Science teachers gone wild

My saliva is in the second column from the left, Deb's is the first and the bacterial competition is in columns 3 and 4.

My good friend Deb and I teach forensic science at a high school not far away.  Nothing delights us more (well, almost nothing) than learning new ideas we can use in the classroom.  Or just cool ideas.  We both signed up for a mini-course in biotechnology this weekend (Friday, 5-8 PM, and Saturday, 9-4) that promised us free books, lab books and the chance to see amylase (the protein in your saliva that helps begin the digestive process by converting starch to sugar) in action.  But wait!  There's more!  We will also receive free supplies to do this with our own students.

Although snacks were promised, Deb and I decided to go to dinner first.  We had a fun time sharing the hilarity that is always in abundant supply when anecdotes are exchanged.  Bellies full and hearts light, we zipped over to the biotechnology center at Tulsa Community College only to discover that we were expected to spit into microtest tubes (Eppendorfers, if you really must know) BEFORE WE PARTOOK OF ANY FOOD!  Since we arrived just a wee bit late, we missed the explanation of why this should be so, but I'm guessing that our saliva production would be more prodigious before we ate.  We were supposed to fill our tiny tubes with 2-3 mL and Deb had no problem.  I tried to think of mouth-watering delicacies, but alas, my juices weren't up to the task.  Deb kept making comments about how the whole idea of spitting in the tube was just disgusting and she was 'over it.'  Meanwhile, I concentrated and spat.  I might have accidentally dribbled some extraneous bodily fluids in places other than the test tube but I'm not confirming that at this time.

Once we had accomplished our task, we went back to the lab area to fill each well with either our very own salivary amylase or a pre-determined amount of bacterial amylase (we are obviously not the only critters that would like to utilize the sugary goodness locked away in starch).  I remained worried about my pathetically small amount of saliva and looked enviously at Deb's fine efforts.  While we were loading the wells with buffer solution, I kept surreptitiously trying to spit in my container.  Deb finally caught a glimpse of this and said, "Oh, geez!  Give it UP!"

To my surprise I had enough for 2 wells and a tad bit left over for the third well (one must always have replication in these experiments).  We then added an iodine solution that remained yellow in the wells with just sugar (indicating the amylase had done its job) or turned blue/black in the presence of starch.  As you can see by the microplate at the top of this blog, our negative controls worked AND even my third puny-effort-well had enough amylase to do its thing.  Oh, sweet success!

And that, my children, is how you spend a quality Friday evening: spitting, pipetting, and competing with the best that bacteria have to offer.  I can't wait until Saturday!

  

Reading Lolita in Laureate

What an utterly grey, dreary afternoon I walked into as I left school.  I wanted to just go home and curl up with a good book, a cup of chai and my stubborn little dog, Ginny.  But I had a tutoring session with a young girl who is hospitalized with an eating disorder.  This was our third session, and I had very quickly come to admire her work ethic and rapid grasp of all the chemistry topics we covered, so I forced myself to get back out in the drizzle and keep my promise.

As much as I marveled at the rapidity at which she learned, I also noticed she was always apologizing for the least little thing, most of which were entirely out of her control (such as interrupting our session to plug in her laptop or picking up a pencil case which had gotten pushed to the floor).  Today, as we began our session, I noticed she had a copy of Nabokov's Lolita in her clear tote bag.  Without thinking that she might not welcome a comment on that particular book, I blurted out, "So, you're reading Lolita?"  And then because she blushed slightly, and lowered her eyes, I plowed on.  "So have you read Reading Lolita in Tehran?"

At this question, she raised her eyes and looked at me wonderingly.  "No," she said, "but I want to!"  I then told her I had read Lolita years ago, but got an entirely new perspective on it when I went to hear Azar Nafisi speak at the University of Tulsa a few years back.  I said, "Nabokov always hated and denied the criticism that Lolita was a work of pornography, but Nafisi and her group of students helped me understand what true pornography is: the denial of the other person to define him or herself.  The tyranny of censorship that limits a person's right to explore whatever ideas they want to.  To circumscribe their identity. Like Humbert did with Lolita."  

My young tutee nodded eagerly, "Yes, I read a wiki article about Nafisi!  I was afraid when people saw me reading this book, that they would think I was bad! You're the only person who looked at it and saw it in another way."  I then told her, "Did you know some of the young girls who were in the reading group in Tehran were jailed and one was executed?  Just for daring to be female and think."  We both fell silent for a moment considering that act of courage, and then I said, "Well, I guess we need to work on some chemistry."  So we did.

