The Open Road

Once upon a bright summer’s day, we dreamed of travels far away.

Over plains and mountains and to the shore, we would follow the open road.

We thought it tough to keep surviving with so many days of constant driving,

Yet found so quickly we were thriving, striving forth towards Hoover’s abode.

One short stop, then on to Golden Spike we towed.

Our first few days upon the road.

Through open desert where wind blows, we were surprised by bright rainbows.

Across to Lassen Volcanoes our westward travels finally slowed.

We hiked to where Bumpass burnt his bone, explored the nozzle of cinder cone,

Hiked Lassen to the construction zone – until hiking further a sign forbode.

We inhaled deeply and admired where ancient glaciers flowed.

Stopping to play where it had snowed.

We sought next the ancient trees, feeling smaller than unseen giants’ knees,

Sheltered from the ocean’s breeze, far below the marbled mirallettes’ abode.

Suddenly I heard panting, sighing – to climb a tree, Helen was trying.

I echoed too a different sighing, sighing proudly at the courage that she showed.

She did not make it far up the redwood before she slowed.

Once again we hit the road.

From the backseat we heard some raving, something about Oregon caving.

‘Twas like a mob of ‘49ers seeking out the mother lode.

Instead of madness from the driving, they wished to go deep-earth diving –

A hike below the trees where once a river flowed.

No concern about surviving, they entered the darkness – no one slowed.

We saw where ancient magma flowed.

Next we brought a gift to Crater Lake, well, less a give and more a take,

When enjoying Garfield Peak a strong wind blowed

John’s hat – it tossed and tumbled onto a cliff edge too easily crumbled

By the footfalls of any man who vainly strode.

Our sunset hike revealed a perfect moon, perhaps the lake thought a gift was owed.

A lost hat lightens the load.

 By morning light we saw Twin Rocks, where the Coughlin brood naturally flocks,

To play in sand outside a box, blocks from Grandma’s beach abode.

At a local joint we broke the fast, enjoyed our coffee to the last,

A brief trip into the past, before a fond farewell we bode.

One last sweet cinnamon memory I sneakily stowed.

A sticky treat for the long road.

Up upon the Oregon coast, Lewis and Clark followed their host.

At the place it rains the most, they made their wintertime abode.

The thirty-two adults and child travel’d West when all was wild,

Exploring a continent by where its water flowed.

Sacagawea helped them break the local code.

America’s first road.

We hiked through Olympic trees like towers, wandered through the alpine flowers,

And marvel’d at the Pacific’s powers thundering upon the rocks they will one day erode.

On Cascade Lake we loved to float, enjoying views from a paddle boat,

On Michael’s birthday it is his favorite travel mode.

To the dock we were later safely towed.

Better off if we had rowed. 

The ferry took us to Aunt Bern, she joined our hike among the fern.

Apparently, it was not our turn to find the lake that fills once it has snowed.

We fed the wild mosquitoes but no Pyramid Lake ever showed.

Next day we climbed Cascade Pass, forty switchbacks go no-so-fast,

But the mem’ries will surely last longer than the Umqua a la mode. 

Back on to the open road. 

We left the Cascades in our wake, gently tapping on the brake,

We thought for once some time we’d take and drive with leisure along the road.

A Winthrop winery tasted fine, we even bought a case of wine!

Took pictures of the purple police Trans Am, deciding it clearly was not to code.

We stopped at the Walmart of Smelterville Idaho.

Boondocking along the road.

We found our favorite place in Butte, ‘Pork Chop John’s’ of high repute,

A double-stacker will leave mute, the most grumbly of stomachs along the road.

In Sheridan we anticipated, a cowboy dinner finely plated,

But instead we waited, and waited, waited for the no-so-special special that finally showed.

(But it gave us plenty of time to use their clean commode). 

Even yelp can’t predict every meal along the open road.

We skipped the a la mode.

A Wyoming windstorm gave brief delay, but soon we were on our way,

The Minuteman Missile Site the goal today, to learn about the Cold War code. 

