j- is the next thing

It's one thing to stay up with the latest trends. To be ahead of the curve is an entirely different breed of genius -- and something to which I aspire. Let it be known that in the near future, the prefix "j" will be at the front of the next generation of super-cool devices. Just as "e" was the hot prefix in the recent past and "i" seems to announce the best gadgets in 2008, the era of "j" is around the corner. That this is the first letter of this author's first name may or may not be a coincidence. Regardless, when the current obsession with iPod and iMac and iPhone is shoved aside by the "j" one shouldn't be startled.

Long ago steam was the most wicked cool new technology. Everything that amazed and astonished was connected to this wet water vapor. Choo-choo trains and other steam powered equipment, now clunky and oversized, were modern marvels in their time. Part of this may have been the mult-sensory features of steam power: the thick vapor, the intense heat, and the still distinctive whistle (see a winsome reminder in this short video clip). And although I cannot find a credible citation, somewhere I read that the disputed meaning behind steam beer was a signal that it was being brewed witih modern methods. The implication is that "steam" in the late 1890s was equivalent to "digital" in the 1990s. Will it be the jMobile or the jTube or jWeb? I suspect it shant be long before we find out.

from Sputnik to 2061

The modern era of science education can be bracketed by two space events. On the left side of the timeline was the launch of Sputnik. Less than two feet in diameter, this man-made satellite shook the world in October of 1957. At the right-hand end of our timeline is the July return of Halley's Comet in 2061, the year in which the famous AAAS reform is to have reached fruition. What an astonishing amount of time falls between these two events. An online calculator revealed that there will be 37,918 days between the two. While we might recognize that this covers more than a century, when reduced to days the time seems unimaginable.

Over such a considerable span of time, one would expect that great improvements in science education would have occurred. Even with incremental changes, the passage of years should reveal advances that would be worth celebrating. At what point in the stream of time would we expect to dip in to observe the improvements? Surely not just a few years after Sputnik's orbit even though that was an era of profound activity. Perhaps the halfway point would be the right moment, exactly 18,959 days after Sputnik's flight and exactly 18,959 days prior to Halley's closest approach to our planet. Wouldn't that be a wondrous time to see how far we've come?

The sad news is that this midway point coincides with the start of the next school year -- August 31, 2009 to be exact. It's a Monday, one week before Labor Day. School will probably be in session. For the more fortunate children, they may experience some science that day. But wouldn't one think we would have made greater advances by now? The theme of this spring's science education research conference is Grand Challenges and Great Opportunities in Science Education. So I suppose, all hope is not lost. The grand challenges remain and the great opportunity sits between now and the next school year. One question is what would be required to make genuine progress that is more than a slogan.

Years ago I was taught a trick to find the center of gravity for a long stick. I start with my index fingers at opposite ends and gradually slide them toward the center. When one finger is sufficiently centralized, the unbalanced weight allows the further out finger to slide in. Eventually, my fingers will meet at the center and that pivot point is where everything hangs in the balance. The talk I'm imagining would have the title "Between Sputnik's Launch and Halley's Return: Grand Challenges at the Crossroads." Perhaps others will be startled by how fast time has gone by and how little progress has been made. Not that 2061 is a magical date. But since modern science education reform is halfway to that way-station, it seems imperative to renew our commitments.

running low

Among all who attended the recent meeting, a common thread was the challenges associated with balancing myriad demands. Perhaps this is because life in general is busy. Or maybe the world of education and/or academia is sufficiently demanding. If the latter is true, it is probably because we have some many opportunities along with so much control over that which we choose. A friend at work nominated this as "agency." I have had other jobs where the pressure was low and the boredom was high. Now, on the busiest of days, I wish I was back in Missouri holding a hose and watering trees -- even though I remember standing there dying to be done so I can finally take my place at the front of a classroom.

I have begun to wonder whether those at the meeting were from a special segment of the population that finds itself over-extended. In noble moments it may be that we are among those whose dedication and devotion is so strong that we have a difficult time being complacent because some task needs to be completed. On the other hand, maybe it is hard to sit still and enjoy what surrounds us. It's almost as if we treat relaxation as a curse or a sign of immorality.

