Lift Up Your Hearts!

It often pays to find the story behind the headline—or the social media post.

The Facebook blurb from our local library was annoying. Here's how it began:

1000 BOOKS BEFORE KINDERGARTEN: A round of applause for A----, who has read another 1,000 books before kindergarten—for the third time! On her way to becoming a young, brilliant scholar, Seminole County Public Libraries is proud to be part of A----’s journey as she grows her vocabulary, boosts her critical thinking, and enhances her cognitive development. 

I was annoyed, but looked further and discovered that our library has a program to encourage parents to read aloud to their preschool children. It's a little sad that adults need stickers as an incentive to read to their children, but we've all been there with some good habit we're trying to acquire. So it looks like a good thing.

What bothered me about the Facebook post was the implication that the achievement belonged to the child, and that she had actually read 3000 books. I've known a few kids who taught themselves to read before formal schooling, but that's not what is meant here. Maybe I'm being pedantic, but I don't think so: As valuable as being read to is, it is not the same as actually reading the words on the page.

I have a similar problem with adults who claim to have read a book when actually what they've done is listen to someone else read it to them. Don't get me wrong; I enjoy audio books and find them invaluable for absorbing content while doing repetitive work, exercising, and driving. But that's a different experience from reading, even for adults, and especially for a child who hasn't yet developed the skill of decoding print.

And I'm not sure it's a good idea to let a child believe he has done something worthy of great praise when the effort was on the part of his parents. Sort of like getting an A on a homework assignment done 95% by your dad. Or getting a Pulitzer Prize for something written by ChatGPT.

Curious about the quantity of books, I looked up my own reading tally. I have been keeping track of the books I read since 2010 (making note of the few that were audiobooks). I consider myself an avid reader, but it took me until mid-2024 to reach the 1000-book mark. So I commend all the parents who achieved that in reading to their preschool children.

Then again, from what I can tell, my just-turned-two granddaughter is probably nearing the 750 mark with Sandra Boynton's Barnyard Dance, including many repetitions of turning the pages herself and telling the story as she remembers it, complete with stomps and claps.

And no, I don't include books read to grandchildren in my own reading list, even though I don't limit myself to adult-level reading.

It is usual to speak in a playfully apologetic tone about one's adult enjoyment of what are called "children’s books." I think the convention a silly one. No book is really worth reading at the age of ten which is not equally (and often far more) worth reading at the age of fifty—except, of course, books of information. The only imaginative works we ought to grow out of are those which it would have been better not to have read at all. — C. S. Lewis, On Stories

Although I don't agree completely with the practice, I'm more inclined to keep teens away from alcoholic beverages than from vegetable spiralizers. But here's a funny story about that.

A friend was at the grocery store, and decided she'd like a little wine with dinner. So she picked out a good one, and set the bottle in her cart. At check-out, she was asked to prove that she was older than 21. Now this friend looks quite young for her age, but she is older than I am, and I've seen more than seven decades. As the lady said in the spiralizer story, When did the world go completely mad? If the cashier can't tell at a glance that I'm not 20 years old, I don't want her counting my change. And if the store thinks she's incapable of such a determination, how is it they trust her to make any decisions at all?

I don't know why my friend didn't have her driver's license with her at the time, but she didn't, and reluctantly decided to forgo her dinnertime libation. But here's where the story gets interesting.

As many of us do in such situations, it wasn't until after she was done shopping that she thought of what she should have said. Because she was not alone in the store.

Hang on a second. My grandson will buy it for me.

Then again, she probably wouldn't have wanted to get him in trouble for buying alcohol for seniors.

On this 610th anniversary of the Battle of Agincourt, it's time to reprise (again) Kenneth Branagh's version of Henry V's famous speech.  (Shakespeare's version, that is.)

I publish this here because I know there are people with whom it will resonate, although it apparently runs contrary to the experience of the majority. Why else would they be so anxious to banish silence from our lives?

A prime example is our water aerobics classes at the local community therapeutic pool. The warm-water exercise is worth the struggle for me, but it is indeed a struggle, every time. For some reason the instructors believe that people exercise better when accompanied by loud music and a headache-inducing drum beat. We've managed to find the instructors who will at least keep the volume down to where I no longer have to wear earplugs, but the incessant noise and throbbing beat continue.

