All Gone Bye-Bye

Hmm.

When I moved back from the UK to the US in January 2001, I brought three mostly-full bottles of good single malt scotch with me.  The years went by and I drank very little of them.  The levels went down, but almost imperceptibly.

Then suddenly, about a year ago, things started to change.  First to be emptied were the non-Islays - the Glenkinchie and the Oban - because I always save the best for last (I eat the same way - all the peas, then all the broiled fish, then lastly all the mac and cheese).  It took me most of the last year to finish those two.

Then late last year I added a bottle of Bowmore to the cabinet (which at that point had only Lagavulin).  In late February, I also added a bottle of Ardbeg and a bottle of Laphroaig.  And suddenly, over the last two months, I've drained all four remaining bottles - the Lagavulin from 2001, the Bowmore, the Ardbeg, and lastly the Laphroaig.  Then I bought a bottle of 18yo Talisker, and emptied it, too.  Should I be worried?  Is this a problem?

Hello... hello... hello... is there anybody in there?  Just nod if you can hear me.  Is there anybody home?

Another semester is gone.

I visited a nearby high school a few weeks ago, sat in on some chemistry classes.  Not math classes, and I'm a math education person, but it was still interesting.  Two of the classes couldn't POSSIBLY have better illustrated the range of approaches to "teaching" that are out there.  It makes me realize the enormity of what we are trying to achieve.  Especially since most colleges of education, and indeed most teachers, don't see their teaching as an "object of inquiry", or problematic in any way.

I know MY teaching stinks... so does that make me part of the problem, or part of the solution?  Or maybe both, for now?

It's both daunting and exciting.  The state of the onion is so screwed up that there is plenty of exciting work to be done... but at the same time it's so screwed up that it can seem hopeless.  But I know it's not.  One teacher at a time, one class at a time, one student at a time.

Passed Past

Before the day leaves, I want to write something.

First off, I'm so darned proud of my friend April, who defended her PhD dissertation today.  She set standards for academic rigor, professionalism, and grace under pressure that will be difficult to follow.  It was ABSOLUTELY, without a doubt, the best day of this semester for me, even though it wasn't my dissertation.

OK, I'm sitting here with a rather large glass of scotch (probably $7 worth of Laphroaig), thinking about realities that no longer exist.  Yeah, I know, that makes me no different than any other aging blogger.  "Get over it, dumbass."  Ah, but I don't have to, at least not right this moment.  It's MY blog, and you can't make me.  Supposedly Piaget wrote for himself, to sort out his thinking, and I'll bet once in a while that writing included stuff that had very little to do with child cognitive development, and more to do with scotch-driven musings.

Recently something brought back the memory of me and my friend Mark playing a sax duet (a Bach transcription, Two-Part Invention in F Major) on a rural Indiana bridge late one night, bathed in the glow from the headlights of a 1980 Ford Pinto.  Mark, to his credit, is not dead, though I daresay it's been 20 years since he touched a saxophone.  As for me, I have rehearsal every Wednesday night...  I'm looking forward to tomorrow's music-making...

The first two guys in my class to hit puberty were me and a kid named Ted.  As a result, we found ourselves singing in the high school chorus while in 7th Grade, because Junior High chorus had no part for guys who sang bass.  Well, Ted died about 5 years ago, of widespread cancer, at maybe age 35.

Through high school, especially the later years, I spent a lot of time with fellow Pinto-driver Bob.  We planned to go to college together, but it just didn't work out for him.  And then he had the misfortune of dying in a car wreck in 1991, at age 24.  I was away on a religious retreat at the time.

My best friend through much of high school was Marty.  After high school, Marty joined the USMC, and went to Iraq in the FIRST Gulf War.  No, he didn't die.  Marty is alive and well, and the former PFC has risen to Major (a beneficiary of the bloodthirsty neocon-driven Government's approach to creating "peace" through militarily-achieved implementation of structural democracy).  However, we've corresponded a little over the years, and one thing is clear: our paths have been so radically divergent that there is now no common ground between us.  Our former reality is gone just a completely as if one or the other of us had died.

Of course there's Thomas, as written about several days ago.  Today is the one-year anniversary of his suicide.  That reality ended abruptly and shockingly.