In the relative calm and peace of a darkened house, even as my body gives in, first to a virus and now to NyQuil, I realize that I have run out of steam and ink. Intellectually I recognize when my peers have over-extended themselves and emotionally I feel torn about not knowing how to help. But for now, the micro-biological part of my life has taken control.

genetic genius

Brother Bill rose through the retail ranks to a very respectable position as a store manager. This is no small task as he is responsible for everything related to keeping a store functioning. Even more impressive is that his store is one of the more profitable in his district. While I have troubles keeping ahead of my 3 graduate assistants, Bill is doing hiring and firing, running security, and even coordinating responses to the flooding in Cedar Rapids this summer. There is nothing in our family tree that would predict such business acumen. I suspect he takes some heat for not putting his college degree (not in business) to good use. To me he is just amazing. On top of all this he's a great dad for his four kids -- who personify the best part of what it means to be a Settlage.

While my profession sends me to conferences, Bill gets to go to regional meetings with all the other store managers. I think the purposes of the two gatherings are similar: only superficially related to the work and, for those who are bold, a chance to have fun with colleagues. In essence, they and we do the same basic work as our conference peers -- we just inhabit buildings that are located at different nodes. Apparently they do some goofy stuff: spirit building, lip synch contests, and that sort of thing. At their upcoming meeting in Milwaukee or Chicago will be a time when different districts teams will compete dressed as gangsters. Bill was not the originator of this idea but he's more than happy to go along.

I learned about all of this during a midday phone call. I was making copies for my Tuesday night class and the cell phone rings. He owes me phone calls but I was puzzled by the timing. After sharing the above circumstances, he explained that he and his buddy Vern had been unsuccessful in their search for costumes. I thought it was strange that they couldn't find something mobster-like at a thrift store in the Midwest. Turns out, he and Vern want to stand out from the others at the district party. That was where I came in: I have shipped my lobster costume to him and it should arrive a day before he leaves for the meeting. Imagine the photograph of a crowd of pseudo-mobsters — dark suits, jaunty hats, plastic machine guns — surrounding a dejected giant lobster: the guy dressed in red misinterpreted the voice mail. Apparently comic genius can cross institutional borders. Aside from my curiosity about how it will be received the other enduring question is whether Bill's outlook is due to nature or nurture.

stirring it up

On Monday evenings I have a class of 15 graduate preservice teachers in an "advanced" teaching methods course. About half are elementary education majors and the rest are future science teachers. This latter group are my advisees and were in my basic methods class last fall. This creates an interesting dynamic because it comes close to having an in-group and out-group arrangment. But we seem to be navigating it okay. As we finished class last night, I read a poem from Pablo Neruda, an excerpt of which appears below:

He or she who abandons a project before starting it,
who fail to ask questions on subjects he or she doesn’t know,
he or she who don’t reply when they are asked something they do know,
dies slowly.

~ from Pablo Neruda's "Die Slowly"

I explained as I prefaced this poem that I would also be using it with the Intro to Teaching juniors the following night. A secondary major joked that I should be careful what I was doing. By reading this poem I might create more like them. I interpreted this to mean individuals who advocate for themselves and aren't afraid to disclose their ambitions. The spirit of her comment was that I might have to suffer from additional strong-willed future teachers. My retort was that not only might that create problems for me but I would be sharing such problem-makers with my colleagues. They seemed delighted by the prospects. Not only would there be more in the pipeline like them but that the current group's spirit would leak out and soak into other classrooms beyond the ones in which I was the instructor.

Part of this shows is what happens when a teacher is explicit about the decision-making. I continue to find that when I describe the reasons, or even the thought processes, I use when thinking about teaching, it strikes a resonant chord with my students. Furthermore, when I confess to my uncertainties those are received with relief and joy. This situation also illustrates not only the power of poetry to inform and inspire but also that the use of poems can become a thread that ties together people and becomes a defining feature of ongoing conversations. If someone in my past had encouraged me to use poetry within a graduate class, I would never have believed it. It still is not a natural part of my work … but without my being fully aware, it has become a defining feature.

a set of people

Elementary math textbooks of the 1960s always began with a discussion of sets. To this day, I cannot figure out the logic that caused those post-Sputnik reformers to think that asking kids to identify the name for a set of geese or goldfish or giraffes (i.e., gaggle, school and herd) was a valuable way to enter mathematics each autumn. Yet it was so common that I recall opening the math book (maybe in fifth grade) and groaning that there was that exercise again: "A set of crows is called a ___ ." Maybe set theory was a wonderful unifying principle. Perhaps linking it to literary flourishes was viewed as clever. At least I can attest that it was memorable.

