Lift Up Your Hearts!

Every day, after the noon meal, we follow the Episcopal Book of Common Prayer "Daily Devotions for Individuals and Families" noontime liturgy.  Joseph loves the time and is an active participant, as they use hand motions for many of the prayers.  (Some, at least, are a legacy of Janet's American Sign Language minor.)  For example, at "Give praise, you servants of the LORD" we raise our hands high in the air; at "in quietness and trust shall be our strength" we flex our biceps.

Then comes time for the reading, and Joseph jumps up to get the Bible for Daddy.  After that we pray. Before Vivienne was born, Joseph would put his hand on Janet's belly to "pray for the baby."  Now he puts his hand out, says "baby" and looks a little confused.  :)  After the Collect, he will often join in with a hearty, "Amen!"

That's it:  short but sweet and powerful.  It's especially delightful to watch Joseph's enthusiasm for "praise the Lord time."

As you might have guessed by the blog silence, we've been a little busy around here.  We have Baby News at last!

Vivienne Linda Stücklin
Born at home in Emmen, Switzerland
Saturday, January 21, 2012 at 12:26 p.m.
Length: 53cm (21in)
Weight: 3840g (8lbs 7oz)

I would never say that anyone's labor was easy, and this certainly wasn't, but it was a WHOLE lot better than with Joseph.  Consequently, Janet is recovering quickly and enjoying little Vivienne immensely.  So, you might observe, is Grandma.

(Click photo to enlarge.)

Vivienne was only a few days late, but the wait seemed long because Joseph had been a week early.  Once Janet was sure she was in labor, Stephan's parents joined us to keep Joseph entertained.  He did get to see his sister's birth, though I'm sure he won't remember it in years to come.

Ten years ago, I had no idea why anyone would want a home birth.  Now it's glaringly obvious.  That could be a whole nother post.  For now, suffice it to say that hospitals and doctors are great when it comes to emergencies and high-risk circumstances, but haven't a clue when it comes to normal childbirth. What a difference an experienced midwife makes—and how wonderful to give birth in (and to be born into) one's own, familiar nest.

Joseph had a rough first day (and night—hence so did the parents), bursting into heart-rending tears every time Vivienne cried.  But Janet learned to calm him by enlisting his help in calming his sister, such as patting her gently.  By the next day he seemed to have accepted the idea that her cries were a form of communication.  He loves to give her kisses, and sometimes even suggests to Janet that "Baby" needs mommy milk.

Some of the old anxiety returned today when the doctor came and Vivienne cried more than usual (more accurately, her cry was a bit different from usual).  I think tomorrow she is getting her first heel stick; remembering how his cousin Jonathan curled up in a ball and sobbed, "I didn't want them to cut my baby's heel," I think we may try to distract him in another room when that happens.

Vivienne herself is doing great, working on advanced degrees in eating, sleeping, eliminating, and charming the world.

But for the rest of us, sleep is still a bit on the short side, and I am up 'way too late working on this post.  So, enough for now.

Welcome to our world, Vivienne!  Congratulations to the family, and good night to all!

Breakfast
An international child, Joseph might start his day with leftover pizza, or rice, or bread and peanut butter, or a tortilla with "spices" (more on that later).  But for the most part his breakfast is "no no bissi" a.k.a. yoghurt and muesli.  Unsweetened muesli and plain yoghurt—and he loves it.  His drink for all meals is water.  He feeds himself with a spoon quite competently, although as you can imagine some cleanup is required.

For breakfast I might have yoghurt and muesli, or cooked oatmeal, or good Swiss bread, or yummy, fresh Swiss eggs (with golden yolks). (More)

Do e-mail, SMS, Facebook, Skype, and other quick-and-easy forms of communication, in an increasingly non-literate society, spell doom for the U.S. Postal Service?  We'd better hope not, especially those of us who like to send and receive packages.  If you think mailing a package overseas is outrageously expensive—and I do, except for the great Priority Mail Large Video Box—try using one of the other parcel services.  

