Teaching Newton's Three Laws of Motion

In teaching Newton's Three Laws of Motion with a potato launcher,  I got the following reaction from my student:

Of course, he was reacting more to the explosion and obliteration of a potato than joy at learning about inertia, acceleration and equal and opposite reactions.  In due time, I expect he will remember.

Many thanks to Mrs. A for loaning us the book, Backyard Ballistics.

Glad I Bought That!

An old crate makes a great side table on the porch next to two vintage rocking chairs on our covered porch.  Guess I'm not the only one that appreciates it.

Explosive Weather

Real life stories are too interesting to have been made up.  Holidays are often punctuated with a phone call to my veterinarian brother-in-law with some cow down or a dying goat.  This Fourth of July, he and my mother-in-law had treated us all to expertly grilled ribs.  After, we sat around and we listened to his story of some pigs he had had to catch and vaccinate.

The cosmos was set in motion and the phone rang - one of the same pigs had a prolasped rectum.  We all moaned in sympathy with him (and disgust at the mental image).  It seems the pig had had pnuemonia earlier in the week and had coughed himself inside out.  Several relatives were interested enough to don boots and accompany him on the call.

Those of us remaining took in small town America, spreading blankets near a gazebo festooned with patriotic half-moon banners.  We watched the clock nervously looking over our shoulders at an approaching storm.  Lightening began competing with some renegade fireworks, but the real show was not scheduled to go off for another half hour.  Just as we decided to go to the car, the fireworks started early. We stayed, until we felt rain and heard the screaming.  People running - and screaming.

It began to downpour, and hundreds of people ran down the street, pelted by hail.  A man fell down, laughing at himself.  Parked nearby, we made it to the car just in time, but not before my sister-in-law got a black eye from a piece of hail.  The fireworks continued to go off, observed from the car through the hail and rain. We were no longer hot, given that we were soaked.

Back at home, we heard more about the pig, and how to fix a prolapsed rectum.  I had recently had a foster kitten with this problem, so my interest in the procedure is not as bizarre as it might seem.  Personally, I think some bacon making was in order.

Tweetie Takes a Bath

Overheard

At work today, I lifted a five gallon bucket of paint into a man's cart.  His young (two? three year old?) son said incredulously, "Girls are strong??"

The man answered, "Yes, son, girls are strong."

This one is going to bed after 15 miles (by my pedometer) since yesterday morning.

My Empty Nest

I knew she* was capable of feeding herself.  One morning, I surprised her with food in her mouth.  Yet, the next morning, she looked at the food I had placed on the railing for her, hopped over to the popsicle stick I normally used to feed her, picked it up, put it down, and looked at me with a cocked head.  If she had used words, she couldn't have more plainly said, "Feed me!"  It was an amusing moment, and one that was startling in the clear communication with this bird.  So bird children are no different than human children can be!

A week or two later, "Birdie"  (or "Tweetie" to William) has me literally feeling the empty nest syndrome.  She is now completely self-fed, using both food I leave for her and lifting bark to find a tasty beetle.  She does still come to me, lets me pick her up, but the days are numbered.  I've seen her flying with other juvenile European starlings, arguing (or so it sounds) as they fly.  It won't be long before she doesn't come back to see me.  Each day, she comes less frequently to say hi.  And yet, that is what good parents do:  they teach their young to be independent.

I was told I couldn't do it:  raise a single starling.  For one thing, and I didn't know this, it is illegal to raise starlings in Kentucky (one of the few states that prohibit keeping starlings).  I could legally kill this baby crying out in hunger.  I could drown it.  If I had a hunting license, I could shoot it.  I could not, however, nurture it.  Birdie was was flying free but still being fed when I learned this.   At this point, Birdie lived totally outside and so, I wasn't "keeping" her as a pet, I was feeding a "wild" bird.  I had raised two starlings and released them successfully some years ago.  I accepted that Birdie might not make it past her first year, but odds are, most birds don't.

Birdie is going to make it, and in a way, I miss her.  I'm very proud that she is going to be a real bird, but it was quite heartwarming to hear her, call out, and see her glide in to the porch.  William and I have become acutely aware of the sound of starling fledglings.  We notice them everywhere.  We have learned tons by raising this bird: what it eats, how it develops, how it lives. 

The day we found her, an ugly little thing.

A cute phase

Just now, she is showing a few black and white feathers on her shoulder, 

signaling that maturity is right around the corner.

Although starlings can talk in captivity, she'll likely be gone before she learns words, but don't be surprised if one lands near you and says, "What cha' doin'?


*Note:  I call it a "her" although gender cannot be determined until the first molt.

Eugene (1998 - 2012)

Eugene is no more.  He gave it his all, even in death becoming an "organ" donor to a church that works on cars to donate to people in need.  We tried to nurse him along, but in the end, he told us it was "time" when he refused to drive in reverse.  He would try so hard to go forward, slipping and revving his engine.   After over 247,000 miles and many memories, Eugene is no more.  He was a good car.