Out of a truck a cowboy wave, signaled a situation we could guess most grave.

John pulled over and walked behind to inspect our precious load.

For a Freightliner we were waiting, waiting to be towed. 

To cowboys our safety was surely owed.

We rode in a semi to RV Jacks.  Would he laugh the shirt right of our backs? 

We’d find a way to relax, with life’s cow-pie, a side of a la mode! 

The Alex Johnson’s nicest suite, wine and French cuisine to eat,

In the city fountain we our feet, and found that local cone of a la mode.

And really didn’t mind that historic hotel commode. 

Surprise detour from the road. 

 

  

We went next to that Minuteman, seizing the day, if we can,

Drove straight through the dry Badlands, that beauty that wind and water erode.

Next we saw the Presidents four, enshrined upon Mount Rushmore,

Down to Custer Park looking for deer, elk, and big buffalo.

In our headlights it appeared – two feet away – a two ton load!

Watch out for bison on the road. 

                                                           

Do you recall RV Jack?  He fixed up Jessie and gave her back.

The time had come to make our tracks, returning to our travel mode. 

Jolly Green Giant – a veggie icon, a big cheesebarn cow in Wisconsin,

Passed the SPAM Museum (we’ll put it on the bucket list for trips along this road). 

The last few miles of long driving, I asked my dear if he’s surviving,

“Give one last thought, Dear, for our family ode.” 

“Same time next year, let’s hit the road!”    

Lego Scrimmage - Get it?

The process defies easy explanation.

Yes, yes, the kids use Legos and robots and computers. The parents pull their hair out wondering how they will ever get it done.

And then comes scrimmage day, and over 200 people - kids, coaches & mentors - come together to first don their t-shirts, to try out those robots, and give it all a first try.

The managed chaos provides a scene for intense learning. Expect screams. Expect a few tears. And, when the parents are providing the safe environment, but not too much instruction.

You'll also find kids who say . . .

"I can do this."

"How are we ever going to do this?"

And, "I think we can help."



Because those are the biggest challenges our kids will face out there. They will need to do it themselves, challenge themselves, and learn to collaborate. They don't learn that stuff from Legos. They learn it from the mentors, parents, and their peers. They learn it from YOU.

Of course what self-respecting geek doesn't LOVE seeing a robot put a ball in a bucket??

Yeah. Really, really cool. No, you've probably seen a ball fall in a bucket before, but you get why it was cool.

They get it too.

Thank you to all of you really cool coaches, parents and mentors out there who just 'get it.'

High 5's to all of you.

A Lego Reality

I have been wandering around blogging in my head again, but have way too many ideas. Sometimes it is best to start with what is most obvious. In this case, it is the robot table in my living room. On my way home from preschool drop-off, one of the parents said that my Lego team email was hilarious. So, here is my reality. This was my note to the parents of my Lego team this week. Hilarious is an overstatement, but probably slightly more entertaining than the Kindergarten newsletter that she had read a few minutes prior.

A little official Lego news attached to the bottom. Homework also on bottom.

Thanks for coming tonight!

We were bummed that Charlie was sick, but I think we had a very productive meeting. We worked on the robot tonight, and here is what we learned (okay, what I hope they learned!).

1. Making the robot do what you want is not as easy as it looks (but they are so smart they will be able to figure it out, if they work hard and THINK and work TOGETHER)

2. C = 2 pi R. R is the distance from the center of the left wheel to the center of the right wheel, because the center of the right wheel doesn't move while the left wheel drives around it.

3. 1/4 C is how far that left wheel has to go to turn the robot to the right in a 90-degree turn. Get it?

4. If one rotation of the motor = 6.75 inches of forward movement, then you have to decide what percentage of that 6.75 inches you want to move the left wheel to make that 1/4 C movement. In this case, 1/4 C was 6.125 inches. The "factor" was written down by the Whitham kids, but was just a little less than 1.0.

5. If you do the math, it actually happens in real life too (there were some high-fives and actual excitement about that). This makes my heart sing.