But on the way home, I kept mulling over that idea of control.  Of how we truly violate the essence of another human when we make a judgement about them being 'weird' or different or anything we think they shouldn't be.  Or should be. And I wondered again at the ability of literature to create a sudden, certain bond that two minds from very different circumstances could completely understand each other, if only for a moment.  Epiphanies can happen even on the greyest of days.

You can't always get what you want, but...

First faculty meeting of the new year got off to a promising start, with military recruiters showing us helpful websites for extra student tutoring/practice and the principal expressing appreciation for faculty members who had missed less than two days of school the first semester.  The thank you came in a rather clever form of telling us he was providing a 'sub' for us.  Momentary surprise (why reward attendance by allowing an absence?) gave way to laughter when he revealed the 'sub' was not a substitute but a 6" sub sandwich at the nearby Subway restaurant.  All we had to do was go over for lunch one day, make our selection and let the yummy begin.

But...there's always a but.  I never had enough time to go over during lunch period, and I decided I would just take advantage of this some Saturday when I came to school to work (yes, teachers work on Saturdays).  Never worked out because I was usually in a hurry just to get home or go somewhere else.  But today, Presidents' Day, I arrived at school at 7:30 and worked until 3:30 (yes, teachers work on holidays).  I had a wonderfully-filling breakfast, albeit at 6:30 AM, so when I got ready to leave I decided, "Today's the day!"  I cruised happily over to Subway, ordered a Veggie Delight and presented my coupon/card.  The girl at the cash register looked at it with puzzlement and turned it over and over.  "What's this?" she asked.  I started to explain it was a gift from my principal when the young assistant manager stated, "We're not taking those anymore.  We only took them for a little while and the principal was supposed to send out an email about this.  But several teachers have come in and tried to redeem them.  I'm sorry."

For some reason, this just struck me as hilarious, and I started laughing.  I don't know if he thought that was a potentially dangerous sign, but he repeated, "I'm really sorry about this."  And then the cashier tossed in her apologies as well.  In between snorts of laughter, I said, "It's all right.  It really is.  It's just funny to me.  But can I have a free cookie?"  This was not a gluttonous request; there were signs all over about a free cookie in honor of Presidents' Day.  She said, "Of course!"  And the assistant manager quietly told the cashier, "Give her the combo for $5."  I guess he still was a little uncertain about my mental state.  So I paid for my meal, collected my freebie cookie and grabbed a drink.

The cookie was quite tasty; it had white and dark chocolate chips and even bits of dried cherry (I guess in honor of the Washington myth).  As I ate, I mused over the fact that I had not received my gratis meal but I did get a free cookie.  You may not always get what you want, but today I got what I needed.  I think this is the Universe's way of telling me I've been a good girl. ;)

Some People

Yesterday evening I saw a polished little gem of a movie, 'Quartet.'  I had not heard of this film until my friends suggested we go see it after dinner at India Palace.  Indian cuisine and a movie?  Sign me up and let's go!

The film was a gentle coda of the lives of musicians who currently live at Beecham House, a retirement home for such folk.  In one memorable scene, Maggie Smith, a diva who has just arrived and  is given the grand tour, comments on the portrait of Sir Thomas Beecham, namesake of the retirement home.  The doctor/tour guide not only points out the portrait but tells her that Beecham was a famous conductor.  Of course Maggie knows this and retorts, "Yes, and his grandfather was a chemist who made laxatives.  Entirely appropriate for this place."  

Turns out the acerbic Maggie (or the character of Jean in the film), has a former husband living at the home and he has never forgiven her for a past transgression that changed the course of their lives.  In case you want to see the movie, I'll say no more about that. 

The film is replete with scenes of people not going gently into that good night.  They laugh, they argue, they fight, they piss into the shrubbery (mostly Wilf, a delightful reprobate who boasts of his 'seasoned wood'), and above all, they continue to make music.  The retirement home is an English estate and requires money to continue in business, so the director/doctor involves the residents in putting on a gala event to both celebrate the birthday of Verdi and save the home.  As the planning and practices take place, old angers and jealousies come bubbling to the surface which threaten the success of the gala.

