Lift Up Your Hearts!

Inconstant Moon, by Larry Niven (Orbit, 1991; original copyright 1973)

One of the advantages of having our son-in-law's book collection at hand is that I can indulge in my passion from a previous stage in life:  science fiction.  The disadvantage is that I'm beginning to suspect that my tastes have changed.

I thought I remembered liking the works of Larry Niven, and maybe I did.  But now, this collection of stories was one-for-seven for me.  The last, Death by Ecstasy, is an interesting mystery, but most of the tales are dated, with an embarrassing 1960s flavor—not surprising, since that is when they were written.  There's just too much of the holier-than-thou, making a point that the characters are of different races (racial tensions were a big problem in the 60s), and 'way too much emphasis on how in the (enlightened) future, the one-husband, one-wife, faithfully-married-with-children kind of sexual practice, so reviled by the sexual revolutionaries of the time, will be such a rare variation as to be almost unmentionable.  This might have been daring, titilating writing 45 years ago, but today it gets old fast.

On the other hand, I enjoy observing the ways in which the old science fiction writers mis-called both scientific and social changes.  As they say, anyone can predict the invention of the automobile, but it takes a genius to anticipate the traffic jam.  In a world of interstellar travel, enormous lifespans, and pleasure-stimulating brain implants, the computers are still huge, and ashtrays common in every home, hotel, and office.

Perhaps the worker at Babies R Us had noticed me walking up and down the aisles, examining the toys, sighing, and putting them back.  Or perhaps she was just doing her job.  But when she asked, in a friendly manner, "Are you finding what you're looking for?" I hesitated, then replied, "No."

"What are you looking for?"

"A toy not made in China."

(Today's Mallard Fillmore comic strip.)

She was certain she could help me, but as she checked toy after toy her astonishment grew.  She discovered one item—alas, for a much older child than our six-month-old grandson—made in North America, and I pointed out the one toy I had found that was made in Thailand.^*  Other than those two, everything was from China.  Every.  Single.  Toy.  Clothes are made all over the world, judging from my label-reading experience:  Honduras, India, Indonesia, Bangladesh, Vietnam, Domincan Republic....  But not toys.

I was not surprised, having been through this drill before, but the helpful salesperson was astonished, and even called a supervisor for help.  Perhaps that's one reason China has a virtual monopoly on children's toys, and agri-business rules our food supply:  we don't know where things come from.  I left empty-handed; our grandson will have to make do with something more creative.

The water came, not from the sky, but from the sprinklers left on overnight in an attempt to raise the ambient temperature for sensitive plants closer to 32 degrees than the predicted 25.  The ice shows that the precautions were not unwarranted.  At 4:30 a.m. our back porch thermometer registered 35 degrees, but I suspect it was quite a bit colder than that—the sensor is located near the house and above the worms, which had their own heating lamp for the night.

With an enthusiastic tip of the hat to PD, I present Hillsborough, New Hampshire's own Bible Hill Boys in this awesome Christmas video, (I Do All My) Christmas Shopping at the Dump.

This is in tribute to our very own UJ, who is the undefeated champion of dump shopping in Connecticut.  In Florida, as in many places, dumps are dirty, smelly, nasty, dangerous things.  But in thrifty New England residents can separate out potentially reusable trash and "dump" it in special locations (at the transfer stations), where others can find treasure.  Sometimes literally:  our UJ once found a diamond ring!  Unable to find the original owner, he presented it to his wife.  Needless to say, she does not consider her husband a chump.  He's a champ!  "UJ's Store" is a great place for shopping, whatever the season.

Enjoy the song!

Blackberry = Crackberry?  The iPhone is more addictive and targeting children!  Well, maybe that wasn't Apple's intention, but they did make their phone so easy even tiny kids can use it.  My brother tipped me to a New York Times article on parents who use their iPhones to pacify whining offspring, and the toddlers who consider the phone to be the best toy in the toybox.

Instead of writing about how impressed I am with the tiny kids' abilities (and I am), or how depressed I am about yet another video addiction in chidren's lives (ditto), I'll use the context to mention our own toddler/computer story.

One day Heather discovered two-year-old Faith sitting at the computer, typing away in their Open Office word processing program.  She assumed Jon had set it up for her, but that was not the case.

No one knows how she did it.  This is no consumer-friendly iPhone, nor even Windows, but a Linux-based system only a geek could love.  Go, little geeklet!

