A scholar's mug

One of the two yunomi from St. John's pottery.
Not the scholar's mug!

A few years ago I spent a few days on retreat at St. John's Abbey in Minnesota. In many ways St. John's resembles a medieval monastic enclave. There are bees, a woodworking shop that provides the furnishings for the college, a library, a guest house and a pottery. And a post office, but that sounds pretty modern. 

Caught out in a walk by a sudden thunderstorm, I ducked into the pottery.  There was a fire, there was tea. I spoke with the potters, learned about the huge wood burning kiln named Joanna that is fired but once a year, traded stories of travel in Japan. And I bought two yunomi (tea mugs), one that clearly shows the hands of the potter on it, and another, called a scholar's mug, rougher and clearly marked by the ashes of the kiln.

The first time I used the scholar's mug, I filled it generously and carried it to the table where I was writing.  I absentmindedly picked it up to take a sip, to find the cup too hot to handle.  Ouch!  I left it to cool. The next time I made tea, I made a collar for the mug using a furoshiki, like those you get at a coffee bar.  I quickly got better at folding either a small furoshiki or a thick paper towel to use.

It took almost a week for me to discover the trick of the scholar's mug. Fill it half full. The tea stayed warm, the top cool enough to comfortably hold.  It made me get up to refill it, to stretch at more regular intervals.

This is a true story. And a parable.

Stuck

Door knocker in Albano Laziale, outside Rome.

It was late on the Friday afternoon of fall break and the science building nearly empty when I went to the ladies room.  Right.  TMI. Anyway, I got stuck in the stall, the mechanism that turns the latch was stripped and while it latched without incident, it wasn't unlatching for anything. Call for help?  Or crawl out?  Checking the floor and thinking about how long it might be until someone heard me, I opted for the latter, which brought back memories of elementary school, when several classmates and I had latched the doors to all the bathroom stalls shut, then slithered out underneath.  Needless to say, sister was not pleased with us.

I am grateful that the floor was reasonably clean, that in my sixtieth year I can still do that and that no one came in as I was doing so.  I put a sign on the door, and a call in to facilities to fix it.

Today, I was stuck again, this time locked out of what I wanted in to.  Before I went off to teach, I dumped the remains of my soda (don't judge) into my insulated bottle, screwed the top on and left it on my desk, all set to grab on my way out the door to the meeting I had across campus directly after class.

After class I dumped my teaching bag, grabbed the papers I needed and my cold beverage.  I hiked up the hill, took the last seat at the meeting and...couldn't open my bottle.  Ugh.  I tried again. And then realized I was not going to be able to open it.  The soda had released its CO₂, increasing the pressure inside and effectively sealing it shut. We have this issue every time I do bomb calorimetry, students can't get the top off with 25 atm of pressure inside.  The bombs, I must point out, have relief valves.  I wished for one on my bottle.  Since it wasn't 25 atm inside (was it even 2?) all it took once I got home was Math Man (larger hands) and a bit of leverage.

I'm hoping I'm all unstuck for the rest of the week.

Ding Dong

Not as in Avon is calling.

In the afterglow of the Great Graduation Event (Crash's backyard party), The Boy suggested a game of Bananagrams. I am good at Bananagrams. It would be false humility to claim otherwise.¹ I don't. In fact, I tell everyone in the room. I'm really good at Banagrams.

So I join Favorite Facebook Nephew and The Boy in a round. I win. FFN is frustrated.²

We play again. Same result. In the middle of round 3, FFN resigns his position in favor of his mother, No-No, and Math Man takes over The Boy's spot. (FFN and The Boy go off to play some game at which I do not excel that resembles chess and uses lasers. They don't care who wins as long as it isn't me.) No-No and Math Man are at a serious disadvantage; not only are they taking over midstream, but are both novices.

Geek Guru tries to level the playing field by distracting me with a secondary conversation. I am mistress of the universe. I can talk and make words on the floor. "Bananagrams!" I exclaim proudly (not that this victory merits such).

Suddenly No-No looks closely at my tiles. "QUINTY?" she inquires.

Oh. No. I had created "SQUINTY," then siphoned off the S to use elsewhere. There is no redemption in Bananagrams. Should you declare victory under these circumstances, the round resumes, but without you. "Noooooo...."

From the sofa, Geek Guru begins, "Ding-dong, the wicked witch, which old witch, the wicked witch...." The rest of them join in.

Pride. It goes before a fall.

---

1. I am good because the game favors those with larger vocabularies, good spatial skills and lots of practice. I spent a lot of time playing it with The Boy on vacation a couple of years back.

2. Note that FFN could destroy me in under two minutes with his eyes closed in any videogame. Probably in under 30 seconds. We all have our strengths.