The biggest threat is that Jean, her former husband (Reginald), Wilf (played by a deliciously randy Billy Connolly), and Cissy will not be able to perform Verdi's magnificent quartet from 'Rigoletto' due to past transgressions and current issues.  Cissy is a sweet character, whose episodes of dementia must be overcome somehow, and Jean must deal with her fear of failure (how can she possibly perform when she knows her voice might not hit those high notes?  she, of the twelve-curtain-call past?).  And then there's long-suffering Reginald, who struggles to find fulfillment through forgiveness.

In a quietly stunning visual metaphor, Jean and Reginald take a walk under a torturously-twisted ancient oak.   They, like the tree, have withstood the test of time, even though their bodies bear the inevitable marks of that rough passage.  From that point, you just know the quartet will sing and sing triumphantly.

All in all, this film is a comforting reminder of the constantly rejuvenating power of music and the magic of love that allows us to forgive and be forgiven.  If some people can love for life, why not us?  And while we're at it, let's sing, too.

Best Valentine's Day Ever

As we were monitoring students in the hall on Wednesday, Valentine's eve, a fellow teacher sighed, "I hope my wife keeps her promise of no Valentine's gifts.  We purchased some pricey barstools and agreed that was our present to each other.  I'm worried that she's going to buy something and I won't have anything."

I just smiled and said, "Then why don't you make her a card.  Find a nice love poem and copy it by hand for her.  I'm sure she'll be very touched by that."  He nodded in agreement and said, "Good idea!  I'll do that."

On Valentine's Day, I saw many students who had received gifts ranging from stuffed animals to candy to flowers.  One girl had a dozen roses, and when I picked up the bouquet I automatically checked for freshness by squeezing the blooms.  I was startled to find that one of the roses was artificial; the girl smiled and said, "My boyfriend wrote me a note that he would love me until that one died."  Oh, the romantic gesture!

I always have to know the end of the story, so I asked my colleague today if he (and she) had kept to their promise of no gifts.  He said, "Well, I got the card.  But I'm going away on a fishing trip this weekend and my wife is kind of freaked out about safety."  I thought it was for HIS safety, but he went on to say, "She is from S. Africa, and the crime rate is just terrible.  So even though we live in a really nice neighborhood in Broken Arrow, and Broken Arrow is one of the safest cities in the US, she's afraid to stay by herself.  It's been years since she's lived alone.  So I bought her some door jambs and pepper spray."

I laughed and said, "Oh, you are so romantic!"  But in all honesty, he was.  He demonstrated his love by thinking of her needs and her security.  And she demonstrated her love by putting aside her fear of being alone so that he could do something he enjoys.

Then after school, I went out to decompress with fellow teachers.  When I told the group about Mr. X's romantic gesture, Mr. Y said, "I WROTE a poem for my wife.  She's all logical and everything, so I thought this would make her cry.  She opened the card and took a long, long time to read the poem.  It was a short poem, and she's a fast reader, so I know it got to her.  She closed the card and said, 'And that's why I married you!'"  He chuckled with delight at the memory.  I'm glad I have the chance to work with such thoughtful people who are also willing to open up and share their stories.

And my story?  I got lots of chocolate from many students, a few sweet notes and a letter I'll cherish for as long as I can read.  Like I said, best Valentine's Day ever.

Greater Love Hath No Man (or Woman)

I teach chemistry (among other subjects, but this is a chemistry story, because after all, when you're attracted to someone, it's because the chemistry is good, eh?) and today we were working a stoichiometry problem involving a reaction that produced a gas.  Sounds intriguing, no?

This is the problem: 

In 1897 the Swedish explorer Andreé tried to reach the North Pole in a balloon.  The balloon was filled with hydrogen gas.  The hydrogen gas was prepared from iron splints and diluted sulfuric acid.  The reaction is  

                Fe(s)  +  H₂SO₄ --> FeSO₄(aq)  + H₂(g) 

The volume of the balloon was 4800 m³ and the loss of hydrogen gas during filling was estimated at 20%.  What mass of iron splints and 98% (by mass) H₂SO₄ were needed to ensure the complete filling of the balloon?  Assume a temperature of 0 °C, a pressure of 1 atm during filling, and 100% yield.

We solved the problem, but the polar exploration triggered the memory of one of my favorite stories in the book, Scientific Anecdotes.  Because this was my first hour pre-AP chemistry class, and I would not have a 5th hour today due to a pep assembly, I felt I could be a bit more relaxed in our curricular pursuits.  So I asked the students if they would like to hear a story about a brave group of explorers of the South Pole.  Of course they would (if it meant we would just lay off the stoichiometry for a few precious moments).  So I proceded to read the tale of Robert Scott and his tragic expedition that had attempted to beat Roald Amundsen to the pole.