Listening

Overheard on the way back from swimming with three homeschooled boys:

".....blah, blah, blah Sponge Bob Square Pants."

"Actually, he isn't "Square Pants".

"Yeah, his pants are really rectangular."

Meet Luna

William's cat Luna

While fixing dinner last night, I was trying to catch up on "House", but was distracted by the loud sounds of sirens wailing.  I said a prayer for the safety of my husband driving home from work at that same hour.  Let him be safe.  Then, a bit of guilt, knowing that if my husband is safe, some other family's daddy or mommy might not be safe.  I said a prayer for whomever those sirens were for.  They went on and on.  It must be a terrible fire or accident.  

Then - I realized William was in the basement with his buddy playing xBox.  The sirens were on their game.  My husband arrived home safely, as I hope everyone else did, too.

The above photo is of William's new kitten, Luna.  She is scared but warming up nicely.  After living eight short weeks in a barn, she and her two siblings were in a "cat room" at the pound, with many big and (if I were a wee kitten) scary cats.  It will take awhile to not be scared, but she and William have bonded already.

No Good Deed....

My first thought, upon hearing, was that I was probably a suspect in a robbery.  The police might come and question me at work, and surely, that would not look good.  That sure would be embarrassing but also would make for some lively conversations in the break room.  I called the victim right away and told her all I knew, hoping she didn't think I did such a thing - which I certainly didn't - but would she think that?  There was, however, a more likely suspect - but I'll keep you a bit in suspense.

It all started when a neighbor called and said, "Can you come over?  I need you. ...but don't ring the doorbell...the dogs will bark....wait, there's someone at the door....can you come?"   Was her home being broken into?  Would I find this situation dangerous?  Was she having a heart attack?  William and I arrived quickly, as she is just doors down from our house.  There was a man on the front porch talking on his cell phone.  I didn't talk to him, but found out later he was the gardener.  I let myself in, being privileged to have the code to her door.

My neighbor appeared gravely ill, and wanted to go to the emergency room.  She did not appear to be in immediate danger, so we decided I would drive her.  I double checked the front door, and locked the side door as we exited. We told the gardener that we were going to the hospital in town, that the neighbor was sick.

Thankfully, tests showed that the neighbor was okay, though that took several hours.  During my wait, she realized that she didn't have her insurance cards.  I volunteered to return home to get them, and did so, finding her wallet where she said it was on the desk, and seeing no one there, returned to the hospital.  She was being released!  I was able to take her home and drop her off just before it was time for me to go to work.  I noticed the gardener had returned and was now watering the bushes.

Well, it seems that after having a bite to eat, she went into her bedroom and discovered that much of her jewels were missing and a stereo.  And...I had been to her house during the time she was at the hospital.  Details helped, however, formulate a scenario.  While I was there, I fed her dogs and checked her kitchen doors.  One was unlocked, and I dead bolted it.  I had come in the front door with a code, but left by the side door, which was unlocked.  Surely, I had locked it.  I locked it again.  So - someone, a "he" (determined because a toilet seat had been left up) had come in the kitchen door and exited the side door - just after using the potty.  But at the time, I didn't know that, having only been in the kitchen and office.  And the unlocked door?  It gave me pause, but I thought perhaps it unlocks when opened from the inside, or I didn't do it right.  I brushed aside these thoughts - until I heard what had happened.

Days went by, and finally a detective came by to take prints and question the gardener.   Long story short, he has confessed and will likely do time.  Sadly, the victim will not recover all her items, some of which were sentimental.  And the robber?  Unemployed, the victim had tried to do him a favor to earn a little to help support his baby.  Sad.

Me?  It was an interesting conversation starter this past weekend and I'm relieved that the police didn't show up at the paint desk where I work.

Real Life

My drain was clogged.  Thinking to teach William some real life lessons about maintaining the house (for surely he'd use that more than the definition of a rhombus),I told him to watch me.  Maybe I'd let him do some of the work.  As I opened the drain, a glob and an overpowering smell came out with the water.

"Awwwwrg," he wrinkled his nose and ran to another room.  "If I clean up that throw up smell, I'll throw up and then I'll have two throw-ups to clean up."

I guess the trade of plumbing is out of the question.

Wordless Wednesday: Biting My Tongue

A Degree of Understanding

In my front yard.

I was crouched down by the paint brushes, straightening when the wife of the well-dressed couple approached me.

"I apologize for my husband's behavior," she said.  "He shouldn't treat any human being like that."

She seemed like a nice person despite the condescending statement:  any human being, meaning, even though you are not as exalted, you deserve to be treated well.  All I could feel was pity for her, that she had to live with him.  He was not nice.  In fact, he'd deliberately challenged me with what he thought were his superior intellectual skills.  I, after all, was just a hourly worker.

