I spent the afternoon with a group of professionals from across the Commonwealth (and one visitor from Colorado) discussing distance education, e-learning, online learning–all those forms of education that try to reach more students more widely, often with the goal of lowering costs. The fact is that e-hybridity in which face-to-face and online learning mix and mingle is pretty much the order of the day in any course that uses any kind of computer-mediated contact, even if that’s only email. It’s that hybridity that interests me most. I want every modality, every window onto the learner’s cognition, every opportunity for “a ha” or “you too?” or “what on earth?” that I can lay my hands on.

But the subject tonight is the haunting postscript my colleague Gene left me with: will the traditional residential college experience, with all its social and intellectual richness, all its developmental depth and serendipity (and hazards, yes), be reserved in the future for the fortunate ones, the ones who can pay the (increasing) tab and who live close enough to be served by the prestigious nurseries these academic retreats provide? Will some of us have transformative encounters while the rest of us try to get our inspiration from the cold light of a cathode ray tube or LCD array?

Okay, the last question was a tad melodramatic, but the point is not: it’s hard to imagine teleconferencing (old style) or web-delivered content (new style) ever becoming an alma mater. My mother embraced me; she didn’t phone it in, or have a local minister mediate her love to me (one recent author suggested local parsons could proctor distance-learning online exams, a risible suggestion from which my fancy takes flight). She was there, I could feel her arms around me, and that closeness lasted a lifetime.

Is there closeness here, dear reader? Even the closeness of print?

And yet, I think about one of the most transformative residential experiences of my life–probably the most transformative, truth to tell. That was the 1974 Governor’s School at Mary Baldwin College, four weeks in which I met 150 other precocious kids from around the state, took classes with them, laughed and played and loved with them. I made several friends there who are still among my dearest intimates. I met my wife there, though we didn’t date at the school, or even “hook up,” as they say these days. No, we began dating at a reunion some three years later. In fact, that group of 151 reunited thirteen times in three years–never all 151, but between forty and sixty most times. Each reunion was another residential festival, but the energy always traced its source back to that transformative and very intense four weeks back in ’74.

Perhaps the residential education of the future will be grouped in briefer, more intense terms. Something like summer school, but better. I honestly don’t know whether semesters do more good than harm; so much exhaustion sets in by the end that the last couple of weeks are a grueling harvest. Regardless, I am sure that the transformative and developmental riches of a residential education ought to be available to anyone who qualifies, but I am less certain what kind or duration of residence best fosters that transformation and development.

Something intense, something taut; a smaller rubber band stretched tighter; options worth considering, perhaps.

I’m a little too tired right now to be of much use in the blogosphere. The wrap-up of my NLII report will have to wait until tomorrow. For now, a few highlights from this morning’s sessions:

We had a terrific presentation from a highly-regarded architecture firm on designing learning spaces, followed by an even better presentation from the former chair of the aero/astro dept. at MIT and the shepherd for the curricular and learning space redesign we saw on Wednesday evening. Key principles: define needs before you design space, have a champion and surround the champion with grounded dreamers and try to keep track of all the stakeholders that emerge along the way, think of the entire campus as a learning space and each individual space as part of the overall system of spaces, and wherever possible link curricular redesign with space redesign (and vice-versa). Other lessons: transform your campus’s learning spaces … one room at a time. (Good advice for the cash-strapped.) Expect lots of resistance. Remember that technology is today’s electricity: it’s simply a given.

And … assess.

Then we had breakout sessions in which we chose groups based on what kind of spaces we were interested in thinking about. My choice was instructional computing labs. I was with folks from MIT, Arizona, U ofWashingon, Stanford, and Michigan/Ann Arbor. I felt like the Little Engine That Could, or that Hoped He Could, or that Would Try To Look Like He Was Confident He Could Given The Resources. More on that session tomorrow. My favorite design principle: the design should include ways to capture both informal and formal student work and interaction, and make that work accessible to everyone, easily, at any point on the real or virtual campus.

Great bon mot from the report-back session: We need to design learning spaces to be “technology sockets.”

Big take-aways that I knew before but was cheered to hear again and again: learning is social, contextual, project-based; expertise is difficult to acquire and experts need to “scaffold” knowledge and learning for beginners; and perhaps my favorite (I’m paraphrasing): we don’t know enough about how students learn at a university, so we have to include as many modalities of learning as possible in our designs for learning spaces. (That was Jose from Thursday afternoon’s session.)