Nothing shows American individualism like the days between Thanksgiving and the end of the year, when everyone is free to celebrate the holiday of his own choosing—ancient or modern, major or minor, traditional or made-up—as long as he follows the Two Cardinal Rules:

• Don’t assume everyone else wants to celebrate the same holiday you’ve chosen, and
• Spend lots and lots of money!^*

I reach into the grab bag and choose:  Advent, all twelve days of Christmas, and Epiphany.  Perhaps New Year’s Day as well.  None, technically, involves spending a lot of money, but we generally manage to do our part, and so far this year has been no exception.

For the purposes of this blog, the operative word here is holiday.  I am attempting to take a break for the season.  I seriously doubt I won’t post at all, but do expect a significant reduction in the number and length of posts.

May whatever holiday(s) you celebrate bring you blessing!

^* The money doesn't have to be spent selfishly, despite what the television ads may lead you to believe.  I recommend considering some version of the Advent Conspiracy.

This resolution comes straight from George MacDonald, via his novel Robert Falconer.  It expressed the “divine law of [Falconer’s] activity,” and I wish to make it my own.

The phrase spreads before me a vision of quiet, effective work punctuated by seasons of true rest, the antithesis of modern society’s frantic—and often ineffectual—labor, and equally frantic striving after (unrestful) recreation.

Another author who captured this vision was J.R.R. Tolkien, in his short story, Leaf by Niggle.  At one point in the story, the protagonist is in a purgatory of sorts, and I love this description of what happens in him:

It could not be denied that he began to have a feeling of—well, satisfaction:  bread rather than jam.  He could take up a task the moment one bell rang, and lay it aside promptly the moment the next one went, all tidy and ready to be continued at the right time.  He got through quite a lot in a day, now; he finished small things off neatly.  He had no "time of his own" (except alone in his bed-cell), and yet he was becoming master of his time; he began to know just what he could do with it.  There was no sense of rush.  He was quieter inside now, and at resting-time he could really rest.

It was from Shinichi Suzuki that I first heard, “Never rush, never rest,” which captures a similar idea, but one not as good, for rest is essential.  “The Sabbath was made for man.”

Jim Loehr and Tony Schwartz (The Power of Full Engagement) studied top-notch tennis players to determine what separated the great from the greatest.  The players were equally skilled at the techniques of the game; the crucial difference appeared in how they used the brief moments when they were not actively playing. The really great players had learned how to rest between points.

Into Great Silence, a film about the Carthusian monks, gives yet another glimpse of what I seek in this, my final resolution for 2010.  Two monks are cutting wood into fireplace-sized lengths for heating.  The young novice quickly breaks into a sweat, and wears himself out with his energetic motions, while the old man calmly, deliberately, and slowly outpaces him in production without looking in the least bit tired.

Focussed, unhurried work; effective rest.  A good aspiration for Advent, the Season of Preparation, though perhaps a most difficult one during the secular Christmas season, which neatly epitomizes its opposite.

This year I've had more fun than ever before with my "New Year's" resolutions.  I'll probably find more next year, but on a less regular basis, as once a month is obviously a faster pace than I can put them into practice.  What I hope to do with this year's resolutions, as each reaches its one-year anniversary, is take time for analysis:  how I've done, whether or not I still think the resolution is valuable, and how I might make it more measurable (and thus more likely to be accomplished).

Progress Report

#1  Read More Books  In November I surpassed my most ambitious goal for the year, that of five books per month, wtih a total of 61.

#2  Rediscover Feasting  Thanksgiving at my sister's house is one long string of amazing feast days.  I'm still not good enough at saving the feast for special days to receive such times with the kind of joy and abandon that hungrier people do, however.

#3  Learn to Relax  I've been more regular (though still not good enough) at taking time each day for deliberate, focussed relaxation.  I also found our two activity-charged weeks away from home much less stressful than usual.  I'm not sure why, but I take it as a good sign.  (I don't mean that being with our wonderful family is in itself stressful, but I tend to stress out easily when there's a lot going on and a lot that needs to be done.)

#4  Like More Things Hmm.  What to say here?  I think I already liked everything I did this month, except missing my flight connection on the trip home after Thanksgiving.

#5  Pay Attention  I continue to work on keeping my mind focussed on the "now" of whatever I am doing.  When I remember.  What was I writing about?

#6  Cast Away Fear  Travelling alone and dealing with unexpected storms and missed connections gave me some practice here.

#7  Talk Less, Listen More  Spending two weeks with lots of other people gave me more opportunity to practice this, and if I wasn't all that successful, I at least remembered this resolution on occasion.

