Setting goals can make a huge difference.

The setting of goals can be a terribly important step in any project. Unfortunately, it is one which is often forgotten. Yesterday was one of those days wherein I encountered a minor problem in my thesis—a place where the calculations were predicting temperatures which simply aren’t a reasonable answer, which, of course, leads to the question “why”. After checking to be certain there wasn’t a problem with the data entry step of the calculations I discussed the issue with my advisor, who had some guesses as to what factors might cause such an unreasonable answer and sent me off with a couple of things to try—if they turned out they way he suggested they might, we’d have our answer as to what the problem was. Alas, those things didn’t give the expected result, leaving me with the question “now what” just as it was time for the departmental seminar to start.

So I shut down the computer, went to seminar, and went from there to an evening dance class. I went to bed secure in the knowledge that when I got up in the morning I had no place I had to be, and nothing I needed to do to prevent me from putting in many hours of uni work. However, I failed to name for myself a goal for the day—I didn’t select a specific task to be the first thing upon which I would work in the morning.

In the absence of such a goal my day when pretty much as they do when one fails to decide to do some specific task—that is to say I managed to accomplish quite a few useful housekeeping tasks and replied to a few e-mails; the usual sorts of “work avoidance” things that permit us to feel good about doing *something*, even if it isn’t the something we know that we *should* be doing. It wasn’t until after sunset, when my partner commented that he’d accomplished all of his goals for the day that I realized just *why* I’d kept thinking “I should be doing uni work” and kept picking up some other useful task instead. This epiphany having registered, I thought about what still needs to happen before I will be done with the project, and selected a simple, but necessary task, and went to it. A couple of hours later I looked up from said task, surprised to see that time had elapsed, and pleased to have reached a breaking point. Such beautiful results, from such a simple “trick” to get oneself to work!

Needless to say, my list of things I am meant to do on a daily basis (remember to eat, get some exercise, read 1000 words of geologic literature) has just been expanded by one: Decide upon goal(s) for tomorrow.

Pictures may be worth 1000 words, but, sometimes, they can get in the way

A strange contradiction just occurred to me. When doing my own research/uni work, I, by far, prefer to spend my time making the graphs and figures, looking at the pretty pictures representing my data graphically and trying to understand what it all means than I do writing it all down in words to share with other people. In marked contrast to this is my approach to reading a paper, where I am happiest letting my eyes flow over the text absorbing the words, and am slightly disgruntled when I have to interrupt my reading to go look at a figure to understand what the text is saying. The further away in the text the figure is, the more I feel the disruption to my reading. Only the best, newest versions of pdf papers, where the figure number is a link that takes one straight to the figure, and then the back arrow takes one back to the exact place in the text are welcome interruptions to the reading, because there is no pause between switching from words to the figure and back to the words again. And I find myself wondering why this is so. Probably because of many, many years of being an avid reading of science fiction and fantasy novels—I am more accustomed, still, to reading *stories* than to reading science. A good story is one wherein the reader forgets that they are reading, but becomes part of the story, and a return to the real world is jarring. Oddly enough, it is rare that a bit of scientific literature is that absorbing for me, but I do still get enough into the flow of the text that leaving it to look at the figures does come across as a distraction. To combat this phenomenon, there are times when I have first looked at the figures, and then read the captions carefully; worked out for myself what is being shown, and tried to draw my own conclusions before I read the text. That way, when the text says “blah, blah, blah as shown in figure 6” I can take half a glance, see which of the figures 6 is, and return to the text without losing track of what the sentence had been discussing. I suspect that this approach, used regularly, would be a good way to avoid ever feeling that “disrupted” feeling.

I also remember being a small child, new to reading, who loved looking at the pictures in my books, and being rather disappointed in the fact that as the books got bigger and started containing more interesting stories they contained fewer and fewer illustrations. I wonder if someone could go back and tell that child that someday she would grow up to show preference to the text, if she would believe them?

nano particles

About five years ago, I read the book The Diamond Age. This was my first introduction to the concept of “nanotechnology”, and, I must confess, that I paid it scant attention. There being complicating factors in my life at the time (having just lost my beloved step-father to cancer), I accepted the work of fiction as a distraction from the world around me, letting the wonders of that world exist solely in that world, and not making time to consider to what level, if any, such technology might exist in the real world. Nor did I put any thought into just how small “nano” might be.

Today’s mail brought me the latest issue of Elements Magazine. which focuses upon nanogeoscience, with articles on the history of our understanding of the nano scale and how technology is being applied to study things that small, of the changes in behaviour of minerals and elements at the nano scale (16% of a 10 nm cube’s atoms are near the surface of the cube, which can have profound effects upon the way that cube participates in chemical reactions when compared to a 10 μm or even 10 mm cube), and more.