Amundsen practically taunted Scott to a race to the pole after he (Amundsen) had more than adequately prepared his expedition.  Scott, who was in New Zealand when he received the challenge, hurriedly got his group and supplies together.  Unfortunately, Amundsen not only beat Scott's group to the South Pole, he left a letter for Scott to deliver to the Norwegian king.  Insult to injury, and all that.

Faced with evidence of their defeat, Scott and his group began the long trudge back to base at McMurdo Sound.  Long, as in 350 miles.  The men were on short rations and struggled to make it from cache to cache of food stored on the journey south.  One of the men fell and his injury slowed their progress even more.  This slower pace meant they were still far from the home base when the Antarctic winter set in with a fury.  All during this journey, Scott was writing in a journal and also penning letters to his wife, so when the first blizzard of winter set in, Scott wrote of the valor of the injured man (Titus Oates) who struggled to his feet in their little tent and said, "I am just going outside now.  I may be some time."  He never returned; he had sacrificed himself that the others might have a chance at survival.

But the sacrifice was in vain; the men were starving and did not have the energy to complete the journey.  Their bodies were recovered eight months later.  Some of Scott's last written words were: "Had we lived, I should have had a tale to tell of the hardihood, endurance, and courage of my companions which would have stirred the heart of every Englishman!" I managed to read all of that tale with no emotion.  But I had forgotten about the last few lines. 

When the expedition was found, they had been carrying along with them over 35 pounds of rocks and fossil specimens that helped geologists and naturalists understand the age and history of that remote, unforgiving place.  They were starving, dying, and yet they did not leave behind the precious cargo that would increase the store of scientific knowledge in the world.  I choked up and my eyes moistened (and it was obvious what was happening).  How can you not get a little misty-eyed in the face of such sacrifice, even if it were 100 years ago?

I have two students in that class who are from Vietnam and Taiwan.  They also cried a little, but then they stayed after class to confess they had only understood a bit of the story and wondered why I was crying.  I explained to them that the story was really about the unselfish acts of people who sacrificed themselves for the greater good.  When they truly understood what I was talking about, the tears were real.  Love, sacrifice and empathy are part of the universal language just as much as music or mathematics.

Even in this photo with all members of the party alive, you can see the toll the extreme conditions were taking.

A Secret Admirer

Memory is a tricky thing.  Sometimes we remember events in great detail but every detail can be wrong.  For example, I have a very distinct memory of how I learned of President Kennedy's assassination: I was five years old and visiting the house of my best friend's maternal grandmother.  Mrs. Laughlin, standing in her warm, cozy kitchen and smelling of freshly baked bread, bent down towards my friend Beth and me and exclaimed, "Oh, children!  The president has been shot!  He is dead!"  The only problem with this story is that when I was discussing it years later with my mother, she said, "You couldn't have heard that from Mrs. Laughlin.  We were still living in the parsonage and hadn't even moved out to the Garzelli's property.  You didn't even know Beth."

That stunned me.  I accepted the logic of my mother's memory and the timeline of our stay in Waynesville, but that acceptance in no way affected the memory.  That's still the memory I have of JFK's death, although it must have been my friend Beth's memory, not mine.  But I have definitely appropriated it.  So with the perfidy of memory in mind, another beautiful little memory sprang to my mind Saturday afternoon as I was preparing a little Valentine's treat for my friends.  I'm fairly certain this is true.

I always use green ink to correct student's work.  I have always hated red marks; they look so angry and accusatory.  So I adopted green, which represents gentle correction and encouragement of growth.  But even before I articulated the reasons why I was drawn to green ink, I liked it.  Just liked it and didn't really know why.  But as I was writing some cards Saturday, I suddenly remembered a story I had read in elementary school.  

A short story, it told of a young red-headed girl who was very attractive but didn't believe it.  She thought her red hair made her look different and she was embarrassed by it.  But to her father, she was a princess and he always told her how lovely she looked.  Of course, she didn't believe him because he was her father and he had to say things like that.  When Valentine's Day came around and there was the obligatory exchange of valentine cards in the classroom, the girl discovered a valentine written in green ink from 'a secret admirer.'  That one little card was enough to make her reassess her looks, and she began to glow with confidence.  She had a secret admirer!  She was beautiful!  Just like her father said.  I believe the story ended with the father and mother exchanging knowing looks as the girl happily took off for a party she would never have gone to before the secret card incident.  And after she left, the father re-capped his green pen and tucked it well away in his desk drawer.

