the weekend (my brother's college graduation), spent two days in Fort Worth at an Economic Botany conference, and driven across the panhandle as quickly as possible last July. I have no real sense of coastal Texas, or East Texas, or West Texas or the Hill Country or Big Bend or . . . but I now know what pastures covered in mesquite look like in the spring.


3. Much as I might mock the flag-waving statriotism of many Texans, that Lone Star flag is a good flag: simple, bold and unsullied with text.


4. I was at a TORCH workshop, by the way. Should you want to know the state of biodiversity collections digitization, a topic even this plant ethnoecologist finds a bit obscure (but frighteningly fascinating) ask about the conversation among curators, taxonomists and bioinformaticians and the Texas Oklahoma Regional Curators of Herbaria workshop.

Star Year of the Rabbit

Happy New Year of the Rabbit!

Besides being a time to eat lucky foods (long noodles and sweet beans among them), the lunar new year signifies the time for me to quit procrastinating and name my new resolution.

Following the advice of my trusted advisors, the new resolution is,

Dat-ta-da....

STARS

[Star-like fireworks should follow in your brain.]

Many of you, trained as you are to be critical thinkers, will follow the star-like fireworks with the obvious question, "What does one resolve to do in the Year of Stars?"

That, my friendly readers, is a very good question.

I don't know, but I'm confident we'll figure it out. Part of my confidence comes from the fact that 2004 was the year of pink. Admittedly, it started out as a far more specific resolution to "Lose my fear of pink wine by drinking many styles of it" but I suddenly found myself wearing gaudy pink rings and sending scented notes on pink stationery. "Stars" isn't much more vague than "explore the world of Rodentia through both biological and pop cultural inquiry" or "explore luck" and most long term readers would agree that rodent and luck turned out better than noodles, despite noodles having very specific aims.

So stars . . .
I will learn to read a star chart.

I will bake my favorite star shaped cookies.
I will learn some very basic real astronomy (book suggestions?).

I will read some star books and watch some star movies and listen to star music (again, I'm open to suggestions, take stars as figuratively as desired).

I will figure out ways that I like star anise and star fruit (not two of my favorite foods).

I will think about starting another quilt (but probably not do it).

I'll try to see shooting stars among the prairie ephemerals.

I will wish upon some stars.
Help me here. What would you do in the year of stars? What do you think I'd enjoy trying?

The sparkling star image was found here.