6. ISH is not a unit of measure, but it is fun to say.

7. It is easy to forget which way you are going if you label your MY BLOCKS things like "opposite" and "unopposite". OOOPS

8. The wheel doesn't slip if it starts out by moving slowly and then picks up speed. (They learned that at the Rockwell event, but this was a good application).

9. Your coach thinks its really cool that the team spent 2 hours understanding and executing a right turn. She must be nuts! (We will continue to work on gracious professionalism. I know it is hard to contain oneself when calculating circumference and making subroutines, but we need to maintain some sense of order).

HOMEWORK:

Williams kids were asked to get the right-turn calculations into the notebook. Their dad has all the details and I think it just needs to be recopied. Please help them understand it on a general level. Ask them about it.

1. IF you haven't finished the food research, please do so. Basically, the kids need to be able to explain the process from nature to table for their food. It doesn't have to be perfectly correct, but if they are way off base, please help them look stuff up. Encourage them to think of reasons why their food would be interesting for the group.

2. If your child IS particularly interested in doing the food they are studying, then encourage them to look up local information. Where would we find more information? Is there someone in the area who would want to know about an innovative solution?

3. If your child thinks this is a horrible assignment, then have them think about contamination and talk out possible questions for other people's foods. (In the car on the way to your next activity - if you have to). Ask them to present to YOU their food. (Between bites at dinnertime works for this). PRESENTING is an important skill. It is okay if Johnny doesn't really care about eggs. But, we have to choose something. I also don't want there to be a huge struggle only to discard their particular food. This is an exercise in understanding the process and how to think about it and practice presenting it. NOT about why Maggie's ice cream is better than Andrew's fish. Don't tempt me to make salmon ice cream.

Bwa ha ha ha.

Thanks again!

Succeeding to be Successful: Scientifically avoiding a gooey mess

Andrew struggled into the minivan in front of his school – a fully loaded backpack, violin in one hand, and a lunch bag of scientific achievement in the other.

“I succeeded to be successful,” he said in a confident voice. I could tell he had decided exactly what he would tell me. He couldn’t wait to tell someone.

“Really?” I replied. The words were nonchalant when they left my brain, but somewhere along the way a little emotion and leapt onto them.

“Yep. BOTH of my eggs survived.”

“Wow! Did the parachutes deploy?”

“Yep. Well, I had to untangle them for Mr. Edwards, but once I had them set up, they worked great. Even some of the other kids had the SAME ideas as I did, but theirs didn’t work.”

“Really? What was the difference?” (I half expected an ‘I-dunno-must-have-been-luck’ response, but it was the right question to ask).

“Well, one kid did Jello also, but they put it in a Cool Whip container. It was a Jello Bomb! The thing splattered 20 feet in all directions, I even got Jello on me.”

“Oh, wow.”

“A couple of kids made parachutes out of grocery bags, but the strings were too short. They didn’t deploy.”

“A couple kids just put their eggs in cardboard boxes and stuff. Some of the eggs fell out on the way down. I was so glad I brought my own tape because Mr. Edward’s tape was not good enough for the lids. He just had freezer tape there.”

It became vastly clear that most of the eggs found a gooey demise on the pavement below the back of the high school football stands that day. Only a few made it, and Andrew could describe their designs with precision. Then he said something very interesting.

“Even some of the kids who get perfects on everything - theirs didn’t make it. Even Joey Chan’s eggs broke. So did Rahul’s.” (Rahul is his ‘best friend’ in school, or so I’ve heard.)

He called his dad right away and gave a similar story with great detail. As for me, I was proud of both of them. Andrew’s assignment was to protect an egg from an approximately 40-foot drop of the stadium stands. They could only use one other item in the container besides the egg.

On Saturday he started working on it. The truth is that he had wanted to work on it all week, but I wouldn’t let him do it until his other work was done – and it seemed that was about the time we had to go to some other activity.

Besides trying to clean-up, prepare for Lego League (which I coach), and figure out a menu for the next week, I really didn’t have it in me to work on a science project. I normally like those kinds of things, and I’m pretty good at NOT doing it for them. But, it takes a lot of energy to NOT do it for them. I was in the mood to just be done with it.

