There were two. Mrs. Garver and Mr. Kachur. One, a Shippensburg University graduate who stood in front of us wearing large round lens glasses and always had a pleasant smile on her face. She squared up a classroom of rather anxious teens for being a smaller framed, but strong, astute lady. The other, a man of equally heavy lenses always tinted with a slight brown hue to match his thick quaff of dark hair parted sharply from the right. Of the two, I preferred the latter. His math class happened earlier in the day when I was happier and open more to the possibility of learning than nodding off later in the afternoon. Mrs. Garver’s class, a year earlier, was numerically exciting – as I’ve always been a math geek – but an eighth period drudgery always caught up with me.
Now, I use the term, “math”, to encompass all numbers, shapes, sizes, formulas, theorems, x’s, and y’s all of us experienced throughout our intersectional, awkward teenage years. Most express disengagement when spouting about math class experiences. I don’t. Never was there an axis I didn’t enjoy crossing, a train-word problem worth unsolving, or columns of numbers that didn’t excite me. Quadratic equations are still intoxicating. Amicable numbers hug my soul. Oh, and the Fibonacci Series, c’mon now … !
Imagine my frustration when the concrete object above caught my attention … and I couldn’t remember/figure out what that darn shape, form, and/or boxy, pointy, square-looking thingy is called !?! …
… So, I sent a text to the artist/sculptor who is marvelously working on this project at the outskirts of town. Oh, you know him. It’s my friend Joel. I’ve mentioned him before in my blogs recently. The picture above is the base intended to hold a large metal sculpture he’s building. I know no details other than that. What I know is what you see. A certain, specific amount of concrete “yards” have been formed into that shape and are currently enjoying time to cure.
Ah, yes … the shape. We “sort-of” figured a four-sided quadrilateral without giving it much thought. I wouldn’t hold him to much of the decision here because I was more concerned about it than he was. As an aside, these kinds of silly little brain sticky-things get lodged in my psyche until some kind of easiness comes to bear – not his.
I did my research, with another friend in tow, and we are confident in proclaiming to the world: IT IS A FRUSTUM !! … and to continue onward with a stupid pun, I’m happy to say there had to be a point – eventually.
…aaaand, here it is: In all my years, I can’t recall a frustum. Base 10 in our numbering system? Sure. Never reaching first base in little league because I couldn’t hit a ball thrown to me to save my life? Yep. Bases that react with acids to form water and salts? I guess, if chemistry is your thing. Bob Cranshaw, in the world of homophonic bass jazz pioneers, if you will. In this case, a frustum base caught me by surprise as I exited town the other day. What isn’t a surprise, however, is the care, artistry, and time Joel is putting into this piece. I am looking forward to the (possible) Arbor Day, April 30th unveiling of a work of art this town of Hollidaysburg should be proud to have on its soil.
It will be, equally, my pleasure to share his progress here on DougHugs as I see it happening. I may not know all the shapes or forms he uses – and that’ll be ok. Art is to be appreciated, not necessarily understood.
This kinda describes our friendship, in a way. Appreciated, not understood.
Take that as advice for your life however it applies. Appreciate something, or someone … or a relationship with something. Don’t try to understand it too much, or at all. In my recent experience, I’ve learned it may end up just frustumating you, anyway.