My huge crush through most of high school was a girl named Shannon, who constantly left me tongue-tied and intimidated (without ever trying).  She died of cancer last June 29th, another good person cut down in her prime.

A couple of weeks ago my wife's uncle died after falling from a ladder, dead in his mid 50s.  Too early, too young.  Yet he was already a widower himself, because he lost his wife, the dear Aunt Karen, to cancer three years earlier, at age 51.

About six weeks ago my cousin died, I think from a diabetic "episode", at age 50-ish.  That means her parents, my aunt and uncle, have now buried two of their three children.

I hear older people (like my 79 year old Dad) say that it seems like they are at the funeral home ALL THE TIME.  But I'm only 41... that seems awfully young to start ramping up the funeral frequency.

Perhaps the writing has been on the wall ever since Mom's death in a bomb blast nearly 36 years ago.  A bizarre and tragic foreshadowing of things to come.

So, on a mildly less morbid note, what realities are gone but not as a result of death and dismemberment...

Geez, I dunno.  At the risk of sounding like "Uncle Rico", the 1980s were really amazing.  I'm proud that I can truly call myself a child of the Eighties:  I entered my teens on the second day of the 1980s, and was thus not quite 23 when they ended.  All my most intense formative experiences were in that decade, so I feel like the soundtrack of my life features people like John Mellencamp, The Police, The Cars, Journey, late Chicago, The Bangles, Pat Benatar, Van Halen... an incredible time.  Back when MTV played music videos, featuring MUSIC and VIDEO, nearly 24 hours a day (interrupted only by Kurt Loder's occasional attempts at serious MTV News breaks).  Having a mild crush on Martha Quinn, one of the original MTV Veejays... wanting to be a Bangles groupie (OK, a Susanna Hoffs groupie)...  Anyway, that's a reality that is gone now.  Or is it?  If I'm a radical constructivist, I believe I create my own reality, and if I close my eyes and concentrate, I can almost be in 1984 again... ah, but not quite.  No matter how much I decenter, I can never quite experience the reality of 1984 Stacey.  I can no more step outside my currently-constructed reality to experience my 1984 reality than I can step outside of my current reality to experience someone else's current reality.  But I can damned well try.

And what were those formative experiences?   Let's see... plays (The Glass Menagerie, Up the Down Staircase, Cheaper by the Dozen), musicals (The Music Man, Anything Goes, The King and I, Shenandoah, Damn Yankees, The Sound of Music), varsity tennis (1st Doubles), playing the sax constantly (district solo contest, state solo contest, ISU band camp - "there was this one time, at band camp..." - never mind, wrong movie), Dave Kavanaugh's math classes (7th grade math, 9th grade algebra, 12th grade trigonometry and analytic geometry), intramural soccer at RHIT (for those who think I am nonviolent, I can give you a list of people to talk to), driving laps in Loogootee singing along with the radio, my "first time", the National Spelling Bee at the start of the decade (1980 and 1981), first job, first car... and of course HIGH SCHOOL BASKETBALL.  In my town of 2700 people, the high school gymnasium seats about 4000 - that should tell you something.  Our coach stayed at LHS for about 47 years, and in that time had TWO losing seasons.  He holds the record for most victories by an Indiana HS coach, with a roughly 75% winning percentage, and an average of almost 18 wins per year (and a season consisted of 20 games plus a single-elimination state tourney).  Did you know that of the 20 largest high school gymnasiums in the USA, 19 are in Indiana?  My Dad and I used to go to all 20 games a year, including the ones that required a 90-minute drive each way.  On those drives we built a bond that endures - the part of the 1980s that didn't die on 12/31/89.

Due to an unfortunate interaction between scotch and prescription medications, this post must now end.  Til next time...

Just Pretend

Out into the cool of the evening

strolls the pretender.

He knows that all his hopes and dreams

begin and end there.

Are you there?

Say a prayer

for the pretender.

Started out so young and strong,

only to surrender.

Anyone over the age of 35-40 knows I didn't write those lines... they're from Jackson Browne.  Been listening to him (his album, The Pretender) a lot lately, so unknown reasons.