“Honey, do you want to take this one?” I pleaded to my husband in the next room.

He was more than game, almost surprised that he had the honor to help. I moved out of the way, merely overhearing the progress.

My husband walked into the kitchen, asked Andrew to make a list of possible choices of containers and cushioning, and then went back to watching the football game and folding laundry. Later, I heard Andrew defending his choices.

“Why would that work? How are you going to do it? What do you need? Can you test it?”

I was sent to the store for bubble wrap and Jello. I was asked for some scrap cotton. I heard my husband telling Andrew to go find a picture of a parachute on the internet and think about what is important about it. I watched as a tomato can came flying over the loft balcony with a cotton parachute attached. Again. And then again.

It was bedtime on Sunday when the can, parachute attached, was ready to fill with Jello. Can #2 already had the bubble wrap carefully nested and the lid attached with a gorilla tape hinge. I stood in the family room ready for instruction. Andrew had to go to bed. I didn’t think the Jello would protect the egg anyway, so making it didn’t seem like I was helping him much.

“So, do I use the regular recipe, or do you want it a Jello wiggler?” I asked with seriousness.

“What’s a Jello wiggler?” my dear husband interrupted.

I think I said something about viscosity, or maybe I just rolled my eyes to the back of my head. Anyway, Andrew knew exactly what I meant.

“Jello wiggler. Any color. Please.”

I admit that the survival of both eggs surprised me. He did it himself. Yes, he was required to defend his thesis, but we really didn’t think it would work. We just wanted him to think about it, to make it his own. His final comment to me was really the best.

“Mom, I think I spent a lot more time making mine work than the other kids.”

He said it with satisfaction.

I didn’t need to answer.

Triple F - Forced Family Fun

This bumper sticker on the back of an RV put us in hysterics in the front seat of our truck. We had obviously already been on the road too long.

Modern children seem not to realize how little control they actually have in their own worlds. Parents create the illusion. In some cases, the parents honestly give them the power. Having witnessed a few power struggles in my local Walmart, I am guessing parents do give their children too much power, at least now and then.

Okay, I do it too. Or, at least, I must. My kids occasionally mistake their own voices as being the source for decisions.

Sitting in an F-150 truck for a couple of thousand miles (5500 miles by the end) brings out these kinds of errors in thinking. I brought a lot of very fun activities for the kids to do with (and with some relief) without me.
Andrew’s smart mouth quickly won him hundreds of miserable miles.

It started before we left. I had asked Andrew to do something for me. Honestly, the original assignment may have come from his father. Either way, we asked him to finish it before we left. We told him that if he didn’t finish it, he would have PLENTY of time in the car to put effort into it.

He didn’t put in much effort before we left.

Once we departed, the smart mouth began. The hole he dug became deeper and deeper. Fortunately, I had also brought good quality activities for him to do that he didn’t like very much. Parenting can be ugly business.

We also had fun. Jay made bets with Andrew on how fast he could finish parts of his assignment (not ALL of his miles were miserable - just hundreds of them!). Gladys taught George how to read and write (or so it seemed from the front seat). We ticked off the states and found ALL of the license plates, including the large Canadian provinces.

This is the "Gateway to the West" on I-80 near Fort Kearney, Nebraska. I missed the Nebraska sign.

Our children travel remarkably well, especially once they realize they have no choice anyway. When traveling across northern Montana (later in the trip), we stopped for lunch around noon. Five hours later, Gladys mentioned that she was getting hungry.

“We just stopped,” Jay said with disbelief.

“We’ll find something soon,” I told Gladys, sure my husband was kidding.

He wasn’t. The kids had been so good and we had been having such a relaxing time enjoying the view and playing games, he seriously thought we had only just stopped.

Who has that much fun in the car?

Well after sunset, about 1200 miles into the trip, we found the best accommodations ever invented (in a “my glass is half-full” dollar-for-value kind of way).