To my fellow classmates who may think I am rude, unfriendly, or merely unhappy, I don't mean to be any of the above. But please don't tell me to smile. It takes so much effort to fight the sensory assault that social politeness is often a casualty.

With one exception: All too rarely, we play games with small beach balls: bouncing, hitting, throwing, challenging just ourselves or in competition with others. It's not unkindly competitive—half the fun is figuring out how to include everyone of varying skill and physical ability levels—but it's exciting, and when we're doing that I manage to tune out the music almost completely. I have no idea why. It's the most active of the physical work we do in those classes, and yet it is the only time I feel relaxed and free.

Often I even smile.

When was the last time you were threatened by a gang of thugs wielding spiralizers? Apparently that is a danger in the United Kingdom. Either that, or the chefs' union is lobbying hard to keep teens from trying to break into their business. Or possibly Bob the Tomato and Larry the Cucumber have more power than I thought.

This story, posted by a woman in the UK, popped up on Facebook, and I quickly copied the text. I regret not catching the image, too, as that would have shown how small, unpowered, and insignificant the device in question is. But you'll get the idea.

I know many things are going nuts in the UK, though I don't know anyone personally who can vouch for them. But the following story, if it is true—and at least it has the ring of truth and not clickbait—shows that at least in one area they are even crazier than America, which is saying a lot.

What I want to know is… When did the world go completely mad? Did I miss it?

Let me explain…

Yesterday, I was shopping in a well-known store with a red and white logo With my 10-year-old son.

Among the impulse purchases were a red nose day Tshirt for my son, a gift for the teacher and this lovely spiralizer/vegetable grater for me.

My helpful son unloaded the items onto the checkout desk while I removed my purse from my handbag, at which point the young lady on the desk said “I’m sorry, I can’t sell you that.”

She proceeded to explain that as the spiralizer was not to be sold to anyone under 18 and my son was the one who placed it on the counter, it was deemed that the vegetable cutting device was for him.

Bewildered, I said ”but it’s a spiralizer, and quite obviously it’s for me.”

She refused the sale.

I asked if I could purchase it separately.

She refused the sale.

I asked if I could speak to the manager and they could make allowances for such an obvious fault with the rules.

The manager refused the sale.

I told the manager it would probably be a good idea to put some sort of signage up to let customers know that minors should not be unloading shopping to help their parents.

She obviously misunderstood as she pointed out the signage on the packaging that clearly says “Do not sell to under 18s”.

I left the store confused and a little perturbed and resigned myself to a lifetime of chunky vegetables in my recipes.

You can however all rest safe in the knowledge you will never be faced with a vegetable shredding 10-year-old wearing a Feathers McGraw T-shirt roaming the streets of Cumbria… all thanks to the vigilant staff of the West Cumbrian store.

You can't sell a spiralizer to a 17-year-old in the UK?

I'm assuming a much-more-potentially-dangerous kitchen knife would meet with similar restrictions. At what age are people allowed to cook on that side of the Atlantic? How about to wash dishes, which would undoubtedly include knives.

I don't remember when I started helping in the kitchen, nor when our own children did, but I know that most of our grandchildren started learning how to use kitchen knives at the age of two (well supervised, of course), and by four were reliable helpers in cutting up vegetables for a salad. I know that's early, even for America, but if David Farragut could command a ship as a pre-teen (there is some difference of opinion as to whether he was 11 or 12), surely it is a bit excessive to restrict the use of sharp objects to those 18 and older.

I've been saying for a long time—not that it stops me from using their services—that Amazon has too much power. It has its fingers in too many pies. Today that became glaringly obvious as one by one we discovered that things we take for granted are not working because Amazon failed. (And at this writing is still causing problems, despite premature assurances early this morning.)

A friend noted the lack of Wordle and Starbucks. I missed DuoLingo, GreatCoursesPlus, Hoopla, and of course Amazon itself—the last because without Hoopla I couldn't get to the book I'd borrowed and I thought, forget it, I'll just buy it for my Kindle and...oh, wait....

Fortunately, everything big that I needed today has so far been working. Including writing this post, because Lime Daley is not dependent on Amazon. May more companies discover that freedom!

Here are the top people in line to succeed to the office if the President is unable to perform his duties. The list goes on for quite a while, but I'm only listing the top six.