I almost told her to tell him, in a quiet moment, that the woman at the paint counter he thought was stupid was actually an engineer. But I didn't, because that brought me to his level and really, my degree didn't matter and she was right. He should treat all fellow humans with respect.  For some people, money and educational degrees are not a way to better oneself, it is a way to feel superior to others, entitled even.  "I am paying you, so I get to act any way I want."

The funny thing is that I was able to best him in his picked argument and it didn't require an engineering degree.  We were discussing paint with and without primer.  I explained that the primer-containing paint dried twice as thick as the one without.

"How much wall space does each gallon cover?" he asked.

Up to four hundred square feet.  He began to bluster that if one paint went on thicker than the other, then mathematically that was impossible.  He began throwing out numbers.  I breathed deeply and tried to calm myself.  You might be right, I explained, mathematically if the paint went on differently, but chemically, the paints dry differently, leaving one thicker than the other.  I was taught this at work and on the Internet, not in engineering school.

"Well, you've got me there," he said.  It didn't improve his disposition.  It was a Friday night.  Had he been drinking?  As I saw on a sign, I'm not a proctologist, but I know an asshole when I see one.

But then, I turned his behavior around on myself.  Was I ever the person that was impatient or thought I was better than the person serving me.  I know I have been.  At first, I was a bit ashamed of not having a professional job, but now it is a way to see things from another perspective and analyze why I would feel that way.  Why would I think that degree makes me better than anyone?  Why should it validate me?

A Modern Huck

William and I continue to read Huckleberry Finn, after finishing Tom Sawyer.  For days, Wm has asked if Huck will ever see Tom again.  We've finally reached the point in the book where Huck and Tom reunite.  Although it is difficult to discuss and read aloud the "N" word, the book has really captured Wm's interest and provided much discussion.

Continuing to find hands on ways to learn about the books, we attended the play "The Adventures of Tom Sawyer" last week.  This week, we went down to the Ohio River to imagine what it might have looked like floating down a wide river on a raft.

William took off his shoes and threw out a line to get a better feel for river life.  The large dock was our "raft".  Fishing for bass because that's how his line equipment was set up, he got nary a bite.  Still, we were enjoying the peace and quiet.  

About that time, a woman from the next dock came over.  She and her boyfriend might be able to eat an ear of corn if they shared - their teeth that is.   I inwardly sighed.  Too soon to judge, I found out, for she and her boyfriend were the kindest and gentlest of people, talking to my son and giving him a different hook and "stink bait" to try for a catfish. He reeled in someone's abandoned fishing line, but was at least a little gratified to find a nice sinker on the line (along with a good amount of vegetation).  

There was plenty of work waiting for me at home, lots I "should" have been doing, but somehow, seeing a boy enjoying life on a river was much more important today.

Notes:

I LOVE my iPad, don't get me wrong, but I brought it and my Kindle, both gifts from my very generous Dad, to the river so I'd have something to do while son fished.  I found the bright sunshine made it really hard to see the iPad screen, and I quickly returned it to the car.  The Kindle, however, was easily read from my easy chair on the dock.  

What am I reading?

High Five

It's interesting the number of people that think my weekend job is "below me".  I laugh.  Give me a break:  I've been vomited on, pooped on, stepped on by a horse.  Besides, my mantra is "Jesus was a carpenter".  By comparison, the work is clean and easy, if only a bit frustrating at times for lack of support, training, feedback, rude customers....oh, I digress.

Or perhaps not.  This past Friday, I came to work to find that two of the computers that must communicate to match paint samples were not communicating.  I suggested counseling, but they wouldn't hear of it.  So, I set about using my trouble-shooting skills.  I pulled the tinter machine from the wall, replaced ethernet cords, checked connections and rebooted several times.  The computer continued to give an error message:  it was not pinging to the mainframe.

Without parts, I was stuck.  Frankly, I was not sure I was even allowed to get behind the machine.  Oooohhh.....it's all special and techie and there are cords and I could get shocked.  For goodness sakes, it is a computer.  At any rate, I called IT and requested service.

By Sunday, after an enlightening Saturday on the cash register, I was back in paint.  The computer was still failing to ping.  With no parts, I went about our daily tasks.  We had some extra time, and so I was cleaning a corner inside the employee "cage" when I came upon an AWESOME discovery - a spare black box thingy that I was sure was the culprit with my non-pinging computer (thingy is one of the most advanced tech words, I assure you).  It wasn't connected to anything, just hanging there!

