Spaghetti Bridges (without sauce)

Why a spaghetti bridge? Why not?
Okay, actually it's a real thing. It's like the balsa wood bridges, but since everyone has spaghetti in their cupboard* it's easier to get started.

I've got a bit of a confession to make: I always thought I was bad at math. I always hated not being able to figure out math. I was okay with adding and subtracting. Multiplication and division came after awhile. Fractions sort of made sense. But algebra? Geometry? What was the point. "You'll use it someday," I was told. For what? I never got a decent answer.

 I failed many, many math tests. I never failed a class, but it wasn't for lack of trying. My senior year in high school, I took a class called Transitions to College Math. I took it Pass/No Credit. I got no credit.

But something interesting happened when I got older. I became interested in electricity and electronics. Just for fun (prior to grad school) I took  "Science of Acoustics" and a "Science of Electronics" classes at Columbia College here in Chicago. Algebra made sense when I looked at it as I=V/R or V=IR.

I asked Mom why math wasn't taught this way in high school. She told me it was because I wasn't learning math, I was learning physics.  It turns out I wasn't bad at math, I'm just much better at learning (and now teaching) when I'm not told that I'll use it "someday," but shown how I can use it now.

So that's the kind of teacher I am. Caleb has been asking about why we study geometry? He loves physics. So now, at the intersection of geometry and physics, we build spaghetti bridges and test how much force it takes to break them. We use geometric shapes and a lot of hot glue. We measure and weigh, and we try to be all science-y about it. It's a lot of fun...and I never tell him that we're just studying so that he can use some esoteric skill "someday."

As stage 1, he designed his bridge. You can kind of see his template in the photo below. That is Caleb wielding the hot glue gun. We only incurred minor injuries

Stage 2: begin construction

Trusses for bridge complete!

Stage 3: Bridge top and bottom complete



The proud bridge-builder

When this is all complete, do not--I REPEAT DO NOT LEAVE THE BRIDGE WHERE THE CATS CAN GET IT. YOU WILL REGRET IT. Cats apparently love to destroy spaghetti bridges. We learned this the hard way.

After the cats...

Part II of our bridge saga, coming soon.


**note: this will NOT work with linguine, fettuccini, manicotti, gnocchi, penne, or any kind of pasta other than spaghetti.

Happy Easter!

The plain, old fashioned food coloring with vinegar in hot water served to decorate our eggs this year. There was nothing fancy about it. Nothing except for the colors when I gave Hannah and Caleb a free rein in deciding what colors to make their eggs. Each could pick six.

"What would happen if we put some blue and red--like fifteen drops of blue and five of red?"
"How about fifteen red and five blue?"
"Red and yellow make orange...but what if we put more yellow in. Lots more yellow!"
"Great!"
Said I: "Don't you just want to make a blue egg? How about red?"
This was met with looks of disappointment in my lack of imagination. Blue? Who makes a blue egg when you can mix and match to your hearts content?
"That's kind of boring," Caleb said semi-tactfully.
"Really boring," Hannah noted with no tact at all.

So, I cleaned out four ceramic mugs several times to create the twelve colors they came up with. There are no two colors that are alike. Several are similar, but none are exactly alike. The children were content. I was cowed into acknowledging their superiority in deciding colors. "Maybe adults just don't see the same amount of colors kids do," Hannah theorized with a gentle pat on my arm. Condescended to by a ten year old. My Easter egg coloring experience was complete. I see the same colors they do, I just had laundry waiting in the basement. I didn't think I had time to create twelve different colors. I was wrong. The satisfaction of my children at the successful completion of the job well done told me that I was dead wrong.

 

Now we will eat the egss for lunch, I suggest the day after Easter.

 

 "Ew." Wrinkled noses and frowny faces regarded the suggestion doubtfully. "Eggs are okay as long as you don't have to eat the yellow middles," I was informed.

I have a dozen hard-boiled eggs to eat at home. Yum.

Hi. My name is Sue...

baby sweater and hat

Hi. My name is Sue and I'm a fiber addict. Well, knitting and crocheting addict...I've dabbled in needle felting. I'd really like to get into spinning or weaving, but my marriage is at stake here, and I have to keep things under control. I guess you could say that I'm a "functional" addict.

mittens

I've tried to break myself of this habit, but I'm not strong enough. I am lured by the call of the yarn.

I shop with my hands. If I like the way a yarn feels, I will buy it. (Within reason. My hands really liked the 100% cashmere yarn that they found, but at the bargain rate of $100 for about 25oz., I passed. It was tough, but I did it.

crochet sweaters

When I started, I used simple cotton yarn. It wasn't tough to pick some up nearly anywhere. The corner store, a 5 and dime, any craft store. Then I got deeper and deeper into it. Cotton just wouldn't do--bamboo, merino wool, alpaca, baby alpaca for crying out loud--exotic yarns that held their own seductive allure. Oh, sure, I still used cotton. Pima cotton. Fine long stranded cotton that may or may not be mercerized. Oh yeah. I even became a snob with the cotton. Cotton! The stuff that jeans are made of; the stuff that my baby diapers and dust cloths were made of became status symbol.

scarves

I began crocheting dishcloths. Something as common and easy as a dishcloth was my gateway to bigger things. Blankets came next...then baby clothes. Scarves, hats, adult sweaters easily followed--not even a bump in the road. When common everyday items weren't holding my interest, I began to flirt with edgier fare. The everyday could no longer satisfy me. I needed more.


Not content to simply crochet, I learned to crochet doilies. And when that wasn't enough, I had to crochet doilies using extremely thin, gossamer thread. Then I made lace. I made a christening set. Yeah, I was hooked.

socks

Then came the knitting. I made a swatch, then I jumped right into making socks. I was crazy, man. I couldn't just make a scarf, I had to flirt with the hard stuff. Not just socks--I had to try it all. Fair Isle, Intarsia, lace. And always more yarn. The endless skeins of yarn. Soft, touchable, beautifully spun yarn in colors and textures that my hands adored.

(sideways) hats

When I flirted with the idea of buying my own spinning wheel, I realized that I was out of control. I had to face my addiction. It began with a trip into the attic where I keep stash. My beautiful, beautiful yarn. Yarn that was bought on sale. Yarn that was bought on impulse. Yarn that was bought with a particular project in mind that had since been forgotten. Yarn that was never intended for any project, but that my hands had simply had to get. I could have wept at what I saw. There was more than I could probably get through in a lifetime. My stash was taking over my life. I needed to own this addiction. I needed to take steps.

So I took steps. I made hats and mittens and scarves for all of the nieces and nephews for Christmas. Problem solved. My addiction was directed towards positive end. There was no guilt over this kind of crafting. There was no worry over housework left undone, or dinners left unmade. Did it matter if I didn't finish the laundry? I had a higher calling. 

Best of all, I didn't have to buy yarn. My stash was enough. I dove in with gusto, taking control of the thing which had controlled me for so long. I directed my energy towards a positive goal. My addiction didn't feel like it was controlling me. I was in control. I  was in charge. I won! 

My first knit sweater!
 (ignore the messy dresser. I'll get around to it when I'm done knitting.)

For Christmas, George gave me a gift certificate for my favorite yarn store. This is what I made. He's getting me another gift certificate for my birthday. I'm pushing for another for our anniversary. Maybe I'll make him something this time too.

What can I say? I'm an addict.