Welcome to the 5-star Cenex Station in Western Nebraska.

They’ll leave the light on for you.

Epic Journey 2011

I like this picture because it is just as blurry as how I remember that first evening. We left around 5pm or so. Was it 5pm? It was raining. It wasn’t just a little, soft rain. It was the kind of rain that soaks you before you get in the car in your own driveway.

The kids and I were unusually ready for this trip. They have become helpful in a real way. They have always “helped” as little kids like to “help.” That kind of “help” makes mothers lose their mind. They are beginning to actually get the point. I realized this the morning we were leaving.

“Wear what you want to wear in the car,” I told them in my usual way. Gladys likes to dress appropriately. She asked me what she should wear today. She replied just as matter-of-factly as I spoke.

“Will I be wearing this for the next two or three days?”

“Maybe,” I answered back.

“Okay, Mommy.”

They remember. They remember different details than we do. Will they remember that for 23 days their parents put away the cell phones? What will they remember?

The Hit and Run Playdate

George and I were alone this afternoon with no particular plan. "Mom, let's do something FUN!" He looked at me with excited eyes. I paused for a minute, not wanting to commit to anything outrageous. I thought maybe a trip to the library, or perhaps a museum, although I didn't really feel like driving downtown. We haven't taken many field trips this year. "Can I have a playdate!?" I was almost surprised that he knew the word "playdate." Perhaps he had heard the mothers discussing the concept in the halls of the preschool. George doesn't really have playdates. Andrew, when he was in 3's preschool, still belonged to two playgroups and had playdates in between. George plays with his siblings and his siblings friends. Overcome by guilt, I pulled the preschool list and took out my cell phone. "Who would you like to play with, Honey. I'll call their mommy. They might be busy, but we'll try, okay?" "Bobby, Mom, I want to play with Bobby." I called and left a message. "Bobby's not home. Anyone else?" "Aiden, Mom." I called and left another message. "How about Allison?" I asked hopefully, I liked talking to Allison's mom in the hallway. "I don't like girls. Try Tyler's Mom." I called and left another message, and then another. I think I called five mothers in total and left messages with all but one. No luck, but we could go on a field trip. George wanted to go downtown to the 'ball pit' at the Science Center. Fine. We put on shoes and coats and headed out the door. The phone rang. "Oh, Hi, yes, yes, I called just a few minutes ago. No big deal, just wondering if the boys could play together. George has been so excited to play with your son." We talked. She wanted us to come over to her place so she could put her littler one down for a nap. Yes, we could do that. Her little one screamed in the background. It was the normal, tired kind of fussing, but she probably only caught a third of what I actually said. She suggested that I leave George to play, so I could get a few things done. I suggested that it was 'too much,' and I'd like to get to know her, it is really fine. We proceeded politely, with background screaming, until it appeared that it might be helpful if I left George. She could take care of a few things while the boys played and her other one napped - I remember those days. Sometimes two happy toddlers are easier than one bored toddler. Yes, I would leave George, but I decided I wouldn't hurry and leave plenty of time for us moms to chat. These are new preschool friends. I would be overly polite and try hard to remember what it was like when my oldest was four. George and I already had coats on, so I just grabbed the same preschool list with the addresses and proceeded out the door. I had never been to her house. We arrived and were welcomed in. They were finishing lunch, which she hadn't mentioned on the phone. The boys started playing soon enough. We talked for a little while. And then, eventually, we chose a good time for me to return and I left. At home, I ran around like a crazy person. I was on the phone, on my e-mail, and folding laundry all at the same time. One of the other moms called while I was on the phone, but couldn't click over. I'd call her back. I returned to pick up George on time - maybe even early - and the boys had played together wonderfully. The mom was pleased and seemed to have had a relaxing time with her little one, although the nap obviously didn't happen. But, that is how things go sometimes, right? She was super-nice and I left feeling like I wish I hadn't waited until towards the end of the year to get to know her better. I was home in plenty of time for Victoria and Andrew to get off the bus. The afternoon went smoothly. Andrew had a great day at school. He received a good report card. We had cupcakes and talked about school. The kids played their piano lessons. We went to Tae Kwon Do. The rest of the evening would be a huge rush to make it to cub scouts. I had a brief moment to check that message from the other mom. "Hi, this is Caroline. Just calling to check in. I figured you had gotten lost at first, but so strange that you aren't here yet. Um. Just hope everything is okay." Oh, oh, oh, oh DEAR. I called her back. "Hi, Caroline, how are you?" "Fine, everything okay?" "Well, I am a crazy person, but I think this morning I found the most gracious woman in Ohio." So, what is the correct protocol when you have invited yourself over to a new friend's house completely unannounced and left your child for a playdate? I mean, this does happen to other people in real life, right, not just on bad sit coms?