There is no point to this post, really.  Just exorcising the song from my brain radio.  Hey, it could be worse - I could be quoting Toni Basil.  Ha!  Now THAT stupid song will be stuck in YOUR head, if you know who she is. 

Pickup

Gotta pick myself up.  Gotta pick myself up.  Gotta pick myself up.  I'm letting myself fall apart lately, and I don't like it.  Big as a whale, slow as a snail.

This is looking like a fairly positive week, really.  My group interview for my class project was a glorious failure - failure in the sense that the students failed to construct the mathematics that I hoped they would, but glorious in the sense that I have a lot of rich data to analyze, data that might shed some light on what was happening and why they were failing.  I feel like most of my goals for the activity were met, but there was a clear and well-defined place where they simply could NOT make the leap they needed to make.  Maybe these kinds of activities are good for creating knowledge in the sense of creating new connections between existing cognitive structures, but not so good for building radically new structures from scratch.  Hard to say, but the analysis will be much more fun than if they had simply "gotten it right".

OK, after a break, I'm back with a double (or triple) scotch on the rocks (Ardbeg 10yo).  I also uploaded more pics on Facebook, for no apparent reason.  About 10 days ago I lost an uncle-in-law, so my Facebook upload started with a quest to find and upload a pic of Gary.  Good man, hard to beat as an uncle-in-law.  He now joins his beloved wife Karen, who lost her third or fourth battle with cancer a few years ago at age 51.

I think I'll go add some captions.

Blowin'

It's really windy outside right now.  I like it whenever there is ANY sign of weather in this godforsaken desert.  Last night my wife and I were trying to cheer ourselves up by looking at quaint little houses on the net, and any time I saw one that showed a snowy yard in the pics, it just depressed me.  Or leaves to be raked, or the green green grass of home.  Anything seasonal.

On the positive side, it looks like the real estate meltdown has hit everywhere, so we should still be able to buy a house when we get back to some small town in the Midwest.

I was surprised how depressing it was to look at houses.  I realized that I am putting a lot of pressure on myself to finish this PhD degree in the next two years, and all the parts that are left are the parts that scare me - the comprehensive exam, the dissertation proposal, the dissertation, the dissertation defense...

I so lack the mental energy for all of this.  Sometimes I think I didn't want a PhD so much as I wanted a "book circle", someplace where I can study stuff and discuss it with likeminded people.  But now I'm in it up to my ears, and I suppose the only way out of it is "forward".

I know this is all in my head, but if I've learned anything in the last two years, it's that the reality "in our heads" is the reality in which we must live.  So the only way I can change this is to "change ME" (me, Stacey, not M.E., Molly Erdman).

The wind has stopped blowing, and so shall I.

For Thomas, 2008

Tom,

I know it's not quite a year yet, but this sleepless night seems a good time to write to you.  I'm toasting your memory with Lagavulin 16yo on the rocks, not quite the Distiller's Edition you introduced me to, but still one of the best.  I can scarcely believe April 15th has nearly arrived.

We all leave our footprints on this world in different ways.  I hope that somewhere, somehow, you can see the void you've left in our hearts, and know the difference you made in our lives.  I cannot fully understand the demons you fought every day for almost 35 years, but I wish you knew what every one of those days meant to those of us you left behind.  I think perhaps even WE didn't understand your impact, until you were gone.

When I see a commercial for Arriba Mexican Grill, I think of you.  I know we only dined there maybe four times, but I will forever remember the night we sat there for hours, having a few beers and talking through our crises.  I only wish yours could have been resolved differently.

I doubt that I'll get to drive to Tortilla Flat on the 15th, but I hope to make the drive in your memory soon.  I am still haunted by the thought of you on that long drive, trying for at least an hour to talk yourself out of it, as you no doubt had done so often before.  There are so many "if onlys"...

I cheered alongside you at all of the Colts games this year - did you know that?  I'm so happy you got to see them win a Super Bowl last year.  Did I tell you Eli Manning got a matching ring of his own this season?  Did you get to watch?  Is the Super Bowl televised where you are now?

I climbed Camelback Mountain for you a little while after you left.  I am in very bad shape, and wouldn't have made it without you.  I also had the kind help of a girl half my age, who helped keep me from giving up in despair.  I don't know why she went, and helped, but I was glad she did.  Anyway, I forgot to take a picture of myself atop the peak, so I don't have any proof for you that I made it.  I guess I need to lose some weight and climb it again, to get the pic.

