Spring in Akron. All the things that seem so normal to me (and so odd to others).
Blimps
Nothing in the world sounds like a blimp. Slow, piston-engine propellers, but not as big a sound as a helicopter makes. They hover low over the campus, make a turn, then go back. Over the years, I've become sort of an expert on blimp handling (at least an expert in watching them from the ground). The slightest breeze really shoves a blimp around, so they are rarely pointed in exactly the direction they are going. They fly to advertise, so they are rarely very high either, like about a thousand feet. And always with an American flag flying from the tail. They're so common that people don't even look up any more.
Chicken pita sandwiches
Yes, Street Treats is there right through the winter, through snow and sleet, but I can't quite bring myself to wait in line for a chicken sandwich when it's a blizzard, so these semi-Greek delights are mainly a warm-weather thing for me. One friend, visiting campus with me, called the sandwich "orgasmically great." I don't think I'd go that far, but they are good.
Street light sculptures
When I first arrived at Akron (seems like a lifetime ago), I noticed three things: the incredible blue sky, the smell of bread baking (Wonder Bread is just at the edge of campus), and the odd little sculptures on the tops of the street lights on campus. They seem to be cobbled up from left-over TV antennas, and at first I thought they were some sort of microwave communication system, but no. They all have little wind-chime bells, and most of them are made to look something like the human form. They have the general feel of a sophomore art project, but they have been there, tinkling away, for at least eight years now. And again, yes they are there all year around, but I only notice them in the summer. In the winter, I'm so intent on getting to class that I can't be bothered with beautiful or whimsical stuff.
We only have two more weeks of class, and the campus is at its best in high summer. That's a shame. So few people are there for the lawns, the flowers, and the Dorothy Martin fountain. I don't know who she was, but her name is attached to a modern fountain that flows rather than splashes. She's not turned on yet. I guess frost is still possible. Today a student was up on top of the pillar, playing with his girlfriend's shoes there while she giggled and shrieked.
Jon phoned today and I told him that I'm in the middle of my usual springtime funk. How could I get through an entire semester and tell my students so little? How could they make so little progress? How could we be such a failure? But that's only half of the story. One of my Ashland football players (who was in my Developmental class last spring) has turned out to be a fine writer, and asked my permission to name me as his favorite teacher at a halftime ceremony tomorrow. I need to remember that one when I get depressed.
Speaking of which—
I got my course list from the community college and decided to go ahead and ask for some courses, but on my terms this time. I'm going to ask for literature courses. The "current-traditional" approach (which is Composition jargon for "old-fashioned") favored there is pretty far from what I want to do with beginning English classes. And I never get to do any Literature courses. So I'm going to ask for courses that will make me happy.
And a voice from the past—When I looked at the e-mail from the college, one of the names in the "To" list caught my attention. One of the high-school boys in my Youth For Christ group from years back. Small town. Small world.
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