More on the morrow.

This was the first official day of the focus session. I’d call it a full day.

8:00 welcome and introductions, followed by a brief presentation to define “learning space” for the discussions and presentations to follow. Like all definitions, it was useful both to focus the discussion and to give us something to kick against when we wanted to move toward complexity and nuance in our thinking. Then an 80-minute small group discussion on what is important in learning spaces and what space characteristics enable learning, in which I learned several inspiring things, most prominently that environmental psychologists have a name for the quality of an environment that arouses expectations without satisfying them in any predictable way: they call it “mystery,” and I’d argue (and did, after Scott taught us that term) that all good learning spaces have to have some of that quality of mystery. We also talked about multiple focal points of attention, the perennial problem of the instructor station (where does it go? how much “command presence” must it/should it have? etc.) and even more philosophically about how students might customize their learning space to reflect a sense of joint ownership and authorship. The latter is an example of how my recent experiences in cyberspace have inspired me to think about analogous items in physical space.

After Betty, Jeannie, Arthur, Scott, and I had batted around these questions for the time alloted, there was a break, and then we were back for a brief presentation on “what is a design principle?” This question was especially intriguing as it focused not on design specifics but on what kind of “behaviors” (not the word I’d choose, but I digress) we want to encourage/enable within the space. This distinction is like the one that informs the effort I and my staff are always making with faculty when we ask them to tell us what they want to happen, not to specify the tool. I’ve been in enough design work to see that it’s a real challenge to stay focused on what activities and outcomes one desires when all the talk turns to podiums and projectors and “smart” classrooms.

But wait: there’ s more. A 90-minute presentation followed, with case studies from MIT and the University of Arizona on lessons learned in major learning space projects. The recent MIT “Stata Center” project was one example. The very long-a’borning Instructional Innovation Facility at Arizona was another. In both cases, especially for Arizona, some sense of crisis led to an urgent re-examination of teaching, learning, and curriculum–and innovation was the result. Although I’m sure it’s not always the case, in these instances the “Field Of Dreams” principle seemed to operate: if you build it, they will come. The corollary is that they will try everything they can to halt construction until it’s too late (but even then they’ll try), for it’s nearly impossible to imagine what the innovation will be like until the facility is actually built. Visionary leadership (and the readiness to have your head handed to you on a platter, and without a nice dance to precede it, either) is a vital part of the undertaking, although such leadership alone isn’t anything like enough to make the project work. My discussion group envisioned a learning space “sandbox” that would be reconfigurable to try out different approaches to design and function, and I learned about the late, lamented “Building 20” at MIT that was torn down so the Stata Center could be built. A bit ironic, that….

I’ll save for later the summary of the marvelous synthesis Dan Gilbert (I think it was) gave us regarding his experience of UVA and MIT, although I confess that it was a little hard to hear that comparison going in MIT’s favor. The Stata Center is quite innovative, no doubt about it, but there’s more even today to admire about UVA’s architecture than Gilbert would admit. Perhaps his enthusiasm for MIT led him to overstate his case.

Lunch (at last). Then back to work. An hour on Future Learning Spaces. Seventy-five minutes on Technology Convergence and the Future of Learning Spaces. A short break. Then a fine ninety minutes from Jose Mestre (Physics, MIT) on Using Learning Spaces to Encourage Deeper Learning, based on the latest edition of How People Learn. Much food for thought there, and some things to challenge . I’ll summarize Jose’s presentation later as well.

By the time we got out, I was full of ideas and energy, actually a little TOO much energy for the reception that followed, so I beat feet up Mass. Ave to check out the used vinyl/CD shops. Made quite the major haul at Looney Tunes, including a Dutch pressing of Focus 3, an original double-eye Columbia pressing of Chicago II, an Lp of madrigals by Thomas Weelkes (Ian Partidge on tenor–sublime!), an Lp of madrigals by poor mad(?) Gesualdo, and a used CD of BBC sessions by XTC. At the Harvard Book Store I found a remaindered copy of Gjertrud Schnackenberg’s Supernatural Love: Collected Poems. A steak sub at Cinderellas, some ice cream from Toscanini’s, and so to bed, dear reader. Tomorrow, more lessons learned, and more questions raised. But tomorrow is another day.