I wore my "Wimbledon 2000" tie pin to the band concert this week.  It didn't match the outfit, but I don't think anyone noticed.  Besides, I also had the blue and yellow www.afsp.org bracelet thing on my wrist, which I wear for you every day.  Someone finally asked me about it a couple of weeks ago, so I got to mention the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention.  Maybe someone will be helped, if I keep wearing them.

That's a double dose of Wimbledon:  I saw Monica Seles on "Dancing with the Stars" this week.  Remember when we saw her play Arantxa Sanchez-Vicario?  That campout and day at Wimbledon was the best day of my 3 years in the UK, and I'm glad it was with you.  We saw some impressive stuff that day... remember how Anke Huber groaned every time she hit the ball?  Heh - the most erotic thing we'd ever heard on a tennis court!  She was having WAY too much fun out there... which was good, because Martina Hingis was beating the CRAP out of her.  And we got to see Agassi, too, remember?  And Lleyton Hewitt playing mixed doubles... boy, we thought he had SO much potential... just never got it together.

I remember the first time you and I ever met.  It was at Cummins' facility on State Street, when we were both getting ready for the move to the UK.  I was very uncomfortable, but I'm always uncomfortable when I meet people.  If I had known how you and Emma and I would bond, I wouldn't have been afraid.  Emma was so very devastated by your death, you know?  I called her in England as soon as I could get her number.  I miss her terribly, too.  She's just one of the most thoroughly amazing and beautiful people you'll ever meet, you know?  I wish she weren't so far away.  Will you visit her for me sometime?

Oh, when I was back in Indiana last summer, I took a day and went to Columbus.  Several of us got together to celebrate your life.  Brad DeCamp was there, and Rick Fox, and Greg Johnson, and of course Dave Everett.   Even my pal Dave Gerchak came, though I don't think you ever met him.

I can't walk to campus without thinking about you when I pass the place we last saw each other, where we shook hands outside the Cyprus Pita Grill.  We never used to shake hands... how bizarre that we would on that day.  I thought things seemed so normal.  You were asking about my iPod case, because you wanted to get one like it.  We talked about the Colts' offseason personnel changes, and how the team would cope.  It didn't seem to be one of your bad days, although I could tell you didn't like being apart from Kelly.  I don't blame you - you made a wonderful choice.  I never dreamed in less than 3 weeks, you'd be gone.  Did you know I emailed you on the day you took your life?  I wrote to you about the old DVD player you helped me pick out in 2000.  How mundane is that?!?  You always think there's tomorrow.  I also wrote to you a few times after you died, but I doubt you got those emails.

I figure I have another 2 years left to serve in this desert wasteland.  I don't like this place, but I have some good friends at ASU now, and they tolerate my nonsense well.  None of them know the things about me that you know, and none of them will, but that's probably for the best.  I'm blessed to have had a friend who could be shown the best and the worst of me, the most noble parts and the blackest corners of my heart.  And that was you.  It's funny - for most of the years I knew you, you were my "project", the little brother-type who I was going to settle down at some point.  I hope I helped a little.  The funny thing, though, is that in the end I think you helped heal ME.  How did someone as messed-up as you help me find myself?!?

I know you loved to hear Sarah McLachlan.  Now of course when I hear her, especially "I Will Remember You" or "Angels", I think about you.  And even though you no doubt find both of the songs I'm about to mention really corny, sometimes I plug in the iPod and sing a couple of songs for you: "Bridge Over Troubled Water" (yes, Simon and Garfunkel) and "Sunshine on My Shoulders" (I know, I know, a JOHN DENVER song?!?).  And of course now I listen to all of the endless Dave Matthews Band CDs you gave me... they were the soundtrack of your adult life, it seemed.

My scotch has run empty.  Maybe that's my sign to wrap this up.  I'm gonna give Kelly a call in the next few days, and see how her life is going.  She seems to be doing really well, but she sure loved you, my friend.

I miss you, Tom.  Be well, be at peace, and please visit me if you can.  You're a good man and a good friend, and I still need you in my life.

Stacey