Lift Up Your Hearts!

Enthusiasm, fortitude, patience, and joy are good qualities in a president.

I wouldn't wish that job on one of my grandchildren any more than I'd wish them leukemia. Nonetheless, I would vote for her.

President Grace Daley speaks at the Smithsonian.

From Daley Ponderings:

Grace is having ear surgery tomorrow to explore what's going on, get a biopsy, and maybe get a tube in.  The oncology/NF1 doctor also managed to schedule her bone marrow aspirate for the same day so Grace will not have to be sedated twice in a few weeks.

Prayers for all that accompanies sedation (including fasting, Jon's conversation with the anesthesiologist, and emergence) are appreciated. And that they will find exactly what they need to, that everything will be clear. And that her marrow will still be all Faith's!

I'm more than pleased that they thought to spare her the extra sedation.  I'm less happy with the idea of ear surgery, but sometimes you have to trust that the doctors know what they're doing....  And pray.

This post has been sitting around for a while, waiting for an opportune time to be published. Given the recent news about 23andMe's decision to go Chapter 11 on us and seek someone to buy the company, now seems as good a time as any.

I'm inclined not to join the delete-my-data panic. It's concerning, but Ancestry.com changed hands back in 2020 without such fanfare. I'm not convinced that deleting our data is going to help anything. But it's worth being aware of.

In the meantime....

23andMe has updated my ancestry composition analysis. AncestryDNA does that periodically, but this is the first from 23andMe in a while—and it includes a surprise.

You have to take DNA ancestry results with a bit of a grain of salt, as is evident when you see the results change with each update. As more data become available, as the algorithms are refined, as the population areas are adjusted, the analysis changes somewhat. I'm okay with that; I never take what they tell me as gospel-accurate. Results also differ between services, as they each have their own data and their own algorithms to analyze that data. That said, the general pattern of my results remains the same: I'm about as Northern European as you can get, and most of that is from England and northern Ireland/southern Scotland. Here's 23andMe's latest estimate:

There are actually two surprises

According to their estimates, I actually have a stronger connection to the category, "Mayflower Descendants" than Porter does—and he has one proven Mayflower line and two more that are highly likely. I know of only one probable line for myself, and that is most difficult to prove. (Advancement in genetic genealogy seems to be my best hope for that. Mid-state New Yorkers were not nearly as good at keeping records as the New Englanders were.) Given that there are now some 35 million descendants of the Mayflower passengers, I don't give much credence to my supposed stronger connection.

The second surprise is hidden under the category "French & German—Muota Valley." For the first time, the results show significant numbers from that region; what's more, this is the Muota Valley! (Click to enlarge.)

In my research, I had seen hints of some Swiss ancestry on my mother's side, but nothing that I can prove, so finding a connection to the place where our overseas family now resides was cool. As I said, you have to hold genealogical DNA results somewhat lightly—but I'll happily embrace the fun stuff when I can!

Was it a dream or a nightmare?

Both, I think. It was frightening, but it also ended before I wanted it to.

Elon Musk had come to audit my genealogical work.

It was a nightmare, because my research has been sorely neglected for years, and my records are in terrible shape.

On the other hand, he showed me patterns I had not seen, and had ideas I hadn't thought of. I was making progress! Alas, as with most dreams, everything useful fled upon awakening—except the all-important inspiration to get back to work.

If Elon Musk and DOGE will never scrutinize my genealogical efforts, the heirs of my research and my records will, and when the time of their judgement comes, it will be too late for me to get my work in order.

This week, we combined a number of objectives into one visit to Florida's St. Augustine: Showing Noah the sights of America's oldest city, giving him the final "cross-country" trip needed for his IFR license, and using a free Marriott stay that was threatening to expire. It was not the cheapest way to see the city, but it sure was fun.

We left early Monday morning, Noah and I flying in a Cessna 182Q Skylane, and Porter driving our car so that we would have transportation at our destination. Despite a last-minute warning of violent storms that could have scuttled the whole trip, the weather could not have been more beautiful.

I began the journey with an amusing (in hindsight) incident. As I was climbing up into the plane, the seat back that I was holding onto shifted, I lost my grip, and the next thing I knew I was on the ground, looking up at the sky. I did better on the second attempt, no worse for wear except for having pulled a muscle in my left arm. That's well on its way back to health, but I'll admit I did entertain thoughts of visiting Centra Care just so that when they asked me what my problem was, I could reply, "I fell out of an airplane."

Thanks to heavy traffic at the Sanford Airport, plane and car arrived at the Northeast Florida Regional Airport at about the same time, and our Saint Augustine adventure began.