The Scariest Thing Ever

Boys take control over the unknown, the frightening, by embodying their foes. By acting out scenes, and experimenting with thier fears, they learn how to conquer them. I read it somewhere, long ago, back when I was overwhelmed with one child.

Andrew never did it really. But, I excused so many of my friends' boys for dressing up as Darth Vader. We all read the same article, way back when our first children were small.

George is not my first child. So, why am I surprised? Always surprised. When I turn off my light at night, my heart cannot allow them to become one day older. No, not even one day. The next morning I am always suprised.

Gladys ran through the kitchen, shrieking in mock fear, with George at her heels.

"Gggggrrrrrrr!"

"Eeeeeeek!"

I laughed. They ran through again, then again.

"I'm going to get you! I'm cancer!!"

"You can't dooo that," Gladys protested, "Cancer is a disease. You can't SEE it."

I looked at them both, then turned away, hoping my feelings didn't escape through my eyes.

"What does cancer look like? Hmm. Interesting question . . . " I spoke into the air, in that lame, parental, not-knowing-what-to-say sort of way. He picked the scariest thing. He picked something that frightens adults.

George drew a picture.

This is cancer.

Happy New Year!

Our family has a tradition, every year, of making new year resolutions. It is not exactly an original idea, but you'll notice that our cake is not entirely original either.

I believe, when things become unoriginal, they are deemed "traditions." And, therefore, rather than begrudging my lack of creativity, I will also deem this a 'tradition.' I will also add that it makes quick work of all of those leftover candies from that gingerbread house we made before Christmas.

So, for posterity, I will officially record our resolutions.

George - Run around a lot. (Must be working off all that cake he ate last year).

Gladys - Eat lots of good foods and do more artwork.

Andrew - Have a "car free" day, when we run all our errands on bicycles, and do more artwork.

That, in itself, gives me plenty to do. I'll be cooking good food, coming up with art projects and riding my bike around town. But, this year I wanted to give myself a really good and concrete goal that my children could celebrate with me.

I could do a whole lot of different things, most of which would make little sense to my kids. I needed something simple, measurable, good for me, and easy for the kids to see.

I'm going to grab my feet.

So, hopefully, in this very spot next year, there will be a picture of me standing on one leg, grabbing my other foot above my head like a Russian ballerina.

And, if I'm lucky, it won't be followed by a picture of me falling and breaking my hip.

Happy 2011 !

Grandpa Pumpkin

When Andrew decorates his pumpkin,
Sometime in the Fall,
I have my own opinions, but don’t say a thing at all.

I asked him for his theme –
I knew he’d have some scheme –
And really, I don’t mind at all
Lest he choose something obscene.

“I’ve used those foamy stickers,
and once I made a clown.
But, this year I think I’ll choose instead,
To make my pumpkin Grandpa’s head.”

This was not what I’d expect,
And knew he meant no disrespect.
I knew without inquiring
This is a child’s mere admiring.
And really, I don’t mind at all,
Though I think you’ll owe my Dad a call.

He started with the eyes – all blue and brown and green.
“You know that Grampa’s eyes,” he said, “are the coolest ever seen.”
He put in a button nose and a big red, wide smile,
The kind that stretches ear to ear - nearly a full mile.
If he asked, I would have said, “That smile’s way too tall,”
Anyway, he’s just a kid, it won’t be Grandpa’s head at all.

