Pioneer Scholars and a Hope for the Future

Yesterday was Pioneer Scholars Day at Spartanburg Methodist College, our first ever.  Last year, we had a smaller, precursor event, where students had time to present posters they had created for a class project.  For those of you who go to academic conferences, you're probably familiar with posters as a way to present research.  If the idea of a poster is unfamiliar, think of the posters you might have made for school projects, but more sophisticated in appearance (i.e. not made with markers and glue) with proper citations of research.

The presentation of posters was still a big part of Pioneer Scholars Day.  In addition, in the morning, we had panel presentations, and an art display.  I was judge for the art display.  During the other morning  events, I heard a panel of papers written for History classes and later in the morning, students presenting their musical compositions on a iPad app.

In the afternoon, graduating seniors presented their capstone projects, a wide variety of work.  The day culminated in a late afternoon celebration of graduates, with happy hour type food.

I signed up for the morning shift, so I didn't stay for the afternoon events.  I was very glad to have a chance to be part of the morning shift.   It was so wonderful to see students presenting their work in a variety of ways--and wonderful to see the variety of work.

Although I went to Newberry College, a small, liberal arts college, I have spent most of my teaching life in other types of schools.  I've found kindred spirits there, particularly in schools that had an English major.  It's refreshing to be teaching in a school where the value of having a diverse education, of becoming a well-rounded human, is a value we all support.  

A few weeks ago, as I was walking to my car, I saw this tire cover on a jeep, with a reference to Thoreau:

Not for the first time, I reflected on how lucky I am to be here, at this point in my life.  Teaching these students, most of them no older than 21, makes me feel hopeful for the future--these students will be able to figure it out, no matter what the future holds for them.

 

Pioneer Scholars Day

I woke up earlier than usual for a variety of reasons, but the main one is because of a slight schedule disruption today.  We don't have classes at Spartanburg Methodist College today, but it's not because we have a day off.  We have a special academic day that we're calling Pioneer Scholars Day.  It's a mix of academic and artistic presentations in the morning, and in the afternoon, graduating students present their capstone projects and other culminating academic events.

It's a HUGE thing to assemble, and I'm glad that I'm not in charge--but also glad that I am at a school that has people who are willing to do the organizing work.  The rest of us have all sorts of duties and responsibilities; in fact, all full-time faculty have to do a 5 hour shift of support work.

In my younger years, I might have complained bitterly about this requirement.  Now I'm feeling no resentment, a fact which intrigues me.

Part of it is that the requirement seems reasonable.  We don't have to teach or do other duties.  We're not coming in on a Saturday or Sunday.  And we're at a small, liberal arts college--we should be doing this kind of event.

I decided to choose the morning shift, which means I need to be on campus by 7:30, a bit earlier than usual.  The afternoon session ends at 5:30, which would mean traffic congestion on both sides of my commute.  I do regret having to give up my morning walk, but I don't resent it.

I also don't resent it because I've wanted to be at a school like this one for so long.  It's wonderful to be at a place that celebrates student intellect, and a school that knows that students can have a wide range of intellect.  I am a lucky woman.

Week-end Recap and a Look ahead at the Coming Week

It has been a good week-end; I haven't meant not to blog this week-end.  My basal cell skin cancer removal on late Friday afternoon went well.  In fact, it was the easiest skin cancer removal yet.  Is it because it was on my back, so I couldn't see what was happening?

Whatever the reason, I'm always grateful for easy medical operations.  

We had a week-end similar to so many, filled with cooking, baking, running errands, looking at mindless TV and mindful internet wandering, both together and apart.

In some ways, my Sunday was easier than most Sundays.  We had a group of seminarians and college students staying at the church.   They were in town for the race, and they slept and had meals at the church, which they've done every time they're in town. The seminarian preached 2 great sermons, both the youth sermon and the other one, and he and 2 friends assisted with communion. Their enthusiasm for life in all its facets made me feel like maybe civilization has a chance after all.

I didn't have to craft a sermon for yesterday, but I still spent time writing a sermon--I won't be with my congregation this coming Sunday, so I'll need to have a sermon to them.  I had hoped to have it ready to leave at the church yesterday, but it was not to be.  I got a draft done, but it was still in rough shape yesterday.

This morning, I've done some revising, and I'm happy that it's stronger now.  I'll put it aside, do one or two more revisions and call it done.

This week will be one of schedule disruptions.  Tomorrow, all classes are cancelled so that we can all participate in Pioneer Scholars day, where we'll have presentations of all sorts.  Faculty are required to be on hand for a variety of support.  I am judging a fine arts competition.

At the end of the week, I will be up the hill at Lutheridge, for my beloved Create in Me retreat.  I haven't really thought about the retreat too much at this point--I'm not that kind of member of the planning team.  I am somewhat surprised to find myself here, speeding to the end of the semester. 

The Week in Science: Astronauts and Biopsies

I slept a bit later today, so my writing time is short.  Let me capture a few snippets.

--I think of the Artemis mission astronauts heading back to Earth today.  I read about all the processes that have to happen for them to have a safe return and not burn up in re-entry or sink to the bottom of the ocean.

--Earlier this week, when war drums rattled with what seemed to be threats of nuclear annihilation, I thought of the astronauts who might have to stay in space longer--but how long is possible?  I thought of all the songs and novels that have stranded astronauts as part of the plot.  Happily these space travelers are returning to a world that has not been decimated by a nuclear weapon.