One place I have not yet tired of visiting is the Castillo de San Marcos. After that, we walked down St. George Street, and ate lunch at Mimi's Famous Crepes, another St. Augustine must-see ... er, must-eat.

Thus fortified, we spent quite a while in the Lightner Museum, followed by the Villa Zorayda Museum. We crossed the Bridge of Lions at just the right time to get stranded on the far side when the drawbridge opened, but not for long. Dinner we enjoyed on the balcony of O. C. White's Seafood restaurant; it was a bit windy, but pleasant with a nice view.

Porter and I had visited the Spanish Military Hospital many years ago, but this time found it changed considerably, being more of a lecture than a tour, and with less that we could see on our own. (Not that we can rely on our own memories for that, having recently proven that we can watch a Poirot mystery multiple times and be surprised by the identity of the murderer each time.) Nonetheless, we found it worthwhile.

The next day, we partook of our free Fairfield Inn breakfast, and then drove to the Saint Augustine Lighthouse and Maritime Museum. That, too, has changed a lot (and for the better—more to see) since we were there last. Fortunately, they still allow you to climb the 219 steps to the top. (Photo of me at the top courtesy Noah Daley.)

From there, we visited the Ripley's Believe It or Not museum. I know we have one of our own in Orlando, but St. Augustine's is the original. If the Lightner Museum is the collection of the eclectic accumulations of a very wealthy man, Ripley's is the version for the hoi polloi, grotesque rather than elegant. Worth visiting every dozen years or so.

For lunch we returned to Mimi's, this time for savory rather than sweet crepes—the Bacon & Brie crepe is well worth returning for—supplemented by Ben's Soft Pretzels next door. After that it was time for the final leg of the adventure, and here we are approaching the runway at Sanford. (As with most photos here, click to enlarge.) An accident on I-95 caused us to beat Porter home, but not by much. We knew he would be late, because we saw the traffic jam as we flew over it.

Jon began his latest update on Grace this way:

An ENT, a radiologist and an oncologist walk into a bar.... Oh, maybe not, but they at least had a discussion about Grace while looking over the MRI and CT scan together, and the conclusion is that it isn't a plexiform fibroma at all! Which is what Heather has had the faith to pray for all along! 

So, great news!

He continued, however with something scary: Because they are still looking for the cause of her mild hearing loss, Grace is scheduled for surgery, and more anesthesia. :( Thursday, March 27, time TBD but probably early morning.

[The plan is] to check out the potential fluid behind her ear (last time I talked to the ENT, he was thinking it might not be fluid, but some spongy tissue), possibly install a tube in her ear drum to let the fluid out, if it is there but getting blocked from going down her eustachian tube, and do a biopsy to grab near the potential NF1 fibroma to see what it is.

There's so much to be thankful for, and still so much to pray for. Thank you all for your loving support.

Sometimes the Babylon Bee—like much modern satire—is too heavy-handed for my taste. And other times it is spot on. This pretty much sums up what I'm feeling about our federal judges right now. You can read the article here, but this is the best part.

A district judge has issued a ruling saying Trump lacked the Constitutional authority to pick up two astronauts who have been stranded at the International Space Station for several months.

SpaceX has been ordered to return the astronauts immediately.

The SpaceX craft docked at the ISS on Sunday and was preparing for the return journey to Earth when the orders stopped the process short. "Please bring us home, I just want a cheeseburger and a nap in a horizontal bed," said one of the crew.

At publishing time, Trump was polling at 100% approval among the stranded astronaut demographic.

Grace has a bone marrow test at Dartmouth today, where they check to make sure it's all good cells with no lingering defective ones. This is big, even if routine.

I haven't published results from last Friday's appointments, because the doctors are still pondering them.  Here's all I know, from Heather:

[They don't] think the hearing loss is related to the fibroma. There may be bone erosion, not sure what cause. So a lot of discussion needs to happen.The fibroma really is pretty small. I do not know if they can show a shrinking between tests, but I wouldn't be surprised.

Sandwiched between 3:14 (Pi Day) and 3:17 (St. Patrick's Day) is

3:16 (Greatest Love Day)

John 3:16, that is.

For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.

In honor of which I present this beautiful anthem, John Stainer's God So Loved the World. No, that's not our choir. But Porter and I have sung this many times and it's one of our favorites.

I created this back in November, before denigrating the world's richest man became almost as popular a pasttime as abusing President Trump. But now seems the right time to post it, because yesterday...

... we watched the SpaceX rescue mission finally take off. And it took off like a ... well, like a rocket! I don't know if the impression of excessive speed was an effect of the more powerful engines, or of the launch trajectory, or both, but normally there's a significant wait between liftoff and the time we can see the spacecraft. This time, the flame appeared from behind our neighbor's house in almost no time at all, and it barely gave me a chance to snap a photo.