But how small is a nano particle? “Nano” as a prefix in the metric scale means 10^-9, so 1 nm is 1000 times smaller than a micrometer (μm), which is 1000 times smaller than a millimeter (mm), which is a thousand times smaller than a meter (m). The example given in the article to help us understand what this really means was to compare our planet, Earth, to a standard light-bulb. Apparently Earth is about as much larger than a light-bulb as the light-bulb is larger than a single nanometer.

One of my favorite “toys”, I’ve been privileged to play with as part of my PhD research is the electron microprobe, which lets me see some amazing detail in the crystals in my rock samples. With this tool I may analyze the composition of minerals which are (so I thought) quite small—so long as they are at least 10 μm wide I can be reasonably confidant of analyzing that mineral and not the neighbouring ones. Other scientists out there are using different technology to look at things so much smaller than my tiny minerals that the scale bars in some of the photos accompanying the articles are only 20 nm long.

I have heard it said that any technology which is sufficiently advanced appears to be magic to those who do not understand it. When I read that work of fiction all those years ago, I accepted the descriptions of the “nanotechnology” as the “magic” inherent to that world, and thought nothing more about it. Reading the articles today which tie the concepts of nanotechnology with the geosciences and the minerals with which I’m interacting on a daily basis somehow brings it home to me in ways that I wasn’t ready to think about five years ago. You can bet that I shall be paying attention the next time I encounter the concept, be it in fiction, on line, or even in the local newspaper.

The temptations of social networking

I was extremely fortunate to have attended an “open-concept alternative” school for “self-motivated” students from 7^th to 12^th grades. This was a publicly funded school which drew students from all over the school district who wanted to take active control of their own educations. We students were responsible for selecting our own classes, showing up to them on time without any bells to remind us, and participating in the school government—including serving on committees to interview prospective new students and teachers. Yes, even the students had to pass an interview before being admitted—they needed to understand that not only did we have a greater degree of freedom than the “traditional” schools, we also had much higher levels of responsibility, and anyone seeking to avoid responsibility was encouraged to stay within the traditional system. Because of the unique environment of our school, we had a very high percentage of “weird” kids. Avid readers, D&D players, actors, artists, students who were “gifted” in any number of categories, from science to literature and everything in-between. We came from every neighbourhood and every economic class in the community, and we chose our friends freely amongst them without regard to age, gender or social standing.

I remember one of my teachers telling us during a lecture (he was a psychology teacher) that we should all enjoy and appreciate this phase in our lives, for we would never again have so many and such varied friends. That it is “normal” for adults to settle into their working lives with only a small handful of people they see socially outside of work. I was actually very, very sad when it was time for me to graduate and leave school behind—not only was I concerned about his warning with respect to the potential bleakness of our future social lives, but I truly loved my time there, despite the complications associated with adolescence. However, what that teacher didn’t know was that in just a few short decades after I left high school behind me the Internet would provide everyone with the potential of surrounding themselves with friends and acquaintances on a daily basis, all without leaving the comfort of their own home or office. There is literally something for everyone on line to help us connect with one another. The GeoBlog sphere keeps geologists in many diverse sub-disciplines connected and informed of the latest news. Some of my friends choose a very artistic form of expression on MySpace, others swear by the intimate, coffee shop feel sharing their deepest thoughts on LiveJournal, and I’ve re-discovered the many of the joys of being a High School student again through our little reunion on FaceBook, where the people whose company I so enjoyed when I was young have proven to still be entertaining, witty, thoughtful, and considerate in the casual banter which is exchanged “wall to wall” or in “comments”.

Someone recently commented to me that I shouldn’t feel guilty about taking a break from my thesis work to reply to e-mail, as it “doesn’t take very long”. Yes, he is correct; any one reply doesn’t take very long. However, for those of us who move often and make a whole new bunch of friends each time we do, and who wish to keep in regular contact with our old friends, it all adds up. I suspect that were I to let myself, I could spend many more hours a week than I already do, just hanging out with my friends on line. However, it is also important to have a life—one needs to do interesting things away from the computer if one wishes to continue to hold the attention of others via the computer!