The ways we might describe a set of people reflects our regard for them. A posse or syndicate suggests an organization that is more threatening (but more purposeful) then an association or delegation. Congregations and flocks are contemplative while teams and crowds are rowdy. I suppose the way we label a group of people is further evidence that we are social beings.

At the inaugural assemblage of education professors, each department chair had been asked to offer quick summaries of the activities of their respective faculty over the summer. Grants, workshops, and so on. Some lists seemed to promote the bigger names in our small pond. Other reports seem to have been excerpted from monthly grant budget reports. One report confirmed for me that my mind inhabits a very different universe. It was reported that "a gang of Hartford teachers" had been to campus. Not a team or collection or even a group. A gang.

stuff on a shelf

There is a distinctive feel when remnants of hurricanes stroll through New England. At 9 a.m. the relative humidity is 90% (temperature 74°F and dew point 71°F). We run window air conditioners to dry the inside air. A perfect opportunity to empty files and straighten piles in the home office. It will be a chore not because I am disorganized but because I always have so many projects going on, many of which have their roots in scraps of paper and obscure journal articles. Before beginning, I viewed a day in the life and was inspired. To prove how hard this cleaning task will be, I will describe stuff on a shelf next to my desk.

1. Digital camera. It is on this shelf because last Thursday night, people rummaged through our trash (searching for treasures) and left garbage that had been in the can out on the lawn. If they had returned this week, I was going to take flash pictures and explain that I was going to sell the images to the local paper. No visitors. But the camera still sits where I could grab it.
2. Cosmos seeds. They are the fourth generation. These are great little plants because they tolerate neglect and produce happily bright blossoms. After the petals fall away they leave a brittle brown starburst consisting of oddly shaped seeds. All that is required to harvest them is to strip them off with a gentle pull. I feel like the seeds should dry before I put in an envelope until next spring. For some reason the brown seeds are drying on top of a …
3. Dissertation proposal. This document by someone else's advisee is a dissertation that is now over. It started out so well, but over time the sample size shrunk, not through attrition but because of the volume of data. The worst part was that the advisor, whose project the dissertator was researching, ended up answering more of the questions than the student during the defence. This a good example of the detritus that needs to be recycled today.
4. Lobster-shaped cookie cutter. We don’t make use cookie cutters at the holidays. We have the kind that are either round or rectangles cut out of a thick sheet. But in the event that I do need to cut something out of dough that is shaped liked a lobster, I’m all set.
5. Boat whistle. Sunday morning we took the canoe to a nearby fishing lake just to paddle around. As we were unloading from the car, a guy approached us from the Coast Guard Auxiliary. He asked to inspect our water craft, if we had life vests (we do), and whether we had a noise-making device. I thought maybe this meant I should buy an air horn in the event we overturned and couldn’t wade to shore. He provided us with two flat plastic whistles on lanyards.
6. Half-pint ilk bottle. Thick-walled glass with raised lettering that identified it as from the University of Connecticut. Apparently, this was a novelty sold in the 1970s for 75 cents. At least that’s what the yellowed newspaper clipping says that is rolled up inside. A gift from a friend who was cleaning her attic or garage.
7. A Guinness coin bank. This held a pair of pajama bottoms that my brother gave me. That he works at Kohl’s and the gift came from there is not an issue. The pj’s were stunningly ugly, far too tight and overly warm if you like to sleep under a blanket. But the container had a slot in the top and is now heavy with spare change.
8. A bowling trophy. I never won a trophy. This was a gag gift from a duckpin bowling/ surprise birthday party. The brass plaque reads “The Best Bowler With Small Balls, 2006.” It is too spectacular to put anywhere but where it now sits.
9. Old batteries. I never know what to do with these. One is a 9-volt the other AA. Do I save them to recycle next time we go to Ikea (every 12 months)? Or, as I have heard is safe, throw them out with the regular trash? Perhaps I should try to recharge them with one of two or three Radio Shack rechargers that are in the office somewhere. I know they get hot and that they can explode. But the economics, along with delaying the disposal question dilemma, is why they sit there. Today they will go in the trash. Starting now.