--It has been a good teaching week, as last paper assignments start to come together.  But we're all tired.  It's palpable.

--I had three spots biopsied when I went to the dermatologist in March.  Happily, two of them are benign, but the one on my back is a Basal cell carcinoma. So I go in later today for additional scraping and burning (but no stitches). And happily, no melanoma.  Not a huge deal--I'm at the point when I feel lucky that it can be done in the office, with no stitches. And it's not a melanoma.

Fan Letter for Forgotten Poem, "The Moon Remembers"

Like many others, I get the occasional e-mail that tells me that the sender can help me find new readers for my brilliant books, millions and millions of readers.  Yesterday I got a different e-mail, an old-fashioned fan letter of sorts.  

The e-mail writer told me that she had selected my poem for a specific reason:  "This is to let you know that as a member of a Lectio Poetry group that met this morning, I chose your poem 'The Moon Remembers' for our session. Because of the recent NASA mission to send humans farther into space than ever before, and to study the dark side of the moon, I felt fortunate to find your poem to share."

The e-mail concluded this way, "In this world of chaos, 'The Moon Remembers' gave us an hour of peace, of joy, of hope."

Wow--what writer could hope for more than that?  I mean that sincerely.  It is one of the reasons I write, in the hopes of bringing something positive to people.

I don't get many fan letters anymore, and the ones that I get are usually about "Heaven on Earth," perhaps my most famous poem, read on Garrison Keillor's The Writer's Almanac.  Yesterday's e-mail referenced "The Moon Remembers."  It's a poem I barely remember writing, and at first, I wondered if she was writing to the wrong poet.

Happily, my blog answers many a question for me.  I posted it in this blog post, and I'm guessing that's how the group leader found my poem.  Even though it's not one of the poems I remember, I'm still happy with it.

Let me post it here again, as I also say a prayer for the Artemis Mission which returns home Friday:

The Moon Remembers

                “I sing and the moon shudders"
                            Li Po, “Drinking Alone by Moonlight”



The moon does not approve of elementary choir
masters who stop the rehearsal, make each quivering
child sing a solo to find the one
who is off key. The helpless moon, marooned
so far away, wishes she could offer sanctuary.

The moon knows what the choir master forgets.

The moon doesn’t understand scales or the division
of voices into the caste systems of chorus:
superior sopranos, dowdy altos, basses as the bubble
of depth holding us up, the star tenor.

The moon remembers what the choir master forgets.

The moon sees our best selves as we sing:
the lonely driver late at night, singing to stay awake,
the melancholy mother, humming Christmas carols
to cheer the babies, the desperate lover
serenading the empty window.

The moon remembers what we all forget.

The moon knows that if we believed in our songs,
strengthened our fragile voices, and sang
as if we meant it, then galaxies would blow
to bits as the universe expands.

Things that Go Bump in the Night

Yesterday morning Trump made a bizarre threat about wiping out a great nation at 8 p.m. EST and ended his post praising the people he had just threatened.  Was he threatening a nuclear weapon?  It sounded like he was, but he's sounded that way before.

Still, I spent the day feeling wary and also darkly amused.  When took my interstate exit to go home in the afternoon, I thought about topping off my gas tank.  If Trump dropped a nuclear weapon at 8 p.m., what would gas prices be on Thursday morning, when I did need more gas?  

During the day, I also reverted to some cold war thinking, some cold war math problems:  if a nuclear bomb is dropped half a world away, how far can radioactive fallout travel?  If there is an electromagnetic pulse, will our electronics be shielded from half a world away?

In the evening, as I waited to see what would happen at 8 p.m., I wrote a letter of recommendation for a student, which seemed like a life affirming thing to do in the face of nuclear threats.  I chatted with my sister on the phone, another life affirming thing to do.  In the last hour before the announcement that the powers that be had backed down, I felt a bit too mind numbed to do much more than listen to a podcast and stare blankly at real estate listings, the way that grown ups amuse themselves when they are too tired to do much else, and the T.V. is too irritating.

Happily, the nuclear night of reckoning has been postponed for another time.  By the time I went to bed, it seemed clear that the latest moment of threat had been resolved in some way.

A few hours later, we both woke up--a noise, like something falling, from a different part of the house.  We listened for a few more minutes and didn't hear anything alarming:  no breaking glass, no voices, no further noises.  We went back to sleep.

This morning, the bird feeder that is attached by suction cups to the sliding glass door is on the deck.  It looks like the bears are awake.  It seems early and cold for bears to be out and about, but then again, what do I really know about the biology/ecology of bears?  

I realize how lucky I am:  I am waking up this morning without war on my doorstep, unlike so many people across the planet.  I am waking up this morning to find that I've had an overnight visitor, but the damage is minimal.

Seeing Clearly and Coldly

I've been up early, an hour earlier than my usual wake up time of 4 a.m.  I decided to go ahead and get up and get a draft of my seminary paper written.  It's due on Thursday, but I had wondered if our professor might extend the due date.  We didn't meet on March 26, so I thought it was possible.  Happily I have a draft of the paper that pleases me, one I'll likely use, even if the due date does get extended.

I finished up the rough draft and went for a walk on this chilly spring morning.  I wanted to see if my camera cleaning had made a difference, and it has.  Here's a picture from Saturday before I cleaned the lens:

And here's a picture taken in less sun but similar weather conditions and time this morning:

I also took this picture:

It inspired a haiku-like creation:

Cold Easter Tuesday

Waning moon held in a claw

Barely budding tree