As of noon today, my semester is done – every last essay corrected, every straggler accounted for, and every grade calculated. Yay!
It’s been a strange semester. It began abruptly and unpleasantly, because the day after I learned that I had a full-time daytime course load, my grandmother passed away. This was less than a week before the term started, which means I was frantically getting course material together – and then the funeral happened on the second day of the semester. I taught my first course the day before the funeral with almost no preparation and while completely distracted, and had to call on a colleague to fill in for me on the day of the funeral, so I missed Day 1 with two of my classes.
I felt not quite on track for about a month, and I never really felt at ease with my first group.
On the other hand, my 101 course worked really well this term. In the winter term, the 101 groups tend to be volatile. The students are in an Intro course, but it’s the second semester – which means either that they failed the first time around, or they’re starting their first year halfway through. Either way, these groups often feel not quite right. In fact, although there were 27 students registered in my course right up to the end, nine or ten of them stopped coming to class altogether by the last month of the semester. The group that remained, however, was enthusiastic and did some great work.
Next fall, for the first time ever, I don’t have a 101 course. I’ll be teaching two sections of my genre course on Formula Fiction and one theme course for Liberal Arts. I’m pretty happy with this assignment, although I am a little concerned about the 2009 winter term, and whether or not I’ll have enough CI (the calculation of my individual workload) to have a complete year. Not only does this CI matter in terms of salary – if I fall below a certain CI, I get paid rather a lot less – but also in terms of tenure. The 2007-2008 year is the first full year for me at this college, and I need another one to qualify for the next level up the ladder.
Wake up!
Anyway, right now I’m focusing on making some minor adjustments to the Formula Fiction course (I taught it this winter and it worked very well, so the adjustments are really very minor) and making some major ones to the Liberal Arts course. I’ve been collaborating with the teacher who gets the Liberal Arts group in the following semester*, and we’re coming up with some really exciting ideas. We may also be plotting a coup, but that’s the kind of thing that happens when you plan courses while under the influence.
If you made it this far in the post, you get a reward – my new favourite student essay typo: according to one student in my Formula Fiction course, Bridget Jones is “in a retaliation ship” with her boss.
Admit it – don’t you sometimes feel that you’re in a retaliation ship?
*Incidentally, this is the same angel who came to my rescue at the beginning of the term when I was in funereal dire straits. She is officially my favourite colleague EVER. 😀
I [heart] Taylor Mali
As a follow-up to the previous post, may I present:
Silver lining?
So we’re nearing the end of the semester, which means piles of correcting, as always. This semester I feel like I’m actually on top of things, which is a good feeling, let me tell you.
Of course, when you’re on top of things, you have to be careful to stay balanced, lest you tumble off and get smothered…
As always, one of the minor joys of all this correcting is the inadvertent laughs provided by typos and other unintentional errors. For instance, I’m reading an essay now, written by one of my Intro students on Raymond Carver’s ‘Cathedral.’ The student states that the lesson of the story is “don’t be sterotypical or jugdemental.”
Jug-de-mental… hee!
Now to master time…
Last night Robert, wearing the red-and-blue glasses that came with a recent Bugs magazine, walked into the kitchen and informed that I was “now” 3D.
Phew.
A lesson in juxtaposition
On page A12 of today’s Gazette there are two articles side-by-side.
Headline 1:
Vancouver drug workers fight to keep injection site alive
Headline 2:
B.C. fears arrival of giant squid on killing rampage
Can’t you just hear it now? “This might be the drugs talkin’, but I think there’s a giant squid after me, man.”
Apparently I need to get out more
Transcript of a conversation in our kitchen, yesterday afternoon:
Robert: Daddy has a lot of jobs. He has Scrabble, and singing in the choir, and the computer stuff*. That’s three jobs! Mummy has just one job; she’s a teacher.
Colin: Well, she’s our mother. That’s a job.
Robert: Then Daddy has four, ’cause he’s our dad… Mummy, if you wanted to do more stuff, that would be OK.
*the “computer stuff” is his actual job
The consequences of unprotected surfing
I am beginning to think I have two personalities (at least): one is all about size and power, and the other is a minimalist.
The first clue was the teeny little Sony camera I bought. I already have a big sexy Nikon, complete with filters and hoods and a camera case that’s bigger than my head. I love my Nikon, really I do, but it’s big. Heavy. Cumbersome. And this is fine if I’m headed out to take pictures, and want to (a) get some really great shots and (b) look like an intimidating semi-pro photographer. But when the photo-taking is not the actual point of the expedition – when we’re out with the family, for instance, or sightseeing, or what have you – then the Nikon is a little more camera than is strictly necessary, and I find myself either not taking it and thus missing photo ops, or taking it and resenting it.
So I bought the teeny Sony. It fits in my pocket, for goodness sake. It’s smaller than the cigarette packs I used to carry everywhere, so it certainly doesn’t get in the way. And it’s still a pretty decent camera (the photo above was taken with it).
One might argue that two cameras does not a psycho make.
To which I would respond, ah yes, but two laptops?
