4-28-2004
My work load has become unmanageable. I seem to just put out fires. I'm behind on all my freelance work. My students complain the loudest so I try to at least have a lesson plan ready every day, but the late hours are taking a toll. Monday I was planning a lesson when Clint came home and told me he was going kayaking alone. We'd told him this was a really dumb idea, but he insisted he was going anyway.
       I told him he couldn't do it, but he got his back up and said he didn't care, he was going. It felt like one of those pivotal moments in parenting and I was flummoxed. For lack of a better idea I simply shut the door to my office/bedroom and went back to work. I heard him out there, banging his precious boat against the inside of the house as he hauled it out the small garage window alone.
       I figured he'd go out and drown somewhere, but he surprised me by asking if I was determined not to help him. I said it was one of those things I simply had to take a stand on. I was his parent, and I simply wouldn't be doing my job if I let him go out alone.
        We hemmed and hawed for a while, bartering our way to a compromise wherein he drove me and my laptop down to the boat launch where I could work as he practiced self rescue techniques, with me there in the car to rescue him if he got trapped upside down. He actually did quite well, making it look so easy I would have liked to try it had I had a life...something I lack right now.

4-19-2004
Clint took his christening voyage in his sea kayak yesterday at our friend Mark's house on Puget Sound. He paddled out about about a quarter mile and stopped moving, pointing carefully into the 1 foot swell under blustery skies. I knew instinctively something was wrong, but from my vantage point up on Marks high beach front bank I couldn't quite tell what the problem was. I hollered at him to join Mark and Sue, who were another quarter mile South down the beach. I wanted someone nearby in case the silly thing broke up and sank.
       It's supposed to be unsinkable, but I had some serious doubts about our boat building skills. My several calls to Pygmy, trying to describe weird fiberglass anomalies had not been re-assuring. That was my son out there, in a homemade boat...what if it sank? Help was a long ways off. He told me later that the reason he hadn't moved from that spot for so long was that he had been scared. The boat was tippy, and he thought he would capsize if he moved before he had gotten his "sea legs".
       He showed better judgment than I as I later found out when I borrowed one of Mark's kayaks and took a short paddle off the beach. Mark's boats are Chesapeake bay homemade "tortured plywood" boats. They are beautiful to look at, showing clear signs of Mark's wood working skills. They look like they could take best of show at a wooden boats festival. Once on the water however, I felt like I was back on my brother's unicycle.
       The rocking was unmanageable. Sue had complained about it already but I had scoffed, thinking it was her increasingly narrow comfort zone. Not so, I quickly found as I frantically tried to stay upright, rocking back and forth while Sue watched merrily from the shore. The rocking got worse and worse in the short, quick chop until I capsized in the waist deep water and waded in for a pump out, sheepishly handing her my wallet full of sodden bills.
       Not being a quitter, I paddled back out and promptly capsized again, but this time in water over my head, about 2 blocks out. I righted the tippy little bugger but climbing back in was hopeless without training. I climbed up enough to look for Mark and Clint, but they were way down the beach and couldn't hear my call for help. Sue was watching from the beach looking very concerned as I slowly frog kicked, holding the paddle in my left hand, the sloshing kayak in my right and listening to my heart trying to burst out of my chest.
        Hmmm, bad place for a heart attack I thought to myself, maybe I should calm down and think. Here's a bright idea, tie the paddle to the boat so you have an arm to stroke with. Ahh, much better. This is just like not being able to get a water start in my windsurfer and swimming it to shore, something I've done a thousand times.
       By the time I'd swum in to where I could touch bottom, Mark and Clint had arrived on the scene. Mark had heard my shout, or Sues whistle, and had come a running, his huge carpenter's arms propelling the kayak at running speed across the short choppy waves. He told me later he'd looked back at the sound, and all he could see was the boat laying upside down, and figured I was stuck underneath, with maybe a frozen spray skirt keeping me under water.
       All was well though, and I gave the boat back to Sue. I've got to hand it to her, chicken heart or not, she got back in and went paddling with Mark and Clint down the shore out of sight. Meanwhile I went up and got some dry clothes from Mark's wife Mary who told me she only tried the kayaks twice, finding them too tippy. I heard later that everyone who takes those boats out dumps them the first time. They are apparently such high performance boats that they are intentionally unstable, requiring an experienced user before they become reliable.
       My problems might have been related to my bad ear. There is no balance organ on my left side, but it doesn't seem to hurt me much in any of my other sports. Oddly I have my worst balance problems walking around school. I think I get distracted by what's next on my task list and simply forget to concentrate on walking. I have noticed a decline in my climbing ability occasionally but put it down to lack of practice and old age. Hopefully it was just the boat. I once went paddling in Dad's canoe right during a dizzy spell without any balance problems, so I'm hoping my ear doesn't preclude going kayaking with Clint. The kayak rental places wouldn't dare rent anything that tippy, people would be drowning right and left.
       It was nice to get out and spend some time with good people instead of staring at this bloody laptop. But, that's my job and I guess I'd better get to it. I have one day to grade 40 assignments, prepare 5 lesson plans and update 3 web sites.

