Math, part 2: Calculus

This school year, Luke and Ariel have been taking calculus at Chattanooga State. I was a little nervous. I wasn’t sure how they’d do, etc. Once again, I worried about nothing.
When Ariel returns from class she’s giddy. That’s right giddy. One day, Cal leaned over to me and whispered, “She’s acting like she’s been on a great date.” I whispered back, “I know, she’s like this every day. And it’s calculus.” We shrugged our shoulders. How can someone be giddy over math?
The other day she sat with me on the couch and told me in near breathless terms about the glories of anti-derivatives. After she finished, her face fell and she said, “You don’t seem very excited.” I said, “Ariel, it’s like you’re speaking Swahili to me.”
I mean, anti-derivatives, does that mean “against derivatives”? If it does, I could kind of go for that. Or, is it ante-derivatives, meaning “before derivatives.” Whatever that would be… This is the problem—I have to parse our conversations. And even when I do, they mean nothing to me.
The scary thing is when Ariel got home from class today, she gushed, “Next semester in Calc 2, it’s all anti(ante)-derivatives!” My eyes glazed over, and I said, “How exciting for you, sweetheart.” Can someone rescue me?!

p.s. Later in the day Ariel called out to me, “Mom, what’s 38 plus 26?” I said, “Ariel, you’re the math tutor—you should know you’re math facts.” She replied, “That’s what calculators are for.” I said, “What does that mean? Are you implying that memorizing math facts is for people who are bad at math—so they can feel better about themselves?” She just smiled and said, “Math facts are just toooo hard.” Hmmm, does that make me her private calculator?!

Poem for Writers

A writing friend of mine sent this poem. I think it's exactly on target. Hope you enjoy it.

Many people hear voices

when no one is there.

Some of them are called

mad and are shut up in

rooms where they stare

at the walls all day.

Others are called writers

and they do pretty much

the same thing.

Anonymous

Pit Orchestra

If you look at the title of this post, it seems a little Dante-esque. But it just means the orchestra is playing down below the stage, in the "pit."

Last Friday Calvin and I went to see Crazy for You, a Gershwin musical, because Ariel played in the pit orchestra. The orchestra and the actors/singers/dancers did an amazing job. Here are pictures of Ariel. They had three performances last week and three more this week. After that, hopefully there will be some normalcy. (But probably not.)

Technology Intervention

I have always admitted that I am technologically ignorant. So, when Ariel confronted me about having a blog, I gave her my first line of defense. I don’t like technology. If I’m honest, I view my antipathy as a badge of honor—I am content with those things which have satisfied writers through the ages, i.e., paper and pencils and beautiful pens. In response, she raised an eyebrow, something she’s very skilled at, and reminded me that I love email and that I write my novels on a computer. Clearly, the first point in this discussion goes to the sixteen year old. Time for my second line of defense. I don’t understand how it all works. She raised a second eyebrow (I told you she was skilled at this). “Mom, it’s completely self-explanatory, besides I set one up for you last year. All you have to do is write!” Score two for the daughter with naturally curly hair. Now was the time for my final excuse. “Ariellll, my blog is ugly…” She looked down her cute little nose at me. “Mom, you’re whining.” Then, she proceeded to explain/lecture me how a writer in the 21st century needed to take advantage of the new methods of communication. Finally, she ended with, “I’ll make your blog more attractive, but then you have to promise to write more often.” I promised I’d write at least once a week. I can’t help but wonder if this is a foreshadowing of thirty years from now when she’ll be saying, “Mom, now take your heart medicine like you promised the doctor…” Sigh.

P.S. If you enjoy reading this or like the way the blog looks, I guess you should tell Ariel. :-)

Math

I am a bit bemused by the title of this post. How is it that I’m writing about math?! But I live in a home of mathematicians. No, not my husband. He’s with me—two art-loving humanities type people who ended up with four math-loving children. I’m still not sure how it happened. We read together as a family—we still do. They get assigned all the classics: Homer, Hemingway, Austen, etc. When I bemoan the fact, Luke says to me, “Mom, we love Shakespeare. It’s really the best you can hope for.”
I’m still assigning the kids lots of reading—the younger boys are making their way through the Odyssey now. When someone mentioned the volume of reading, Jacob said, “Yeah, it’s amazing how much you can read when you don’t sweat comprehension.” UGH. Somebody pass me the smelling salts, quick.

P.S. Please note the prefered subject is everywhere--calculators, graph paper, math books, economics, etc.

Capture

Last night around midnight, Luke heard a noise, then another noise and another. He tiptoed out of his room (okay, Luke doesn't tiptoe--he's more like a mastadon, but you get the idea) and woke up Ariel. In the darkness they surrounded Oswald, flipped on the lights, and captured him.

Later, during Oswald's interrogation (which did not involved torture, merely the dangling of honey-coated bird treats in front of his nose), Luke and Ariel discovered that Oswald had set up his base of operations under Luke's dresser. And, though Oswald did not protest during his arrest, he was furiously chewing the bars of his cage this morning. Luke believes Oswald spent his time on the lam recruiting other creatures in his bid for world domination. So we'll have to see what other creatures try to escape. Our spy network has told us that Jezebel was recruited, but she refused to participate--Oswald couldn't better her current arrangements of four square meals, a warm bed, plenty of bones, and a two and half mile run over the hills three times a week. Besides Jezzie thought Oswald's secret code was a bit over the top.

Escape

The other day, Ariel's hamster Oswald escaped from his cage during the night--he knocked the cage onto the floor, the wheel broke off the cage, and he hightailed it. How Ariel slept through this all is rather mystifying. And we haven't seen any sign of him since. Luke talks about Oswald breaking free to mate with rats and then discusses of the possibility of hunting ham-rats in the basement, Cal talks about a tasty treat for Jezebel (our five month old black Lab), Jacob talks about the lights dimming as Oswald chews through electrical wires, and Matt mentions seeing the phantasm of poor, dear Oswald. Ariel "patiently" ignores it all.

Personally, I believe that Oswald is a secret agent who has been "placed" in our home to spy out the secret goings on--who gets up for a midnight snack and leaves the pizza out on the counter, who leaves legos/dining room chairs/violin cases in the middle of the floor to be tripped over, and who gets up and secretly transmits coded messages about world domination and demands a new knuckle bone.