My sexy new laptop is wonderful (bluescreen issues notwithstanding, but that’s another post). It’s big and sexy and powerful and chocolate brown, and the screen is massive. I can see people’s pores in their facebook profile pictures. And I love having a computer at work that is my computer – I don’t have to surreptitiously download stuff, I can control which programs I use for which applications, and so on. But the SNL, like the Nikon camera, is big and heavy and cumbersome – it barely fits in my backpack, which is only a few months old but is starting to show signs of strain on the zipper. I have a good, ergonomic pack, but my back still aches by the end of a week of toting the SNL back and forth.
So I bought an Asus Eee PC.
Or, rather, one of me did.
Wilde times
Yesterday I was reminded of a line from The Importance of Being Ernest. As previously noted, earlier this year I lost my grandmother, or more specifically, my step-grandmother, Jane. Last night I came home to find a letter from an Dublin solicitor regarding the loss of my paternal grandmother, my namesake*, Margaret McDonnell. I must be getting careless.
I have wonderful memories of Ireland. I remember looking into my Aunt Bernice’s eyes for the first time when I was 19, and seeing my own eyes looking back. I remember eye-wateringly strong Irish coffee before bed on chilly winter nights. I remember hours of singing and laughing at Nick’s, my grandparents’ local. I remember taking the long way home to avoid the Garda road blocks!
It was in Ireland that Dr. T bought me a ring, and got down on one knee on a sidewalk and proposed.
When my father, Brian, died in 1998, I got a phone call from my uncle in Dublin, who let me know. That call, as per my father’s request, was made after the funeral. I have not been back to Ireland since, and I often wonder, if I had been given the opportunity to be part of the family then, by which I mean, had I been invited to the funeral, would I have stayed in touch with my grandparents and my aunts and their families?
For my part, I hide behind the excuse that I am angry with my father. I feel that he deliberately excluded me from his life and death – which, given his track record, is not altogether surprising, but that doesn’t make it right. Part of me is very hurt, though, that no one – not a single aunt, cousin, uncle, or grandparent – ever tried to get in touch with me.
I was sad to hear that Madge died, and sadder still that I heard it from a complete stranger. I remember her very fondly – she was tiny but full to overflowing with life and love and laughter.
How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting, when we meet again
____
*I’m not convinced that namesake is the right word here, as it implies she was named for me, which obviously is not the case. The closest “right” word I can think of is eponym, but I think that’s usually reserved for things, not people. Anyone have a better word?
Irony, thy name is woman stuck in snowbank
In the past 24 hours, another 30 cm of snow (about a foot, for the non-metrically minded) fell, fast and furious, on our fair city. This was a true blizzard, with high winds turning the snow into a blinding sheet of white that hurt when it hit your face.
Yesterday was also, coincidentally, International Women’s Day.
In our house, this convergence of events played out as follows:
~ As Dr. T relaxed on the couch, watching a testosterone-fuelled Indiana Jones battle evil-doers and rescue the incessantly-shrieking Kate Capshaw, the doorbell rang and I raced downstairs to open the door, and find two women, obviously mother and daughter, on our front porch. The mother explained that she and her two daughters had been trying for ages to get their car out of a snowbank on our street, and had given up, and ours was the first house to answer the door. They were hoping to find something to put under their tires so they could drive out of the snow.
~ I turned around and called for Dr. T – at which point the woman’s face lit up and she exclaimed “A man! Yes, that’s what we need!”
(to clarify, she meant that he could help, not that she needed a man to put under her tires)
~ Dr. T threw on his boots and jacket, grabbed a shovel, and headed out; he was back within minutes, having successfully and manfully extricated the damsels in distress from their snowy metaphor.
~ Less than an hour later, the bell rang again. This time, a young couple were stuck in the snow in the middle of the street, and once again, Dr. T braved the elements and helped them out. This particular operation took a little longer, so the wife took refuge in our house, where we chatted for the half hour or so that it took the men to solve the problem.
~ Apparently in an attempt to add to my bemusement, the young woman told me all about her coming to Canada from Bangladesh to marry the young man based on the recommendation of her sister’s husband, who had met him once and thought he was suitable. A year and a half later, she, a physiotherapist, and her husband, an engineer, were both working at a restaurant to support themselves while they went back to school to take courses to become, respectively, a physiotherapist and an engineer.
~ We took the fact that two sets of complete strangers had now called on us to help them navigate our snowy street as a sign that our plans to drive the kids to the babysitter’s and then head out to a much-anticipated party were perhaps less than realistic. I called our erstwhile hostess and regretfully sent our regrets, he called the babysitter and did the same, then we settled in with our supper (made by me) and a nice bottle of red, and enjoyed family time (including the final scenes of the Indiana Jones flick) instead.
On the other hand, the soft, buttery dinner rolls were made by my son, so I guess that balances everything out, right?
Ten points for style, minus several million* for…
So on Thursday, one of my classes had to hand in their rewritten essays. Naturally, a few people didn’t show up, presumably under the (mistaken) impression that if I don’t see them, I don’t notice that their papers are not on time.
Ten minutes into the class period, there’s a knock on the door. I open the door to find one of the missing students, who hands me her paper, coughs, and then says she can’t stay because she has bronchitis, but she wanted to get her paper in.
So yes, kudos for demonstrating that you respect my deadlines and take my class seriously, but I’m not sure about the whole pulmonary infection thing. Also, I believe this is your plague rat.
*I have a leftover, unopened roll of rockets from Hallowe’en that goes to the person who first correctly identifies the reference in the title.