I never thought I'd be saying this, but I think one problem the U.S. Postal Service has is that the prices are too low. It costs our daughter twice as much to send a letter from Switzerland as it costs us to write back. (Though they do get to design and print their own stamps for no additional charge!  There's nothing like getting a letter with a picture of your grandchild on it.) And this is what one Canadian eBay seller has to say:

Although I live in Canada, in Winnipeg, I make the 150 mile round-trip to Neche, North Dakota, to mail most parcels ... this allows me to pass on the savings in postage from USPS, which is a lot cheaper than Canada Post (and faster). In fact, it is even cheaper to ship books back to Canada from the USA, [than] it is to ship them in Canada, unless they are very thin!

I don't like the upcoming postal increase any more than the next person, but I'll happily pay more if that reflects the true cost of the service.  Let's continue to expect the best from our postal service, and give them the resources needed to do the job right.

When Moses received the Ten Commandments, when Hatshepsut ruled Egypt, when the Phoenicians were developing their alphabet, The Senator was a young tree.  When Jesus was born, it was nearly 1500 years old.

It was the largest pond cypress in the United States, the largest native tree in Florida, and possibly the largest tree of any sort east of the Mississippi.  The oldest of its species in the United States, and one of the oldest trees in the world, it had stood for some 3500 years in what is now a small park near our home.  It was even older than Te Matua Ngahere, which we travelled to the ends of the earth to see.

We enjoyed visiting The Senator, and would have done so more often had the park not had a reputation for some nefarious goings-on at the time our children were young.  I can't access our own pictures at the moment, but there's picture in the Wikipedia article that looks much like ours, only with different people standing in front of the tree.  (You might have to wait till the blackout is over to see it.)

But the tree that was 2500 years old at the time of the Norman Conquest is no more.  The Senator was destroyed by fire yesterday, January 16, 2012.  Officially, arson has been ruled out, but I agree with Beth Kassab's call for a more serious investigation.  It is too easy to attribute the death of the elderly to natural causes.  Such a venerable being deserves better.

It's hard being a long-distance grandmother, whether the distance is 1000 miles or 4800.  Certainly I'd rather our grandchildren live just down the street!  But one compensation for the loss of frequent interaction is the joy of seeing how much the children change between visits.  As we await the time when I'll have baby news to announce, I'll share a few stories of life with Joseph, 18 months old and soon to assume the important role of big brother.

John Ciardi said that a child should be allowed to learn, "at the rate determined by her own happy hunger."  Joseph's current "happy hunger" is for letters and numbers.  He  has a wooden puzzle of the upper case alphabet that is the first toy he takes out in the morning, and again after his nap.  This was supplemented at Christmas by the nicest number puzzle I've seen, which includes the numbers from 0 through 20 and arithmetic operators as well.

 (More)

[I know most of you are waiting for Baby News, but as that has not yet been forthcoming, I have to improvise.]

A series of experiments at Notre Dame sheds light on on the perennial "Why did I come into this room?" question.  Here are some excerpts from the Scientific American article, Why Walking through a Doorway Makes You Forget.  Most of the experiments were done in a video-game context, but the same effect was seen in real-life versions as well.

[Participants played a video game in which] they would walk up to a table with a colored geometric solid sitting on it. Their task was to pick up the object and take it to another table, where they would put the object down and pick up a new one. Whichever object they were currently carrying was invisible to them, as if it were in a virtual backpack.  Sometimes, to get to the next object the participant simply walked across the room. Other times, they had to walk the same distance, but through a door into a new room. From time to time, the researchers gave them a pop quiz, asking which object was currently in their backpack.  The quiz was timed so that when they walked through a doorway, they were tested right afterwards.  Their responses were both slower and less accurate when they'd walked through a doorway into a new room than when they'd walked the same distance within the same room.

Usually, returning to the room I started from will remind me of why I left in the first place.  But the researchers did not find that to be the case in their experiments.

[P]articipants sometimes picked up an object, walked through a door, and then walked through a second door that brought them either to a new room or back to the first room.  If matching the context is what counts, then walking back to the old room should boost recall. It did not.