The chemistry of attraction is definitely a mystery, and one to be celebrated in a variety of ways this week; but at least the little mystery of my secret admiration of green ink has been solved.  And that's satisfying enough.

Death Comes to Us All

And to some by court edict.  We've just begun a project in my forensic classes that involves researching cases of people who have been exonerated of various crimes through DNA evidence. As a prelude to the project this year, I asked students to write a brief paragraph explaining their opinion of the death penalty.  Some groaned about writing anything; others claimed they didn't have an opinion and wanted to know if they still had to write something.  And some just dived right in and let their thoughts coalesce into loops of ink and graphite.

As I was wandering around the room, one student looked up and asked, "Is it OK if I say they should spend about a year in jail and then be executed?  Is that too wishy-washy?"  I assured him it wasn't and asked why he thought that.  I already thought I knew the answer; from the title of the project, I guessed he wanted the year as a guard against injustice being done.  New evidence might emerge, after all.  But he replied, "I think they should be punished by spending a year in jail in case the atheists are right."  Who would think you could laugh about the death penalty?

As I read the essays, it became obvious that most students had really wrestled with the question and weren't just spouting received wisdom.  There were very few who were absolutists on the subject, and most were quite vehement about the level of evidence required and the nature of the crimes committed to impose the ultimate penalty.  Many mentioned the recent Newtown shootings and child sexual abuse as the kind of crimes that warranted such a sentence.  Others wanted absolutely incontrovertible evidence: DNA; video footage; at least five eyewitnesses.  In fact, for some students, the level of proof was so high, I doubt the death penalty would ever be imposed if they were jurors or judges.

Of the students who were in favor, many cited reasons such as expenses in maintaining prisoners in 'fancy facilities'.  They seemed to think that prison was similar to an extended stay in a Hyatt Regency hotel.  I think I may have to provide some passages from Grisham's 'The Innocent Man' or Damien Echols' 'Life After Death' to provide a realistic view of life in prison.  It may sound like I'm trying to sway opinions with that last comment, but I just want students to have all evidence in front of them before they make a judgement.  And sometimes that evidence is eye-opening, as in the case of the true expenses involved in trial/conviction and incarceration of those sentenced to die.

Considering that so many students (even those who really had no qualms about the imposition of the death penalty) were very specific about crimes that deserved the ultimate sentence, I wonder what they would think of this? 

Many countries in the world have abolished the death penalty, but you can see from this database which countries have executed people in the last year data was available (2010).  China led the way with 6,000 executions, but the United States was number 4 on the list.

What do I think?  Stay tuned after students complete the project.  Teachers can be cagey like that.

R.E.M., anyone?

In spite of all the jokes I've made or heard or cartoons I've seen regarding the end of the world, I had no idea what serious business it was to some people.  I should have guessed, though, after such events as the members of Heaven's Gate cult committing suicide back in 1997 in order to meet the 'mother ship' that was trailing comet Hale-Bopp.  But then I heard a news story about how so many people were contacting the astrobiologists at the NASA site about December 2012 and the end of the Mayan calendar that NASA felt compelled to post videos and facts debunking that myth.  The really sad part is that the 'Ask an Astrobiologist' writer has received emails of people contemplating suicide and stories of children who have nightmares and can't sleep because they're so worried.  Adults have the ability to reason through this; small children don't.  In fact, sometimes the teens I teach don't seem to have that ability, either.

I, as most teachers I know, are usually as busy on the weekends (grading, lesson planning) as during the week.  And if they're procrastinators, as I sometimes am, then Sunday evenings can be a very stressful time of playing catch-up.  The particular weekend I'm thinking about occurred three years ago.  I had everything done by mid-afternoon Sunday (tests graded, lessons planned, supplies bought for an upcoming lab AND all my housework done!), so I called some friends and we went out for a movie and dinner.  It was so unusual for me to go out on a Sunday evening (and put me in such a buoyantly good mood for Monday), that I joked around with one of my classes that I now knew for sure the world was coming to an end.  I didn't explicitly state that it was because of my actions on Sunday evening, but I had just been talking about the movie I had seen (before we got down to the hard work of stoichiometry), so I assumed my students would take it as a joke in the fashion of, "Little Susie Q ate her Brussel sprouts; the world must surely be coming to an end!"  You know, that kind of hyperbole that makes you smile.