#8  Enjoy Spontaneity  Not much to say here, but again, being away from home does tend to force me into some spontaneity, and I did enjoy it.  :)

#9  End with the Beginning in Mind  Nothing I can think of to report this month.

#10  Care More about Other People—and Less about What They Think  It's not easy to do, but there have been several occasions when I have made this a deliberate choice.

#11  Practice Thanksgiving  I had a lot to be thankful for this month—including a safe, if long, trip home—but to be honest I was no more thankful because of the resolution than without it.

So, this headline popped up in my news feed today:

US, Israel, PA fail to reach agreement on settlement freeze

and my immediate thought was, "Why is Pennsylvania negotiating directly with Israel?"

The more I learn about Julian Assange, the more I like Terry Jones.

They're both inconsiderate, irresponsible idiots in my book, though each started with good intentions and the belief that his actions were righteous and courageous.  But Jones had the grace to back off when he saw that his Koran-burning threat stunt was endangering innocent lives around the world.  Assange is using the threat of further, more dangerous WikiLeaks revelations to fend off prosecution on, among other things, rape charges.

There is a place for whistle-blowing, and shedding light in dark places sometimes requires great courage and controversial actions.  But if you want to be a hero rather than a two-bit blackmailer, it’s wise to break no more laws—civil and moral—than absolutely necessary.

One who lays his life on the line for the sake of others may be a hero, but the sacrifice of other people’s lives, even for a great cause, is a less clear path.  That’s why the right to make such decisions is generally given to regulated, designated authorities, like the military or police forces.  Being made up of human beings, they may make disastrous mistakes, and can be corrupted, but on the whole they are safer holders of that power than unregulated, untrained individuals and mobs.  There’s a good reason vigilante action is feared—and illegal.

Don't you just love it when an otherwise obscure reference clicks in your mind?

First, one of my favorite non-family blogs, The Occasional CEO, has a post entitled Steampunk in Pictures.  Steampunk, Wikipedia tells me, is a subgenre of science fiction.  Wait—I cut my teeth on science fiction, and I'd never heard of it?  Turns out steampunk came of age during the 1980's and 90's, when our kids were cutting their teeth and I was too busy to keep up with that part of my former life.

But then, just this morning, I learned that my nephews' writing teacher will be leading a class on steampunk.

Then on the way home from church I heard part of A Prairie Home Companion^*, which was being broadcast from New York City.  Garrison Keillor, describing the crowds at Times Square, reported that city locals were not there, but rather were at—and here he named several other places, including "the Christmas shops at Bryant Park."  That would have passed by me into obscurity just like all the other places he mentioned, except that last December I had passed by Bryant Park twice a day while doing research at the New York Public Library, and had seen those very shops—along with the portable ice skating rink and other magical sights of the season.

This phenomenon, that the more we know, the more we are aware, the more we learn—and often, the more we like—is a big reason why I believe even very young children should have the opportunity to encounter as many of the good things in this world as possible, from hearing new languages to making pancakes to looking at pictures of great art to any number of other wonderful things.  When it comes to knowledge, from the vital to the trivial, "to everyone who has, more will be given."

...and I believe it.  But my Personal Economic Indicators indicate a booming economy.

I dislike shopping in the best of times, and December is not the most pleasant of months to shop, even when one doesn't have to deal with heavy coats and boots.  Yet sometimes need will drive me out to the stores, and I had hoped that with all the bad news about unemployment and and bankruptcies and poor retail sales, there might come compensation in the form of a less-crowded shopping experience.

But I went out today, and all indications are of an economic boom in full swing.  Very heavy traffic in the middle of the afternoon—I didn't think it could get worse, but proved myself wrong by still being on the road when rush hour began—and stores full of shoppers.  Buyers, too, if the checkout lines were any indication.

If this is the situation in bad times, how will we handle the good?  Our main road (not highway) is already 6-8 lanes wide.  How much shopping, and driving, do people have to indulge in for the economists to stop saying "consumer confidence is down"?

In case you haven't seen it, check out the 12 Composers of Christmas.  (H/T musician friend Sarah D.)

It is fitting to end my November Thanksgivings with gratitude for a wonderful visit with family and a safe journey home.  Despite Heather’s prediction that I would post more about our activities than she would, you’re not likely to hear much about them.  I was too busy living the adventure to write about it.¹  Of yesterday’s voyage from Pittsburgh to Orlando I have much to say, and the illusion of time to say it.