Godspeed on your mission, SpaceX Crew-10!

Sometimes I don't mind showing my age: When contemplating a post appropriate for both the day of the lunar eclipse and Pi Day, this is what came immediately to mind: Dean Martin's "That's Amore."

I didn't bake a pie for Pi Day this year, but we did watch the eclipse. My cell phone camera is great for most things, but completely failed in capturing anything of the event worth publishing.

The real-life sight, however, was well worth setting my alarm clock for. We had a great view from our front yard, and the weather was perfect, i.e. a cloudless sky, with the temperature cool but pleasant.

UPDATE:  Noah's high-quality camera (and patience) produced much more interesting photos.  Here's one (click to enlarge).

I woke up just before midnight for the onset, and watched until I could discern—or at least thought I could discern—a small bite taken out of the moon. At 1:30 a.m., about halfway to totality, the sight was impressive, and we enjoyed the brief moments of totality around 3 a.m. With all the hype about the "blood moon," I expected it to be redder than it was, but that did not detract.

The first lunar eclipse that I remember would have been when I was five years old or so. I recall getting up early in the morning and going with my father to a place where we could watch it in the early dawn. I have one image in my mind: my father crouching beside me as we watched the moon low in the dawning sky. It was cold, but not excessively so. I don't know how aware I was of the significance of the lunar eclipse, but I do remember that I was doing something very special with my father, and that was priceless.

You may have noticed that I have often been leaving open the option to comment on my posts, despite what I said in "More Blog Changes." It turns out that cutting off blog comments is harder than I thought. I could easily disable all comments, but I want exceptions for certain posts and categories, which is a lot more work. Besides, I've discovered that I really miss the opportunity for cheery and encouraging notes from my readers, even if they are rare.

So I'm trying something different: cutting off old posts at the time they become attractive to spammers and trolls, instead of trying to make large-scale changes all at once. This "surgical strike" approach drags out the process but is more manageable. Why try to fix what isn't (yet) broken?

With new posts, it's easy to choose comments/no comments at the time they are published, so I'm going to be experimenting with how I handle that.

Life is a work in progress, and so is writing.

Back in December, I wrote about the time Noah took his little sister flying.

Today was our turn.

We flew to Ocala and back in a Piper Cherokee Archer.

Not only was the flying fun, but so was seeing (and hearing) an international airport from the "inside." Thanks, Noah!

We are now in the season of the church year called Lent.  A season of self-denial and repentance, it is paradoxically one of my favorite seasons—most likely because I love the Lenten section of our hymnal.  So many great hymns.  I also like it because I get to contribute to our church's Lenten Devotional, in which various church people write a very short meditation on an assigned Bible verse.  Since my day (March 7) has now passed, I feel free to share it here.

Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick.  (Matthew 9:12)

Thus Jesus responded when the Pharisees questioned His socializing with society’s outcasts. Quoting Hosea 6, He continued: Go and learn what this means, “I desire mercy, and not sacrifice.” The sick and suffering will seek out a doctor, but those who are outwardly healthy and strong feel no such need. The obvious sinners knew their low estate and came to Jesus for help. The Pharisees, confident in their own righteousness, came to Jesus to criticize. Jesus gave His time to the people who were open to healing. To the Pharisees, whom He also loved, He presented a challenge: Perhaps the Hosea passage would reveal God’s greater standards, that they might see with their eyes, hear with their ears, understand with their hearts and turn, and [He] would heal them (Matthew 13:15).

An excerpt from Brandon Sanderson's novel, Warbreaker (pp. 490-491 in the hardcover version). It seems fitting for my Heroes series.

Vasher shrugged in the darkness. “Priests are always easy to blame. They make convenient scapegoats—after all, anyone with a strong faith different from your own must either be a crazy zealot or a lying manipulator.”

Vivenna flushed yet again.

Vasher stopped in the street, then turned to her. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to say it that way.” He cursed, turning and walking again. “I told you I’m no good at this.”

“It’s all right,” she said. “I’m getting used to it.”

He nodded in the darkness, seeming distracted.

He is a good man, she thought. Or, at least, an earnest man trying to be good. A part of her felt foolish for making yet another judgment.

Yet she knew she couldn’t live—couldn’t interact—without making some judgments. So she judged Vasher. Not as she’d judged Denth, who had said amusing things and given her what she’d expected to see. She judged Vasher by what she had seen him do. Cry when he saw a child being held captive. Return that child to her father, his only reward an opportunity to make a rough plea for peace. Living with barely any money, dedicating himself to preventing a war.

He was rough. He was brutal. He had a terrible temper. But he was a good man. And, walking beside him, she felt safe for the first time in weeks.