After class, two of my students came to me with worried and serious looks.  "Mrs. A, how are you so sure the world is coming to an end?  Is it because of the Mayan calendar thing?" I must have made a kind of strangled sound from choking back laughter (I didn't want to offend them), and explained I knew no such thing with certitude; I had just done something unusual for me on a Sunday evening, so I joked about the world ending because of it.  The girls looked relieved, and one told the other, "See?  I told you she was joking!"  Umm, sure.

Piaget was correct in his observations about concrete vs. abstract thinkers and the range of ages it takes to reach the abstract stage.  And sometimes we forget that to the potential detriment of our young listeners.  So, here's to the end of nightmares and not the world!

We Didn't Start the Fire

Such a lovely garden entrance before!

Just a few weeks ago, some of my parents' good friends woke up in the middle of the night to the sound you only want to hear when you're making blackened tilapia: the smoke detector shrieking its warning. Very sorry to report it was not a false alarm but something had gone amiss in the attic and the pictures you see to the side and below are the aftermath of that blaze.  Mom and Dad had gone over in the middle of the night to help out, and I went by later on an errand.

The firefighters had returned because another 'hot spot' had been discovered, so the fire engine was at the curb.  The entire middle section of the roof was gone, and the fire chief wasn't very enthusiastic about allowing anyone inside (it was quite unstable), but he did allow their son to go inside and cart out important things like photos.  Several of us who helped carry salvageable items to kind neighbors across the street were allowed to go to the front door.  I had never been this close to a house fire so quickly after it had been extinguished, and as I walked up to the door I was all too aware of beams that appeared to be hanging by the thinnest of slivers of wood.  I guess I'm one of those people who have to experience something to really understand all of the ramifications.  I respect and admire firefighters, but in that moment I felt just a little fear for myself, and the point was driven home about what these men really face on every call: the possibility of death.  I don't think I'm a stupid person, but I think I just took them for granted, never fully appreciating the risks they take.

Close-up of the entrance

From a distance, the extent of the roof damage is even more stunning

Trying to salvage precious memories.

 That was a few weeks ago.  Just this past weekend, my parents and I traveled to Austin to see my son.  I also have a cousin who lives in Austin, and her husband happens to be a firefighter.  Jerry invited us to see the fire station where he worked, and we all very eagerly took him up on his offer.  We arrived around 3 PM only to find that the four-man crew had been called to an emergency.  Some calls last longer than others, and that one was relatively short.  When Jerry and his crew mates arrived, they tucked in to some of the delicious churros my cousin had brought for them.  In the meantime, Jerry showed us around the engine and explained its operation and some of the intriguing equipment stored in it.

Rajiv was allowed to use one of the smaller hoses

The tank holds upwards of 500 gallons of water, and with the larger diameter hose, can be emptied in about 5 minutes.  With the proper hose on the intake valve (and sufficient water pressure), it can also be filled in almost the same amount of time.  The pressures and flow rates for this to happen just boggle my mind.  In fact, all I could think of as Jerry was talking was how many exciting physics and chemistry lessons (real-life problems) could come from a fire engine (and an enthusiastic host!).

If you glance through the pictures below, you might get an inkling of the danger involved in this work and the mental and physical stamina required to be good at it.  Quite often, societal success nowadays is judged by how large a bank account one has.  I've no idea how much Jerry and his fellow firefighters make, but I'm quite sure it's too little for what they're really worth.  And I'm also quite sure that if they are willing to risk their lives to save another human's life, we will never be able to pay them what they're worth.  So the least we can do is admire, appreciate and THANK them for what they do.  And this is my very small way of doing that.

At the valve controls

Close up of the controls and gauges

Jerry demonstrating the size of the wrench needed to open a fire hydrant

All folded neatly away, one would never guess at the weight of this when filled with water.

Water cannon

More hoses

Absolutely vicious looking tool, but it can free people from wrecks as surely as the 'jaws of life'

Even pets can be rescued!

The truck and equipment looked clean, but Jerry's hands told another  story after the demonstration.

Mom and Rajiv in the truck.  Mom put on Jerry's hat backwards so you could see his name.

My favorite: the TIC (thermal imaging camera).  This can 'see' heat from a fire behind a wall or detect a human even through thick smoke.