It was a long day—nearly 16 hours door-to-door—but I can’t complain as Porter still had some 13 more hours to travel after I was safe in our own house.  If it weren’t for the final blow from JetBlue, I wouldn’t have minded at all.

Perhaps the beginning of the trip was a portent, as we began by brushing the first, wet snow of the season off the car.²  Traffic was bad but the driving fine on the way to the airport, and there was no line at either of our check-in counters, so we had plenty of time.  The security line was by far the longest I’ve experienced in Pittsburgh, but short by Orlando standards, and neither of us had to make the body scanner/pat down choice.

All too soon we had to go to our separate gates, but kept in touch by SMS:

many flights out of nyc canceled³

mine ok so far

delayed to 10:40

our plane just landed.  praying for your connections

ours not here yet

on plane

me too

Remind me not to schedule non-direct flights during the winter if possible.  I was flying through New York City instead of directly home to Orlando because I was taking a free trip Porter had earned by being bumped from a JetBlue flight earlier in the year.  If it weren’t for the most important part—I got to my destination and home again safely—I might be tempted to say the flights were worth the cost.⁴

Flights out of JFK airport were delayed and cancelled left and right…but not the one flight I wanted to be delayed:  my 12:30 New York – Orlando leg.  I must say that JetBlue got me to New York in time to catch the flight, had we not been so far above the airport at boarding time.

When we finally were allowed to land, I remarked that if I had wanted a thrill ride I could have stayed at home in Orlando.  One of the airport employees later described the weather as a monsoon and a tornado combined.  In Florida we’d call that a hurricane, but whatever it was, that’s what it looked (and felt) like from the airplane, too.

Safe on the ground—not without a cheer and a communal sigh of relief from the passengers—I sped out of the plane hoping that my connecting flight had been delayed at least as much as we had, but it was no longer on the display board.  I noted that the next flight to Orlando was currently boarding, so I sprinted from Gate 6 to Gate 17 to pant for a seat.  No go.  Well, no go for me.  As it turned out, they had room for my luggage, though I would later learn that the price it paid for the privilege was not one I would be willing to pay for myself.

I almost didn’t mind the delay, however, because I received one more SMS from Porter:

 just made the narita flight, got my first jog in in 2 weeks

Better him than me, by far.  If he’d missed that connection, his next chance wouldn’t have been until the following day.

Another sprint—or rather, a fast walk, as there was plenty of time before the next Orlando flight—brought me to the “Just Ask” desk, where the friendly and apparently helpful agent listened to my story and quickly printed me a new boarding pass.  I walked away, very impressed with JetBlue’s service.⁵

That good feeling lasted just long enough for me to get to the gate and be told that my boarding pass was not a ticket, just a placeholder on the standby list for a completely full flight.  Still, the gate agent was fairly encouraging, as if he expected several of the “already checked in” passengers to disappear at the last moment.

Being on standby pretty much tied me to the gate area, as I wanted to be available at a moment’s notice.  In fact, everyone was told to stay in the gate area, since flight statuses were changing with a fairly regular randomness.  Not that this kept me from getting my exercise:  the gate changed from 14 to 5, pretty much as far as you can go in the JetBlue area.  Presumably this was because the plane we were to take to Orlando was now coming into Gate 5 instead of Gate 14, so we were hopeful that we⁶ might soon be on our way. 

Just kidding.  I dutifully re-told my story to the new gate agent and settled in with the crowd, but after much more waiting and wondering, we were informed that “our” plane had been diverted to Atlantic City.  Fitting, I suppose.  Air travel in winter is always a gamble.

I had asked the agent at Gate 5 if it wouldn’t be better to get a confirmed seat on a later flight than to take my chances with a sold-out flight that piled delay upon delay, but she told me to stick with the standby.  The Atlantic City diversion sent me back to Just Ask for a second opinion.  The agent there confirmed that the later flight was also full—but that a few seats had opened up on my standby flight, and he would confirm me on it.  Hallelujah!  I wish the gate agent had been willing to do the same, but in all fairness she was mighty busy, and it did take 10 minutes and a phone call or two to make it happen.

But happen it did, and clutching my confirmed boarding pass I pulled up a square of carpet near an electrical outlet and sat down for the first time in hours.⁷  I finally felt secure enough to relax and pull out my computer, but alas, those waiting for posted updates did not get any, as for reasons still unknown I could make neither the gate-area wi-fi nor our air card work.  I soon repacked the computer and resumed standing—the floor was cold and hard.

At last our plane escaped from New Jersey, and even managed to land without another gate change.  We boarded and were soon in the air and on our way home.