Unscrewing it from the wall, I changed it out, rebooted both computers and voila!  PING.  I suppose the fist pumping and little dance I did wasn't very professional, (I made two customers smile) but it was so fun, so uplifting to have fixed the problem.  It was then that I realized the challenge was so energizing.  I called IT and told them to cancel our request for service, and given that it was a network issue, the tech on the other end said rather loudly, "HOW did you do THAT?"  Oh, we just figured it out, I said, spare parts found, etc.

It is most likely that I've seen too many Tom Peters videos back in the 80s, but I believe in employees taking action and control where it is safe to do so.  And perhaps if more hourly people could, they'd have the occasion to do a little dance and pump their fists.

It's bad enough I have to get after William for watching too much TV, now I have to chastise the cats!

Notes:
It was wonderful to have one daughter home for the weekend and looking forward to seeing the other later this week!  It has been mentioned by both that they miss the animals, and humans, too, of course.

I told a co-worker that I've a new hobby:  vermiculture.  He said he had one of those once but the wheels fell off.

Rumpelstiltskin

Attitude is everything, but there are moments I envision myself the princess in the Rumpelstiltskin story, working desperately around the clock at an impossible task.  Okay, a very elderly princess.  But this week, with a pile of hay and a few horses, I was able to make gold!

Mr. Richardson, an tall, slightly bent, elderly neighbor, came to my door one morning, and knocked, setting off all the dogs and creating a chaos in the middle of William's piano lesson.  He was asking for another load of composted horse manure.  Usually, he comes for several loads in the spring for his wife's garden and flowers. I asked him to come back in the afternoon.  

After loading his trailer, he asked, as he always does, how much he owed me.  As always, I said that he owed nothing, I was happy to be able to share.  But Mr. Richardson wanted to give in return, and asked if I wanted some eggs?  Well, we can easily go through six eggs a day and though our hens try really hard, they can't keep up with us.  

The next day, the doggy doorbell went off and there was Mr. Richardson with two dozen golden eggs and a jar of his golden honey.  

I asked if he'd made that honey and he replied that no, his bees did.

It's so pretty outside, cats are sprouting in my flower pots!

Yesterday at the ballpark, I smelled something rank as soon as I sat down.  Unmistakable smell of sewer.  Perhaps I was imagining it, but no, when dh showed up, he wrinkled his nose.  By about the second inning, an announcement was made, "Sorry for the inconvenience, folks, but the bathrooms are closed due to the sewer backing up."  The game proceeded anyway.

By the third inning, dh noticed water coming up behind the umpire along the fence. Every ball that passed by the catcher ending up in the muck, and it wasn't Texas gold bubbling up.  The ump held the ball gingerly with two fingers, and then tossed it in the grass.  A mom finally noticed and ran to tell the ballpark manager to see if something could be put out to cover the puddles forming, which evidently were coming from the broken sewer.  Wisely, he "called" the game, and we won in the third inning, the game not to be made up because it is "fall ball" and not so serious.  

The coach gathered the team around him after and said it was too bad the game was called because they had been playing very well.  

"Yeah," said dh, "That was a crappy way to end a game."

Homeschooling is at its best when real life activities enhance lessons.  We had finished Tom Sawyer and were moving on to Huckleberry Finn when the opportunity arose to ride on a steamboat.  The river and steamboats play a large role in Huck Finn's life, so the trip dovetailed nicely.  We'd just read about the wrecked passenger steamboat where Huck and Jim narrowly escaped looting murderers and were up to the part where Huck's and Jim's raft is run over by a steamboat in the night.  Huck had to dive 30 feet to avoid the above paddle wheel.   William looked over the railing, "I could just watch this all day!"

The hands-on lesson included methods of transportation, how the boat was powered, 

and a little bit of river history.

It was interesting to watch how the boat was parallel parked, using ropes and 

the various jobs on the boat.

Notes:

Aunt Mary, the bantam hen, finally figured out it was a golf ball and not an egg and has risen from her nest.

Jorgen, Gotland pony, is doing well and it is time for me to start working him again.  What beautiful weather to ride a horse!

Did I Ever Have It?

I had my friend going for awhile there.  Despite having just turned a year older, I still "have it" I told her:  a guy at work hit on me. Yep, he said if I wouldn't mind sharing my phone number, maybe we could go to a movie some time.  Really? she asked, looking slightly impressed.  I then asked if it diminished my story at all to admit that the gentleman asking was 81 years old?  After all, what's thirty years?

Self Reflection on my birthday

Notes:

"Aunt Mary", a black bantam hen, is broody.  Now why would she want a batch of chicks just as the weather is getting colder?  I know I don't, so I put a golf ball under her and take out any eggs donated by other hens.  See, other hens will come and lay in her nest.  She takes that opportunity to get up and go eat, knowing that the laying hen will keep her golf ball warm.  The laying hen will then get up, and let Aunt Mary have her egg, conserving the collective energy of the flock.  Using a golf ball, I know that all eggs are fresh and can be taken.