1. Vice President (JD Vance)
2. Speaker of the House (Mike Johnson)
3. President Pro Tempore of the Senate (Chuck Grassley)
4. Secretary of State (Marco Rubio)
5. Secretary of the Treasury (Scott Bessent)
6. Secretary of Defense (Pete Hegseth) (I know it's "Secretary of War," but hey, I'm a Conservative now. I still think of the body of water west of us as the Gulf of Mexico, and sing all the old words to hymns instead of the modern, bowlderized ones.)

Why is this interesting? It makes it obvious what a nightmare Charlie Kirk's memorial service must have been for the Secret Service and others responsible for safety concerns, and why security to get into the stadium was so incredibly strict. Trump, Vance, Johnson, Rubio, and Hegseth were all there. The president, and four of the top six in line of succession. Not to mention a fair number of other political figures, and many others who now know they are at risk of assassination for speaking their opinions out loud.

For some reason this makes me think of a couple who both worked where Porter did when we lived in Boston, back in 2001. They had a standing policy that whenever they flew out of town, they took separate airplanes. That may seem excessive, or make you ask if they never rode in the same automobile—but it is the reason why in September of that year their children were bereaved, but not orphaned.

The full list can be found here. If, like me, you wonder about the order of the Cabinet officers—for example, why the Secretary of Education is considered more likely to be a good president than the Secretary of Homeland Security—it's because the order is determined by when the agencies were created. Or maybe because educators are more experienced with herding cats; I don't know.

I'd never heard of the Church Dog books nor the church that they're associated with, but family is family, and our choir family is so proud of the young daughter of two of our singers. Our director knows a lot that's going on in the Central Florida music, church, and theatrical scenes; he recommended that she audition for the Church Dog music video that's just been released—and she won the solo part! I don't think her parents would mind my mentioning her by name, but I'm not taking any chances. If she becomes famous, I'll link to this in an "I knew her when" post.  

It's not exactly my kind of music, but she's my kind of kid.

I see a lot of people—not only in America but from around the world—saying, or displaying on t-shirts, or social media posts, and the like, "I am Charlie Kirk." I have absolutely no problem with that and appreciate the impulse.

I do wonder what the French are thinking, since theirs was the first "Je suis Charlie"; it's hard to believe that was ten years ago.

Although I understand the sentiment, I can't at the moment bring myself to join in. It feels far too audacious, like saying, "I am Mother Teresa." The more I see of Charlie Kirk in action, the more I know that I will never be as energetic, motivated, intelligent, knowledgeable, patient, calm under pressure, forgiving, nor as loving of my opponents as he was.

I am not Charlie Kirk.

But watching him does make me want to be a better me.

Charlie died with incomplete work but without unfinished business. — Erika Kirk, 9/22/25

I think that's a great epitaph, and I'd love to earn it for my own tombstone.

You don't want to complete your work in this life—otherwise, why continue to live? But unfinished business is a very different thing.

For example, genealogical research is never completed. There's always far more to find than time in which to find it. However, leaving your work so incomplete and disorganized that after you die no one can take it over and profit from it—that's unfinished business.

I could say the same thing about the large collection of family photos that await my attention.

And several other projects.

And to think there are people who believe that being retired means time hangs heavy on one's hands!

People in our family will understand how much I like this car (photo found on Facebook).

Copilot is sure the license plate is from the state of Washington; Gemini is equally certain it is from Colorado. Intrigued, I found a better image online, which makes it clear that it's actually from Illinois.

I hate click-bait titles. Especially those of the "X humiliates Y" sort, most of which turn out to be inaccurate. I wish more people had this attitude, expressed in George MacDonald's Annals of a Quiet Neighbourhood.

When I am successful, in any argument, my one dread is of humiliating my opponent. Indeed I cannot bear it. It humiliates me. And if you want him to think about anything, you must leave him room, and not give him such associations with the question that the very idea of it will be painful and irritating to him. Let him have a hand in the convincing of himself.

This rare understanding is what I've seen constantly as I look into the phenomenon of Charlie Kirk. It's a big reason why his death is such a loss to our country and the world. May all of us who are seeking to learn from him take this to heart.

Watt's Law for Relationships: Power equals Strength times Humility.

I don't know who David Bahnsen is, nor at the moment do I feel the urge to find out. I judge him by his words alone, which through some combination of randomness and algorithm showed up on my Facebook feed. It was when I read the last line that I knew I had to repost them.