Flights to Orlando are unique in that the pre-boarding line, which includes those travelling with young children, can fill up much of the plane before anyone else gets on board.  Amazingly, although a baby or two cried occasionally, and one two-year-old with a high-pitched scream was set off ‘way too many times, the children were incredibly well-behaved for having been cooped up in an airport for most of the day.  Not that this stopped one nearby passenger from complaining, loudly and rudely.  I would guess he was in his mid-20’s, but even the two-year-old with the nails-on-blackboard screech was more mature than he.

Even more amazingly, he was the only rude and immature person I encountered.  The camaraderie of shared difficulty mostly seemed to make people friendlier. We talked, we joked, we helped one another.  I’ve had less fun at parties!⁸

Three hours later, the plane touched down at good ol’ MCO.  We cheered, we packed up our belongings, we retrieved our luggage from the overhead bins.  We waited patiently for the exit line to start moving.  And waited.  And waited.  The jetway at our gate was broken, and all other gates were occupied.  After much effort and failure, the proper mechanic was sent for, but his efforts were equally fruitless.  At last another gate opened.  Thanks no doubt to the same regulations that require us to learn on every flight how to fasten and unfasten a seat belt, we couldn’t moved until all the luggage was restowed in the overhead bins, and all the passengers back—and belted—in their seats.  Thus protected, we made our way—at an altitude of 0 feet above the ground and at a speed slower than I can run—around the corner to our new gate, and deplaned at last.  Even so, everyone but the aforementioned rude young man was cheerful and patient.  My neighbor did refer to this delay as the final blow, and I told her to wait to say that until she had her luggage in her hand.  Sometimes my prescience astonishes me.

Cheerfully I hauled my heavy backpack and heavier duffle bag across the airport to baggage claim, where I searched in vain for my suitcase.  It should have been easy to spot, with its 1992 Sunshine State Pow-wow patches and bright red Towers-Perrin strap, but bag after bag went by, and I reluctantly had to admit mine was not among them.  At the JetBlue baggage desk I was astonished to find that they could not tell me if it had made it onto the plane.⁹  I did, however, find it myself, in a small group of orphaned bags from previous flights.

My rejoicing was short-lived.  The bag was canted at an odd angle, and refused to come along when I pulled.  The cause of this recalcitrance was not hard to discern:  the wheels—both of them—had been Snapped. Clean. Off.

Back to the baggage desk line I went, only to be told, “They don’t cover wheels and handles.”  I ask you, does the above look like normal wear and tear?  Having had my bag badly mangled on a previous trip, I took especial care to pack this one completely full and in a way calculated to minimize problems.  And it worked—the body of the bag came through in fine shape.  Perhaps I shouldn’t have been so diligent, as if they’d bashed the body they would have acknowledged the claim.  But then the contents might have been damaged, and so far all looks well in that department.  The bag, however—our one remaining of that size not damaged beyond usefulness—is a total loss.  The clerk said I could file a “courtesy claim,” but when pressed admitted that it would make no difference whatsoever.  Mindful of the hour and my kind neighbors who had been waiting a long time for me, I said good night.  But for the record, whatever JetBlue claims for its successful baggage handling, their statistics are off by at least one bag.

Did I mention kind neighbors?  We have the best!  My original plan had been to take the bus home from the airport and walk the mile and a half home.  When I ended up bringing home the extra 48-pound bag, my revised plan was to ask our neighbors to pick me up at the bus stop and save me the half-hour walk with heavy luggage.  However, as my chances of getting into Orlando at a decent hour grew slimmer and slimmer—and the odds of my getting to the bus stop after midnight greater and greater—I went for Plan C and asked for a ride from the airport.  This is no small favor, the airport being 45 minutes away, but as I said, they are great neighbors and came to my rescue.  Given the baggage situation, it was a much greater rescue than any of us knew—dragging the wheel-less bag the 50 feet to their car was difficult enough. I think we owe them Outback dinners for the rest of the year.

On the way home, after I told my baggage story, they—seasoned travelers themselves—remarked that these days you almost have to look on luggage as a disposable item.  Perhaps they’re right:  We reuse plastic cutlery, zip-lock bags, and yoghurt containers until they give out, but don’t mourn overmuch when they do.  I’m pretty sure some of our yoghurt containers have lasted longer than the dearly departed suitcase, but then again, they never had to go through the airline baggage system.

Adventures or misadventures, all in all it was a great trip.  I’m glad to be home, and thankful for all the wonderful people who made it enjoyable from beginning to end.