The doorway effect suggests that there's more to the remembering than just what you paid attention to, when it happened, and how hard you tried.  Instead, some forms of memory seem to be optimized to keep information ready-to-hand until its shelf life expires, and then purge that information in favor of new stuff. ... [W]alking through a doorway is a good time to purge your event models because whatever happened in the old room is likely to become less relevant now that you have changed venues. ... Other changes may induce a purge as well:  A friend knocks on the door, you finish the task you were working on, or your computer battery runs down and you have to plug in to recharge.

Why would we have a memory system set up to forget things as soon as we finish one thing and move on to another?  Because we can’t keep everything ready-to-hand, and most of the time the system functions beautifully.

Take heart, distracted mothers!  That which frustrates you so badly was apparently designed to help with the rapid context-switching essential to your vocation.

If I weren't eating so well at the famous Swiss Zum Stücklin, I might be sad at missing the Outstanding in the Field event held at our favorite egg (and more) farm, Lake Meadow Naturals.  Not that I'm in the habit of spending $180/person on meals, not even in Switzerland, not even when we ate at the incomparable restaurant at Les Trois Rois in Basel.  But I'm happy for our local farm to get such national recognition.

We're stocking up on meals, pre-birth, and today made a double batch of our favorite stew.  The recipe calls for a hefty helping of paprika.  Spices should not necessarily be increased in direct proportion, but I like paprika, so I doubled the quantity—and then, as I usually do, threw in a bit more.

Some of Janet's spices are labelled in English, but most in the Swiss triumvirate of German, French, and Italian.  This jar had but a one-word label:  "paprica."  Perhaps paprika is the same in every language.

Or not.  The spice in that jar was decidedly not paprika as I have always known it.  Picture a pot of stew seasoned with a heaping tablespoon of red pepper....

The stew was delicious.  Even Joseph liked it.  (Then again, he asks for "spices" on almost everything.)  Hot pepper worked.  But it's a good lesson in taking care when cooking in another country.  What if "paprica" had actually meant "ginger"?

At this time last year I reflected on the results of my 2010 January resolution:  Read More Books.  It was an unqualified success:  In 2010 I had read 65 books of great variety:  print and audio, fiction and non-fiction, from children's lit to an 800-page survey of ancient history.  I felt quite good about it.

I'm not feeling so encouraged now.  For 2011, my total of 33 books was but half the previous year's.  Without doubt, even an avid bookworm like me needs to be vigilant and deliberate in making time for reading.

What happened?  I can think of a few factors, none negative in itself. (More)

So, Orlando finally gets a Wawa!  Nowhere near us yet, but there's hope.

I'm still waiting for a Trader Joe's....

Several months ago, Porter signed us up for a pre-anniversary present of tickets to the Orlando performance of The Screwtape Letters.  I tucked them carefully away in my Tickler file, and last week they popped up.  I'm very grateful for the Tickler and for Google Calendar—when you book things so far in advance it's all too easy to forget, especially in a season of other big events.  It was a delightful post-Christmas outing.

The location, the Plaza Live theater, was initially disappointing, as it looks—and smells—like the converted movie theater it is.  But that was easy to forget once the show started.

Not so easy to ignore was the excessive volume of the music and sound effects.  I did not want to resort to my earplugs, because the speaking part was of a reasonable volume, but after several assaults I gave up, and was still able to hear the monologue.  Yes, it's a monologue, though not a one-man show.  But the other character, Screwtape's secretary, Toadpipe, is a mime.  And played by a woman, so maybe it is a one-man show after all.

How do you adapt a book, consisting entirely of a series of letters, to the stage?  With difficulty, but they did a commendable job.  The stage setting is in Hell, where Screwtape is dictating his letters.  Toadpipe's acrobatics and the sound effects provide enough action to keep the show moving.  For what it is, the show is very well done, and should have large audience appeal.  It received a very positive review from the Orlando Sentinel.  Even I enjoyed it, no doubt because the script was so faithful to the original.  I know the book well enough to recognize that large sections were performed verbatim.  Much was, of necessity, left out—I had wondered how they would handle the part where Screwtape turns into a cockroach; they didn't—and there were one or two places where I thought there might have been just a little modernization.  But it's hard to beat C.S. Lewis for writing, so I'm glad they didn't try.  Best of all, the show stays true to the character of the book.