So quick and sudden I heard him shout.
“The ears must surely stick straight out!”
I’ll need some tape and scissors quick,
I need to make them really stick.”
He was having such a ball.
Grandpa wouldn’t mind at all.

He left the pumpkin nearly bare,
Except a crown of straight black hair.
Grandpa’s likeness made with such care,
I found it hard to stop my stare.
But when Andrew ran off into the hall,
What came next, I couldn’t guess at all.

“Andrew, where are you? I think its done.
Why did you go off in a run?”

“Mom, we can’t leave Grandpa just like that!
He can borrow my favorite hat.”

Its Grandpa for sure – no other guy.
But when I look him in the eye.
This pumpkin will last, and I know why.
I can’t make Dad into pumpkin pie.

The Engineers and their Red Coats

This poem was written on behalf of the Northeast Ohio MIT Club. Since you may not be an MIT alumnus reading this poem, please be aware that "Red Coats" are the folks who have celebrated the 50th anniversary of their graduation from MIT. Of course, MIT degrees are always spoken of by course number, thus the Civil Engineering being "one", and Mech E being "two".

And, finally, I extend due apologies to Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. I'm taking it for granted that Paul Revere was a Massachusetts native and wouldn't mind loaning his namesake poem out for the intended purposes.


Listen my friends and you shall hear,
Of the tireless drive of The Engineers.
William Barton Rodgers in 1861.
Would ne’er believe today what he had begun.
An Institute of Technology now 150 years.

Industrial revolution to nanotechnology,
MIT graduates lead the way.
Through challenges of greater complexity,
Solutions of simplicity rule the day.
We take pride in our casual, confident, grace,
And may collaborate with those who dissent –
A straight path is rare to that hallowed place,
Where open minds create and invent.

The numerical language we all understand,
Helps us communicate as we spread ‘cross the land.
Much like lights in a belfry or a secret shake of the hand.
One if a Civil, two if Mech E,
And the tireless engineers, relentless will be,
Ready to motivate and spread the intent,
The mission we’ve carried wherever we went,
To help the community – and our kids – to invent,
New thinking and learning – ethical fun,
The kind you can’t stop, once it’s begun.

We thank the ‘Red Coats’, in a poem, if we must,
You have all led the way in your sphere.
The Club needs your talents, we ask for your trust,
As we move forward in our MIT Club year.
You have nurtured the Club through decades past,
And built a solid foundation designed to last.
We must leverage our strengths before the die is cast,
Leaving our nation behind the times.
We will grow and attract the very best minds.

If the “Red Coats are Coming!” you happen to hear,
You needn’t shoulder your muskets and stand,
Ready to fight and defend once again this beloved American land.
Instead slow down, take a moment to pause, lend a careful and listening ear.
If we climb our foundation, re-inventing no wheels,
And learn to open our minds without fear,
Without hesitation, our next generation, on the shoulders of giants will stand.

“The Red Coats are Coming!” I laugh with a smile,
Knowing together we’ll go that one extra mile.
Please stay in touch – that’s what we’re here for,
That, and to pursue just one idea more,
Because those tireless engineers are not old-fashioned lore.

Spontaneous Tradition

We have this “spontaneous tradition,”
(To speak of it smacks of sedition)
We take some unplanned day,
Throw most rules away,
And out comes this year’s rendition.

The first year we biked 15 miles,
That’s one lap around Kelley’s Isle.
We were relaxed this time,
A mile per granddad’s chime,
But we didn’t cut corners on smiles.


Kids love climbing on those big rocks,
Down by those rough hewn old docks,
They found a very big snake
That wrangled back to the lake.
I prefer animals with legs that can walk!

We stopped by for some great ice cream and –
Some time in the surf and the sand.
I had better not gloat,
But we always make that last boat,
Back home to Ohio’s main land.

And, of course, it is a good thing that I didn't have to drive across that water because those three ounces of gasoline would not have been enough to make it.

Phew.