I figured the Dylan theme was worth the stretch for one more blog.

I’m writing this from the Hotel@MIT in Cambridge, Massachussetts, conference hotel for the National Learning Infrastructure Initiative Fall Focus Session on “Learning Spaces.” First things first: I love my hotel room. Spacious, tech-themed in a very tasteful way right down to the bedspread covered in equations, a comfy chair AND an ergonomic desk chair that sits at a very elegant desk (I covet this desk lamp) where a tea/coffee maker is just to one side. Lucky for me the conference promises to be a good one; otherwise, with the complimentary broadband I’d probably never leave the room.

See? I’m not hard to please. Well, it lacks a full multimedia kit, true. I feel my passion ebbing.

This afternoon the group had a two-hour walking tour of learning spaces at MIT. Sidebar: a classroom is a learning space, often not a very good one, but the idea of “learning space” encompasses the design and use of any place where teaching and learning occur. Think of a learning space as a focused world that encourages and facilitates reflection and creation. At any rate, the tour was enjoyable and informative, but a couple of the spaces were eye-openers, especially a physics classroom that looked like a super-neat sports bar (sans bar) with a slew of circular tables at which students would do their work and, when appropriate, attend to the teacher. Screens and projected images ringed the room, and each screen was flanked by numbered white boards. Actually, in some respects the room looked like a crude but effective model of the inside of a mind. So maybe that’s one way to conceptualize learning spaces: they should model aspects of mind, or be constructed around (or to resemble) metaphors of mental activity. Administrative and organizational efficiencies are not negligible, but they shouldn’t drive the design (even though that’s what usually happens, as we all know).

Let the revels begin. Tomorrow and half the day on Friday I’ll be surrounded by bright and creative people who like to think about thinking and about education and about educational engineering. Life could be a lot worse. Great food tonight, too, at Legal Seafood (memo to self: remember to look into banner ad possibilities for blog) in the fine company of Kathy and Bob and Gene. The Best Idea of the Evening Award goes to Kathy for the notion of a mid-life sabbatical for everyone. Take a breather, take stock, and go back prepared to “make good choices,” as the mom says to the young woman in Freaky Friday. Actually, that gratuitous movie reference is mine; the great idea is all Kathy’s.

I’ve made some skins available to you, too–see the menu on the right, below.

Ah, Dylan’s Mr. Jones. I see him all about. I channel him regularly, myself. It’s genuinely difficult to imagine the world that cyberspace is constructing, which means it’s hard to make it real to ourselves. The dot-com gold rush of the 1990’s came and went, and for a little while it was possible to think that Internet mania was another fad, but the reality of the socio-cognitive changes wrought by networked computing–and the opportunities they represent for education–is no fad. We must at least try to stretch our minds to conceptualize what’s happening if we are to be true to our mission as teachers. And here’s the rub: we’re all teachers, because we’re all learners–or should be.

I was forcibly reminded of all these truths myself recently. (Now that I think about it, the reminder came at about the same time I last blogged. Perhaps I’m just now emerging from the shock.) I’ve long been interested in computer-mediated asychronous communication as a way of taking learning beyond the classroom, where a four-walls, time-bound design borrowed from the industrial model of the assembly line has, I believe, encouraged a pernicious view of education as a series of one-shot encounters over an arbitrary “course.” By contrast, things like listservs and threaded discussion forums keep the party going, so to speak: the lights are always on and there’s always some conversation, and if you want to change the subject you can do so with a couple of clicks and a good hook for a subject line.

But every good party needs a good den, rec room, clubhouse, or Moose Lodge. This year I finally got one made, and found out just how close to Mr. Jones I had become: “you know there’s something happening, but you don’t know what it is, do you, Mr. Jones?” (Bob Dylan, “Ballad of a Thin Man”).

The discussion forum I’m running in my Introduction to Film Studies class is in my web space this time, not on the course management system’s official, dreary, and deadening forum. This new forum, which runs on freeware called phpBB, beats the “official” stuff all cold. Students can post anonymously (though I know who they are, since the posts are done for a grade). They can use avatars, striking little graphic icons that they choose to represent themselves. They can send personal messages to each other within the forum, can reach each other via IM or Yahoo mail or regular email, and post links to their own web pages–all just a click away within the context of each post they contribute or respond to. Also just a click away in each post: profile information that shares whatever the writer chooses to reveal about him or herself to the forum.