4-18-2004
Clint will launch his kayak today. He bought the kit in September, and the dang thing has taken over my garage/studio/gym ever since. It's seventeen feet long, which means to get to the other side of the garage you have to crawl on your hands and knees across the concrete under the boat where it extends from the table. The old garage door falls off it's rails if we open it, plus it's covered with insulation so we carry the kayak out through the window. Getting it out through the window is an exciting maneuver where we lift it up to the ceiling over his weight lifting cage, carry it to the extreme corner of the garage, then pull it 6 feet into the kitchen, where finally it can line up with the garage window. I've got to get a picture of the boat coming out through the window. It's pretty comical looking.
       Sue and I went for a bike ride yesterday across the peninsula on the Pole Line road, which runs behind our development. The rocky gravel road follows the power lines which run from the power plant on Lake Cushman in the Olympics to Tacoma. The road is an unofficial garbage dump for the trailer trash crowd, and it's always fascinating to see what they've dumped lately. It's kind of like going to Home Depot. Everything you could ever want can be found on Pole Line road...although it might be a little rusty. Yesterday I saw 12 junked cars, including a nice old Volkswagen bug, resting comfortably in the shady forest. Down a steep ravine, where people apparently park and toss things over the edge I saw the following items: late model stair stepper, two dishwashers,an electric stove, 3 TV's, 2 bicycles, a motorcycle and 6 bags of garbage, no doubt filled with more fascinating trailer trash.
      The creeks were running high, and we both had to stick a shoe in the water to keep our balance as we pedaled across. Strangely, there is no garbage in the creeks. Perhaps the trailer crowd realizes there is a limit to bad behavior.
       On our return Sue brought the mail down and was shocked to see that Clint had received a letter from Tacoma Community College, notifying him that, against all odds he had beat out some heavy competition and won a 2 year, all expenses paid Scholarship. It's called the "First Generation Scholarship" and is awarded to around a dozen kids each year who come from families where neither parent has a four year degree. Basically the kids have to be bright minds from poor homes.
       It hurts to write that but it's true. My path down the road to poverty began many years ago when I chose to turn down the free college education my parents were offering. Instead, I pursued my muse, which at that time was building a teepee to "get back to the land". I lived in that teepee for 3 years during the summers, spending the winters hitch hiking to sunny California with my guitar. I had a part time job working in a print shop when I was home, and also spent 6 months working as a bus boy, but I was basically pennyless, living off my wits and the kindness of strangers in the many communes of that era.
       After 3 years (this would have been 1974) I realized I was going nowhere and dumped all my sleazy friends and habits. My part-time boss and mentor: Jocelyn at the Sherwood press, recommended I get into something a little creative and I chose CPTC's printing program, which, incidentally just closed 2 months ago. I could go on and on about the poor choices I've made in my life, but I'll let Clint tell the story in his own words. This is the letter he wrote to the college, which, along with his excellent academic record probably got him the scholarship:

4-15-2004
The hard work I've put into teaching over the last 2 years is paying off. I've become much better at reaching out to my students. Whereas before, when I first began teaching, I wasn't able to bring out the designer in the average student. Many would get the software, but the creative spark was missing.
       I've had the opportunity to shepard some of these students from their first day in the program. Three quarters later the changes we have put into place in the curriculum are bearing fruit. It's not just me of course, we have 6 teachers in the department, plus the Dean, but we've all worked together to make the curriculum reflect the need for creativity in addition to software skills.
       I have the honor of teaching some of the most creative classes (drawing, Flash and Illustrator) and it is very exciting watching their homework coming in and realizing what a huge impact we are having on their design skills. Now, not just the brilliant students, but even the middle of the road students are handing in stunning work.
       Today they were all gathered around one of the computers of someone who had handed in a cunning Illustration. I walked over and looked at it. Yes, it was awesome, but I knew that about 5 other people had done equally awesome projects as well. It's a fun class to teach, and that's just one of 5.
       The down side to all this fun I'm having watching my students excel is the toll the lesson plans are taking on my life. It almost seems like the more I give to them, the less I have for myself. Then I get a panic email from the college wanting some rush work done on the web site.
        Today I had to tell them that I was teaching from 9 to 6pm. I called them on my 30 minute lunch break and politely explained that there was no way I was going to work on their rush job during lunch. They would have to wait until I got out of class at 6 PM. The work was relatively easy word to html converting, but I simply didn't want to do it. I don't need the money anymore. I looked all through the building for a student who I could have farmed the work out to, but the lazy slackers had all gone home. I would have gladly paid them cash out of pocket to get the work off my back. We have some brilliant kids, but they all love to leave early.

4-12-2004
It's been a busy 9 days since I last wrote. At the top of my list would be the 5 classes commanding my attention. Closely following on the heels of my teaching commitments are my several active freelance projects. Whenever I have a free moment I play with my new Canon G5, which has become a fun toy.
       I figured out why my climbing buddy Mark L disappeared for 17 years. He got into sailing. Saturday he and his wife invited Sue, Lisa and I out on his 31 foot boat for an evening cruise out of Gig Harbor. We've walked the joggers sidewalk for years around the harbor, but never thought we would ever enter the "inner sanctum" where the rich people spent their time.
       But there we were, waiting by the locked gate in the waning afternoon light, about to enter the hallowed halls of Gig Harbor society. As Mark walked up the dock toward us to unlock the gate, I reflected on how things change.
        Mark was the same, well, not quite, we are both a lot grayer now, but the grin was the same. It was just that the whole atmosphere of the yacht harbor was so drastically upper class compared to our former times living in the dirt of a climbers campground, eating cold beans from a can with a screwdriver. I'm not at all sure it was a change for the better. Still, I wasn't about to let my "holier than thou" attitude get in the way of a chance to watch the sun set in a sailboat with some old friends.
       I felt like a wide eyed farm boy seeing the big city for the first time as we motored slowly out of the harbor toward the entrance to Puget Sound. Mark was very casual, standing with his hands in his pockets at the tiller, not seeming to steer at all, merely bumping the tiller occasionally with his knees as he pointed out the passing sights.
       Once we escaped the harbor he turned off the engine and let the boat drift as he and Mary hauled up the mainsail and jib, or is it called a foresail? He put Sue to work steering as Lisa manned the winches, and the boat came alive under the power of the wind. The absence of the engine noise, combined with the movement of the boat through the deepening blue of the evening water was a magical thing to behold.
     There is something very primitive, even mystical about how the wind, which we take so much for granted in our machine age can propel a finely crafted sailing boat over the water in perfect silence. The only noise was a slight gurgling down below. It sounded like a gentle brook was pouring down through the forward cabin, but when I walked up there, everything was perfectly dry, it was simply the noise of the water moving along the hull.
       I kept prowling around down below, fascinated by the ability to walk the length of the boat while underway. The boat is built so that you can see both ends, all the way to the very tips. There are no doors in the way, sort of a kitchen living area in the middle with "bedroom" areas on either ends.
       Mark was kind enough to let us all take a turn at the tiller, and even allowed Lisa to steer us almost back up to the dock as the sun set. The wind picked up strongly out in mid channel, and I thought I was back on my windsurfer, trying for maximum power until Mark reminded me that the boat really shouldn't lean over quite that far.
       It was quite a lot of fun, but cold. It's still winter out there in a stiff breeze, and sailing is, at least the way we did it rather sedentary. I don't see it as an aerobic activity, except perhaps in extreme conditions. He and Mary have done a lot of racing, and I can imagine that racing, once you got good at it could become quite addictive and his 17 year absence from climbing is very understandable.
      Still, it's hard to imagine how watching the sunset while drinking a cocktail from the deck of your yacht could ever compare with sitting in the dirt and scooping cold beans from a can in the climbers parking lot at Yosemite...or could it?