The dangers of living with an arachnophobe

I have never minded (living) spiders, and indeed, often find them beautiful. However, due, at least in part, to my neat-freak tendencies, I do not like dead or squished “bugs” of any sort (please don’t show me the front window of an automobile during certain seasons and in certain regions!). My partner, on the other hand does not like spiders, particularly if there is any chance that they might get on him. Since he is uncomfortable being in the same room as a living spider, and I am always concerned that if one stays in the house it might get accidentally squished, our agreement is that if we see a live spider, I get a glass, catch it, slide some paper underneath the glass, carry it outside, and let it go. But if one dies in the house, he has to deal with the “corpse” because I don’t want to see it! The one place this agreement runs into problems is with huntsmen spiders. Being much larger than normal spiders, it is necessary to get a much larger glass to catch them, and I am always afraid that I might accidentally squish some of its legs in the process. Add to that the ones which tend to get into our house are the sort that are a sort of almost translucent orange colour and are so flat that even when alive and well they still look like they’ve been squished, and I’m not as happy dealing with them as I am with the other spiders. They also really like corners and narrow places which are difficult, if not impossible, to get a glass to, and they can move very, very fast, and seem to have a greater awareness of people approaching with a glass than the tiny spiders have. (Bigger brain? Better eyes? Or just anthropomorphising on my part?)
The other day, coming home late one evening, as I pulled into the driveway I noticed a huntsman on the windshield. On the inside. Fortunately, I was alone in the car, so my partner didn’t see it (then). Not having a glass handy, I tried taking the foil-covered window cover (folded), and use it to gently herd the spider towards the open car door. Alas, it fell (or jumped?) off the window and disappeared in the darkness. Hoping that I didn’t accidentally squish it, I went into the house, and hoped that it managed to find its way outside. Alas, it did not. Last night, on our way home from a dance class, as we got into the car and closed the door, I noticed my friend on the steering wheel! So I suggested that my partner get out of the car, which he did with all speed, and I watched the huntsman walk around and around the outside rim of the steering wheel. It did fully three laps during the time it took me to get my door open and find that folded foil-covered window cover. I then set that against the steering wheel so that on the fourth lap the spider walked out onto it, where it suddenly started walking much faster. I only just barely managed to get it outside before it was off the end and away.
I can’t help but wonder about the spider doing laps on the steering wheel. Did it know that it was walking the same path over an over? In nature such shapes don’t come up very often. It would be more likely to walk along a tree branch, which either goes somewhere, or is a dead end. Why did it speed up when it switched to the new surface? Because it was happy to be off that steering wheel, or because it knew I was there and it wanted to get away? And why did I, who have never had a problem with spiders before experience the adrenal surge that accompanies a “flight or fight” situation? Is it just because I knew that he’s frightened of them getting on him, or am I starting to share in his fears? I don’t really need another phobia—being uncomfortable with squished "bugs" is quite enough, thank you!

Excuse me whilst I beam happily

I just found out that my blog made the list of top 50 women in science blogs. I really enjoyed their summary of my blog. I’m already following five of these blogs, and think I’ll be adding a few more to my reader having seen these descriptions. If you are looking for more interesting things to read, this is one good place to start…

Some musical silliness

I am in the process of teaching myself to play the Hammer Dulcimer. This is complicated by the fact that I’ve never played an instrument before. (To say nothing of how little time I make for that endeavour while also trying to finish writing up my PhD project.) One useful tool in learning to play (and learning to understand/read sheet music) has been the program Noteworthy Composer. With this program I am able to have the computer play me the tune and listen to it whilst it lights up the notes, so I am getting a sense of which notes are which and how they all sound. However, even with that assist, I find that it is easier for me to remember tunes with words in them. The artist who built my instrument is also part of a band which specializes in Medieval Music, and he suggested that if I learn to play the Cantiga de Santa Maria #322 (one of the easier tunes his band plays) I could come play with them. This sounded fun to me, so I have been working on it. Alas, the original words to that song are not only in Latin, but the syllables don’t correspond to the notes on a one-to-one basis (as is true of any number of songs out there!). Therefore, I decided that rather than learning the original version, I’d write my own words to sing to myself as I try to learn the tune. I didn’t need them to be a great work of poetry, but I did want them to have a one-to-one correlation between the syllable count and the number of notes per line. I also wanted the same words to repeat every place the same sequence of notes was used, and to change when there was a difference in what notes appear from one line to the next. The result is no work of musical genius, but, does what I need it to do, and since it is in praise of rocks, I thought I’d share it here. Are there any other geologists out there writing lyrics in praise of their rocks to help them learn tunes?

The lyrics, in case they are hard to read in the sheet music:

Rocks metamorphic, my, aren't they lovely?
See crystals grow when they're subject to folding.
Rocks metamorphic my, aren't they lovely?
Crystals grow with time when they're subject to folding.
Heat and pressure are what makes them grow so lovely.
Exhumation brings them back fast and frozen.
Heat and pressure are what makes them grow so lovely.
Exhumation brings them back cooling quickly.
Rocks metamorphic my, aren't they lovely?
See crystals grow when they're subject to folding.
Rocks metamorphic my, aren't they lovely?
Crystals grow with time when they're subject to folding.
Heat and pressure are what makes them grow so lovely.