Jerry suiting up: fully outfitted, his equipment weighs about 65 pounds.  And that doesn't even include the weight of the hose he must carry.

Everything except the gloves.  With everything on, his 'clothes' are worth about $3,000.  But Jerry?  He's priceless!!

We Didn't Start the Fire

Debriefing Day and The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night

On our final, full day in Jakarta, we all came back together for a debriefing session in one of the hotel’s meeting rooms.  Even though most of us had been blogging throughout the trip (some did not have internet access consistently), sometimes it’s difficult to process ideas, thoughts and emotions immediately after the experience.  So this meeting was an attempt to synthesize what we had observed, learned and gained from our journey. 

We had a broad range of school experiences: some of us were in public schools, some private, some religious but none really secular (at least via comparison with US schools).  One teacher duo (Nancy and Arlis) lived in the shadow of a volcano, walked past rice paddies to school and had classes in the forest.  Another team (Amy and Jennifer) were in a school that seemed to have every convenience and teaching methods that were more akin to what we experience at home.  Yet another team (David and Daniel) were in a private, military boarding school with tuition of $400/month and a host teacher who was a Christian.  If you haven’t checked out other blogs (the link at the top of this page will take you to my Weebly and under ‘Resources for Teachers,’ there are links to all the blogs), I would encourage you to do so because we had such a variety of experiences. 

Mosque at Miniature Indonesia

But I would say the commonality of all our experiences is the utter graciousness of our host teachers and schools.  They did everything possible to insure we would have a good experience in Indonesia.  Another commonality experienced was frustration with the nature of the traffic; it took a long time to cover even fairly short distances and I feel this cut down on our exploration time of the city.  We came across a beautiful book in the batik boutique about all the mosques in Jakarta, but we didn’t have the opportunity to explore any of them.  Driving around the city, we could certainly see a multitude of different designs for mosques but rarely up close. 

Tellang flower and seed pods

One of the reflections Susanna asked us to write was about memorable experiences here, the small moments that are more cherished than mere sight-seeing.  Two of the most moving for me were the young girl in a wheelchair at the Hari Anak Nasional celebration and Wiharti’s (chemistry lab teacher) eagerness to share botanical treasures.  The young woman gave a very moving performance of a poem urging more help and compassion for the disabled, and even though it was not in English, her emotions came through the barrier of language.  Wiharti was a small woman, who, once she understood what I was doing in the lab, brought in some flowers (tellang) and seemed so delighted that she could share those with me.  I still see her bright eyes.

The lantern in the tree

We finished with the debriefing around 3:00, so there was plenty of time before dinner.  Although nothing was formally arranged, all but two of us ended up at a wonderful restaurant called Lara Djonggrang.  The ambience was just magical; the restaurant was set back from the street in a courtyard that had a huge banyan tree and amidst the hanging rope-like roots were hung glowing lanterns.  A statue of Ganesh stood by the door and we walked into high-ceiling rooms with a multitude of smaller, intimate dining rooms.  There was a large red bust of Buddha that separated our dining room from another.  Large stone carvings were everywhere and even the menus were spectacular.  Oversized and in red, they promised (and delivered) a mouth watering array of dishes.  But the best thing about the menu was the legend of Lara Djonggrang.  She was a princess of stunning beauty whose hand in marriage was sought by an evil warlord, Bandung Bondowoso, who had slain her father.  She cagily agreed to marry him but only if he could construct 1,000 temples in one night.  He, of course being the evil person he was, commanded an army of demons to perform this task.  As the night drew to an end, Lara was afraid he was actually going to be able to complete the temples, so she had her handmaids pound rice and spread fragrant flowers around the palace, which attracted roosters which began to crow.  Smelling the flowers and hearing the roosters, the demons feared that the dawn was approaching (and the demons could only be about at night), so they fled, leaving only 999 temples.  Bandung was not a gracious loser and he turned Lara into a stone statue, to stand loveless in the temple forever.  But the maidens of the kingdom prayed for her release, and she was taken into heaven, riding on a Javanese mythological lion.  So, this dutiful and loving daughter at last had peace.

David, and the literary menu

Even the rice was artistically served in the shape of a traditional puppet head

What a perfect ending to our time in Jakarta!  And, if you’re wondering about the incident with the dog, unlike the Sherlock Holmes story, the curious incident was that we heard a dog bark.  Curious because we had never seen a single dog while in Jakarta, and just before we reached the restaurant, we heard one bark.  I think it was a good omen.