No show could replace the book itself.  But for an introduction to the book, it's a good performance.  If only they had turned the volume down!

A Boy's War by David Michell (OMF International, 1988)

In 2010, revelations of unspeakable abuse of missionary children at not one but two West African boarding schools only confirmed my intense belief that missions organizations sinned greatly against the very families that gave everything to serve with them, by expecting—often requiring—parents to send their children away to boarding school at a very young age.  After all, isn't one of the (multiple) lessons of the Old Testament story of Abraham's willingness to sacrifice his son Isaac, the counter-cultural message that God does not ask parents to sacrifice their children, but himself provides the sacrifice?  How did the organizations dare preach Jesus Christ while demanding sacrifices to Moloch?  I'm not talking about high school-aged children who chose to go to boarding school for the sake of a better education and preparation for college, but little ones, as young as six, whose education would have been better accomplished at home with their parents.  I daresay the parents' missionary work would have benefitted as well, as the native peoples would have more easily accepted them as fellow human beings as they watched them interacting as families.

Granted, there are many excellent boarding schools.  My quarrel is not with families who choose this as the best educational option for their children, but with the missions that mandated the practice.  Why did the organizations rip children away from their parents in the name of God, and why did their parents put up with it?  It was a long time before I came up with a theory:  it may be because so many missions organizations have their roots in England, and other countries where sending small children off to boarding school was standard practice, a historical and cultural given. (More)

Why do Jehovah's Witnesses bring out the worst in me?  They're only doing what they think is best.

I'm not good with any form of un-asked-for solicitation, be it door-to-door, phone, e-mail, blog comment, junk mail, or any other form of spam.  I don't like being rude, but I've found that a quick, "No, thank you; I'm not interested," followed immediately by hanging up the phone or closing the door, to be the solution that wastes the least amount of time—not only mine, but theirs.  Why let them go on and on when I know I'm not going to give in to whatever they're selling?  I did know someone who would, on occasion, invite them in, and let them go on and on, thinking they were about to make a sale, until the whole evening was used up.  He figured he was saving several dozen other folks from having their evenings interrupted, and he found it somewhat amusing.  (Reality TV hadn't been invented yet.)  But that's not me.

When it comes to JWs, I also know people who will invite them in, serve them coffee, and spend the evening preaching the gospel to them.  I admire those who can do that, but it's definitely not me. (More)

It's not polite to think about items you didn't get for Christmas while we're still in the Christmas season.  But hey—at least no one thinks I'm hinting for a gift as I ponder things.

Those who know me will be shocked at what I am about to reveal, almost as shocked as when I admitted that I might actually want to own a Wii.  Oops, I haven't actually confessed that here yet.  But I had such a blast with the Wii Fit over Thanksgiving....

I am a book-lover.  That is, a lover of real, paper, take-'em anywhere, you-own-it-and-Amazon (or whoever)-can't take it away kinds of books.  Books that smell like books.  I dislike reading on a computer screen.  Back in the Dark Ages of last century, I tried reading a book on my then-leading-edge Palm handheld device.  Yuck.

However, the thought of owning an e-reader (Kindle, Nook, etc.) is slowly breaching my event horizon.  For one thing, the price is coming down.  I had dismissed Kindle early on, at the mere thought of holding a $300 "book" that would likely to break if dropped.  But $100 is a little less scary.  More than 2/3 less scary, for some reason.

Then this morning I was struck by two prods in the e-book direction.  First, an e-mail from Janet inquiring about a certain book, which opened my eyes to the idea that one can give e-reader books instantly, without worrying about delivery time or overseas shipping charges.

Shortly thereafter I read Conversion Diary's 7 Quick Takes Friday, from which I quote: (More)