Many are writing me to point out the things Charlie [Kirk] said or did that are worthy of critique (sometimes that I actually did critique in real time). And while I can’t really understand why the first 4 days after someone’s assassination are the days in which people feel the need to “set the record straight,” I get that it is not the case that Charlie was perfect or above reproach.

But the more I think about the stuff that drove me bonkers about Charlie, the more I wonder how much was youthful immaturity that was in the process of being worked through. Just in the last 24 months anyone paying attention to Charlie’s public life saw extraordinary maturity and growth. It is so hard for me as a 51-year old to critique the 26-year old version of Charlie without wondering what the 36-year old or 41-year old might have been like. I certainly understand we can’t know that he would evolved into a patron saint of maturity, but I believe the 31-year old was exponentially more mature than the 26-year old, and I believe that trajectory was continuing.

I also believe if my life had ended at 31, basically every single thing I’m proud of or that is worthy of mention would have NEVER HAPPENED. All of my attempts at growth, sanctification, improvement, productivity have come out in the last 20 years, not the 15 years that preceded age 31. It’s sort of humbling.

You don’t have to deify someone or pretend you agree with everything to recognize that:

A - his murder is a reprehensible tragedy,

B - he was a special talent in his work ethic, discipline, and cultural instincts, and

C - he was a work in progress, and thank God none of us peaked at 31.

Before you post about something Charlie said or did at age 27, think about your own life at 27. When I do that, it makes me want to really keep my mouth shut.

Porter had the idea for this image, and I had fun with Copilot on this. It steadfastly refused to make an image of an ostrich with a noose around its neck and a Canadian flag in the background. But it then asked what I was trying to express, and had a number of suggestions for making the point without violating its guidelines. After about 15 minutes of back and forth I was quite pleased with this. Not with the circumstances of course, but with the picture.

It's been quite an emotional day. First, the Bishop of Central Florida came to our church to celebrate 20+ confirmations, which for a church our size is pretty impressive. Naturally there was special music, including the amazing Prayer of Saint Gregory, which will give some of you the hint that we had at least one trumpet (actually, we had two).

We got home just in time to watch the livestream of Charlie Kirk's memorial service at State Farm Stadium in Arizona. One of the advantages of having a pilot in the house is that I was able to confim my suspicion that there would be a no-fly zone around the venue, given the circumstances and all the people at high risk who were there. Probably the president's presence alone would have been enough reason for all the security.

Why did I watch the whole, very long, event—I, who am very jealous of my time, especially on Sunday afternoons? I'm not sure. It took me back to 1968, when I sat in front of our little black and white television, mesmerized by the events around Robert F. Kennedy's assassination. And more recently, watching Queen Elizabeth's funeral.

I think this one was even longer than the queen's. It didn't have nearly as much royalty, dignity, and pomp, but it was remarkable in its own way. It was part worship service, part memorial, part tent revival (complete with altar call), part political rally. In many places it was very powerful, as people shared their memories of Charlie and testified to his brilliance, his wisdom, his character, and his faith. In the past 11 days I have watched more of Charlie's speeches and conversations and encounters than in all my time previously, and the memorial service only confirmed the impression he left on me.

It's amazing to me how they managed to pull off such an enormous event—the stadium can hold over 70,000 people and it was packed; I have no idea how many people filled the overflow area where they watched on screens. The security alone must have been a nightmare.

Some of you will recognize the name of the man who led the worship part of the service: Chris Tomlin.

My one criticism is that it was too long, with too many speakers. By far the majority of them—from Charlie's wife to his pastor to the president of Hillsdale College to Tucker Carlson to a large number of high-level political figures—were excellent and their stories very moving. But there were a few they could have done without. Many of the Turning Point staff naturally wanted a chance to memorialize their leader, but a couple of them, well, let's just say they're very young and need some more maturity and life experience. They were understandably angry and grieving, but their somewhat hot-headed triumphalism made me cringe.

Overall, I'd call it worth watching, especially if you want to understand a little more why Charlie Kirk's death has affected so many people so deeply.  I think it could be made manageable by watching at higher speed and with a fast-forward button in your hand. But no testimonial can replace actually listening to what Charlie had to say, in context. He was a remarkable human being.