4-3-2004
When I walked into my classroom at the start of the new quarter yesterday, I was shocked to see every computer taken. I've never had a completely full house before. As I went around the room showing people how to log on the network, I wondered whether my frantic emails to the tech people had prompted them to fix the network based software server.
       The moment of truth came shortly when I logged on as a student to the Citrix server and clicked on Flash. Hmmm, unresponsive computer...24 new students to the college looked at me quizzically. I looked over at D., who was helping in the back of the room, "Flash doesn't work, what can we do?"

"Bring them down to my room, my students are just doing a lab, they can do that from home."

"Are you sure? I hate to kick your students out just because I have a bigger group."

"No problem, they'd rather work from home anyway, it's a Friday, and it's sunny out, bring them on down."

"Ok everybody, these computers aren't working, lets all pack up and walk down the hall to room 154".

       As we walked down the hall en masse, I marveled at how the hallway entirely filled up with students. For 50 feet up and down the hallway, this moving mass of humanity traveled along with me toward an unknown destination, with me as their captain.
        Am I being melodramatic? Maybe. Still, teaching is a heavy responsibility. These people, from teenagers to senior citizens, are entrusting me with their future. Many have made tremendous sacrifices to be here in my classroom. I owe it to them to give them every bit of my knowledge so that they can succeed in the workplace.
       I gave them my standard 3 minute life story, then launched into a lecture about how they needed to work hard to succeed in this field; how the field is so exciting that everyone wants to do it, but only those who work really hard, all the time will make it. I told them that they absolutely had to excel if they planned to get a job in this field. The fun and thrill of animation acts like a magnet, drawing people to the field from all walks of life.
       It's kind of like the Marines, everybody wants to be in the Marines because it looks so cool to wear that proud uniform, but only the few, the proud will succeed because it is so hard. I didn't tell them that, but I should have. I did tell them that when I took this intro to Flash class 5 years ago, I was so thrilled with the program that I went to Borders, bought a book and spent 28 hours over a weekend mastering the program.
       When I came in on Monday, I could have taught the class. That's the kind of dedication I recommended they pursue. I was extremely in demand all day as student after student raised their hands with questions. They aren't afraid to ask , and I have some extremely bright minds in the room. I also was surprised to see that I have at least 10 students who are artists. They were drawing stunning cityscapes in their first few hours with the program.
       Judging from the animations some of them were doing on the first day, a few have spent some serious time with Flash before, and they were asking questions about techniques I've forgotten, not having used the program much in the last year. I will clearly have to brush up over the weekend. It is my all time favorite program, but teaching duties have taken me away from it. I'm going to love this quarter.

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