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Face Time

Face Time

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Only one other time did I attend class on Zoom. Every other Tuesday evening I’ve been driving down to Georgetown, parking in the visitors’ garage, walking along Prospect to the Car Barn Building, feeling a part of the campus, if only fleetingly. But last night, the professor called it. The last class on November 30 would be held only on Zoom.

It was a strange way to end the semester, though in truth it doesn’t completely end until I turn in the final paper in a couple weeks. But it was the last time the class would be together, this particular assemblage of individuals, only one of whom I got to know at all, since she also traveled to campus every Tuesday evening. 

But the class itself was far more lively when it was held on Zoom only. The fact that we were all little squares, rather than some of us being squares and some of us actually being there, put us on a similar digital footing. And this prompted more chatter. 

Still, I liked the in-person version of class. It’s more of a hassle, true. It takes more time. But I like to see people in three dimensions if possible. I prefer the real and original face time.

(A scene from my walk to class.)

Doing the Reading

Doing the Reading

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Finding the balance point for this new phase of life is not going to be an exact science, I can already tell. I crave big blocks of time but am also terrified by them. I tremble at not having enough to do, then compensate by piling on too much.

For instance, I continue to try and do all the reading for class, even though it can be an insane amount. Last night, for instance, I realized that there’s an entire book we’re supposed to read for today.

In my mind are the words of my children. “Mom, you don’t have to do all the reading.” Wise words from people who, as I recall, were taught that they should do all the reading. 

But as with so much of life, relationships shift, patterns change, wisdom develops. 

And tonight, I will go to class at least slightly … unprepared. 

En Peu de Francais

En Peu de Francais

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With a new French-speaking grandson, I find myself dredging up phrases from ancient history — a high school class in French I. Today’s is “il fait du vent” … it’s windy.

But how much more trippingly does “Il fait du vent” fall off the tongue? Pretty trippingly, I’d say. 

Apparently, I could also phrase it as “Il y a du vent,” but I’ll stick with what I learned years ago. Which is way too little to converse with a bright 11-year-old.  

Once again, I’m struck by the paucity of foreign language study in the U.S. — or at least my language study!

(I met these children on a trip to Benin in 2015.) 

Community of the Ether

Community of the Ether

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A spur-of-the-moment trip to Seattle (I can do these things now!) means that I’ll attend class tonight on Zoom rather than in person. While I’ve had plenty of experience with Zoom meetings the past year and a half (haven’t we all?!), I’ve been driving down to Georgetown for the real thing every Tuesday evening. 

While this seemed slightly terrifying at the start — where will I park? will rush-hour traffic make the trip twice as long as it would be otherwise? — those concerns have largely faded. And the joy of being in a classroom again (even if only one other classmate is there with me, which has been the case the last few weeks) has more than compensated for them.

But tonight, we’ll all be on Zoom. We’ll be a class, a community, of the ether — as so many communities are these days. 

(Sunset from the Car Barn Terrace, where I am not whiling away time before class tonight.)

First Paper

First Paper

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As I plunge further into class readings, further into class itself, I notice a difference in the way I’m thinking. Is it possible … could it be … is a new logical cast creeping into my thought process? 

The class topics are some of the big ones facing society: medical research and ethics, life extension and new methods of reproduction, artificial intelligence and information technologies. 

The philosophers and historians and scientists I’m reading are dealing with these changes in language that is sometimes clear, sometimes obscure but always logical. There is little in the writing that appeals to the emotions; it’s all about appealing to the intellect. 

There is a certain tidiness in this approach. But I haven’t written this way in a long, long time. Fingers crossed that I can. My first paper is due today.

The Lesson of Hummingbirds

The Lesson of Hummingbirds

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Here is the lesson hummingbirds bring to humans, at least this human. Not just their impossible splendor, their swift jabbing attacks at the feeder like knights at sword fights flashing silver, a miracle of motion that makes me appreciate my own movements, no matter how sluggish.

And not just their seemingly impossible, near-perpetual flight, though seeing it makes me think, no matter how much I’ve done in a day, it’s never enough. 

It’s not even their way of pirouetting in front of me, as if to say thank-you, which speaks to me of gratitude whether they intend it to or not.

The lesson hummingbirds bring to me every year, from late April through late September, is, to use the movie’s hackneyed phrase … “if you build it, they will come.” Because, at least in this part of the world—and in many others from what I understand—all you have to do to see these glorious creatures is to fill a feeder with nectar and hang it it up outside. So simple, so obvious, like so many truths right there in front of me if only I would pay attention. 

 

Gray Matter

Gray Matter

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As my old gray matter stirs slowly to life, I look up and find that it’s almost 2 p.m. and I’ve yet to write a post. Instead, I’ve been answering a discussion question for my class and figuring out the topic of my first paper. 

Yes, I write all the time, but not academic papers. I’ve spent most of my adult life penning articles for commercial establishments — magazines, newspapers, nonprofits. Writing for the academy is different, I tell myself. 

But maybe not all that much. Maybe I’m making it too big a deal (I’ve been known to do that). Maybe all I need to do is what I’ve always done: research, analyze and write. Just share what I learn, and in this case, what I believe. 

(Gray stone, gray matter, Georgetown’s Healey Hall)

Reading and Weeding

Reading and Weeding

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The reading and weeding I did yesterday seem worthy of a post. The reading was for class, a chapter called Biology and Ideology. It was about Social Darwinism, eugenics, the values with which science can be laden, the ways science can be used. 

I take notes as I read, because it helps me concentrate and remember. Reading a chapter takes a while, then, as I jot down the main points and attempt to digest them. 

Which meant that I was ready for the weeding when it came. I was ready to swing my arms and pull out great fists full of stilt grass, toss it over the chicken wire fence. The motion freed my limbs, loosened my brain.

Wouldn’t it be nice if every day held a perfect combination of mental and physical work? I’m not saying mine did yesterday. But it was close. 

(No picture of weeds handy; here’s a shot snapped on the way to class.)

Endings and Beginnings

Endings and Beginnings

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August 31 is a big day for endings. It’s the end of the month, the end of the summer — and the end of the U.S. presence in Afghanistan. 

But it’s also my first day of class. This evening I officially start the master’s program I enrolled in months ago. 

In a way it’s just a return to the program I began a decade ago when I took a Georgetown class called A Sense of Place: Values and Identity. But it’s been 10 years. The program has changed, and I have, too.

Now I’m enrolled in one of four required foundation classes, Science and Society. To prepare for it I’ve read four chapters of a book on the history of science, taking notes on Bacon and Newton and Tycho Brahe. 

What will it be like to sit in a classroom again, to write papers, to be graded? I don’t know … but I’m about to find out.

(Lamplight on the Georgetown campus)

Back to the Bus

Back to the Bus

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The buses are rolling again, yellow school buses not yet matching the color of autumn leaves but rolling just the same. In their rolling I see hope and normalcy.

Yes, the delta variant is abroad in the land. Yes, some of us, too many, are unvaccinated. But in this (now August) ritual (it was always in September when my children were in school), I see a bid for real life with all its prickliness and uncertainty. 

So even though the buses about ran me off the road on my morning walk, even though conditions are not ideal, I’m glad students are heading back to the bus. And from the gleeful look I see on parents’ faces, I think they feel the same.