The conversation flows more naturally, too, because the posts are arranged in a series of pages devoted to each thread, not like a list of message headers. The graphics are friendly and pleasing, and students can customize the look and feel to the extent provided for by the administrator (me), who can make a variety of “skins” available to the user. There are even handy icons to indicate where the new posts are. You can ask the system to email you when a thread you’re contributing to has a fresh response. You can see at a glance who’s on the system (if they’ve chosen to reveal their presence), how many times they’ve posted, how many total posts and topics have been contributed to date, and a couple of other stats about participation. And I’m sure there are features I’m forgetting.

So far this year, my class is on track to double the quantity of participation I’ve had with the “official” tool. That’s a good thing. But the real revelation, for me anyway, came early on as the forum was just getting started.

I was home, sitting in the stereo sweet spot, as is my wont, doing some work on my wireless tablet PC. I went to the forum to see how things were going. Several interesting posts caught my eye. One in particular seemed unusually thoughtful and articulate. I had no idea who it was; the username wasn’t the real name. What I did know was that I was intrigued. I became doubly intrigued when I saw I had a private message from this person requesting that I provide several optional “skins” for the forum. Ah. That’s new. A student wants me to help him or her to customize a virtual learning space. Ah.

Then I noticed that the writer had enabled the www button on his or her posts. I clicked on the button and found myself on this writer’s blog. I read some of the blog and discovered that the young man (as it turned out) had made a number of short films on digital video. Another click, and I saw the list of his most recent creations. Another click, and, still online and in the stereo sweet spot, I was watching his movie.

These connections were rapid, fascinating, detailed, and led to my feeling I had made a deeper connection with the student’s world than I would have dreamed possible at such an early stage. That’s exhilarating. Even more importantly, however, I had seen something of the way students accept and use cyberspace as a birthright, as a place where things they value can be communicated, as a place where they’re genuinely connected to their experience.

It would be a pity if education, especially higher education, stifles a yawn and goes on with business as usual. But that’s my night fear, tonight. Who will help us understand and embrace these new horizons? Where are the Chuck Berrys, Elvises, and Beatles of cyberspace?

I know they’re there, like the music of the spheres, if we can just tune in and make the time to listen.

I see it’s been nearly two weeks since my last entry, and that a mere skeleton … not a very good example of responsible citizenship in the blogosphere. Mea culpa. Onward and upward.

Coming soon to this very blog:

You know there’s something happening, but you don’t know what it is–do you, Mr. Higher Ed.?
Flashdrive Design and the Peter Principle
Entanglement, Teleportation, and Quantum Computing

Yes, tonight I put WinXP SP2 on my trusty tablet, the honorable Toshiba Portege M200 (all rise, says the bailiff). And … nothing happened. Nothing untoward, that is. The custom download was about 75 MB, nearly 200MB less than the everything download that’s been available online for a week or so. The download was verified, then installed, all automatically. It was also nice to see a system restore point set automatically. The machine rebooted (after it asked politely and I said “sure”), and when it came up again, I was asked if I wanted to set automatic update to “on.” “Sure,” I replied. Then the boot finishes and voila, mirabile dictu, Windows Security Center launches. It tells me that autoupdate is on but Windows can’t tell if my virus definitions are up to date. I gave it permission to stop monitoring: “I’ll do that myself, thanks.” I note that the firewall is on. I exit Security Center and go about my business.

Nothing is wrong.

If there’s another shoe, it’s either a slipper and I couldn’t hear it fall, or else it’s taking a long, long time to thump on the floor.

Emboldened, I’ll probably go ahead with the update on my prime machine at school tomorrow. Watch me jinx that one, too. 😉

Folks may talk about computing on the deck.
People may say they surf on the beach.
Friends may want their notebook at the breakfast table.
For me, happiness is a warm laptop as I sit in the stereo sweet spot, do my work, and listen to my music.
Tonight’s treasures:
Band On The Run
Wes Montgomery: Goin’ Out Of My Head
CCR: Pendulum (SACD, yum)

And so to bed.