Lift Up Your Hearts!

This week an Orlando man was arrested for smuggling cockroaches into Florida.  What was he thinking?

Apparently, bugs are a big business, and officers said he had them illegally shipped into Orlando from California....Local reptile experts said the roaches are a good food source for lizards. They have more meat and more nutrients than crickets. They're also quieter and easier to handle, and once you have some good breeding roaches, you won't have to buy more.

Right.  That's why we encourage lizards here, and don't even mind when they come indoors.  But breeding roaches?  On purpose?  <shudder>.

Florida has been hit by unusually cold weather lately, it is true.  But many here who complain were not around in mid-1980's, which produced the bitter cold winters which, along with developers greedy for new land, destroyed the Central Florida citrus industry.

That was not all that icy weather and poor human judgement destroyed in those years.

Twenty-five years ago today, we were eager to share with visiting friends one of the blessings of living here:  the view, from our front yard, of a space shuttle launch.

Discovery, March 8, 2001

Due to the cold morning temperatures, however, when Challenger lifted off we elected to keep our small children (and ourselves) indoors, for the view was nearly as good from our large front window.  But this time, the sight was different.  We took no pictures, but thanks to YouTube you can share the experience, albeit from a different angle,

Did I say you could share the experience?  You can see it, but you can't share it.  That those who weren't here could not understand was made obvious in the ensuing days as jokes and unfeeling comments came forth from other parts of the country.  The loss of Challenger and her crew left a mark on Central Floridians similar to that left on the rest of the country twenty years earlier by the assassination of President Kennedy, and twenty years later by the destruction of the Twin Towers.

We still remember.

In his response to the disaster, President Ronald Reagan quoted from this poem by John Gillespie Magee, Jr.  It, too, has stayed with me these 25 years.

High Flight

Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I’ve climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
of sun-split clouds, — and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of — wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov’ring there,
I’ve chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air....
Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue
I’ve topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace.
Where never lark or even eagle flew —
And, while with silent lifting mind I’ve trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.

I've broken fillings, chipped teeth, and done other costly damage while eating sandwiches, popcorn, grapes, yoghurt, soup, and other items that I reasonably expected to be bone-, stone-, pit- and kernel-free.  And yet it never once occurred to me that the suffering and expense should be blamed on someone, preferably someone other than me, and with deep pockets.  Accidents happen.  Life is not pain free, and I believe that when something bad happens it doesn't always need to be someone's fault.

Unlike Dennis Kucinich, eight-term Representative from Ohio, who is suing the House cafeteria for $150,000 in damages incurred three years ago when he bit into a sandwhich and had an unpleasant encounter with an olive pit.

What was Kucinich thinking?  Like a spoiled toddler or delinquent teen, does he believe negative publicity is better than none?  Could $150,000 possibly make up for being remembered as the politician who sued a sandwich-maker over an olive pit?  He should have learned a lesson from Stella Liebeck, whose name became synonymous with frivolous lawsuits after she filed suit against McDonald's over hot coffee.

The Lord of the Rings:  The Fellowship of the Ring (2001, PG-13)

Rarely do we spare the time, effort, and expense to watch a movie in the theater, but back in 2001 we ventured into the cold of a Massachusetts winter, in my eagerness to see what the filmmakers had made of one of my all-time favorite books (and Porter's eagerness to see New Zealand, one of his all-time favorite countries, the setting for the film).

I was prepared to be disappointed, as I've yet to find a movie more appealing than the book on which it is based.  I was not prepared to be bored.  I don't bore easily, but this film succeeded:  I couldn't wait for the three hours to be over.

Nine years later I decided it was time to give the film another chance.  Whether I like it or not, this version has entered the popular consciousness, and for most people, The Lord of the Rings IS the movie.  Having recently re-read the book, I ordered the first of the trilogy from Netflix, determined to watch with a more open mind. (More)

Reading old newspapers is always eye-opening, even when they are from years I myself lived through.  While researching for another project, I came upon an old Ann Landers column, published in 1967.  What a difference 40 years makes.  Would Ann have given the advice in this excerpt even 10 years later?

Dear Ann Landers:   I feel like I am living in the dark ages.  My husband refuses to allow me to wear shorts in the summer or stretch pants in the winter. — Texas Woman

Dear Woman:  I say if a husband is opposed to shorts and stretch pants for ANY reason, a wife should respect his wishes.  There are plenty of attractive skirts you can wear, and I hope you will.

First I fumed, then I laughed.  All the emotions you would expect.  He “refuses to allow” her to choose her own clothing?  As if she were a child under three?  (Or maybe under two—I believe Faith has a lot of say in what she wears.  And opinions, as well.)  These days “controlling what you wear” makes the list of traits of an abusive relationship.  These days an advice columnist would be more likely to excoriate the man and maybe suggest the woman ignore him, or even leave.

And therein lies the bit of sorrow I feel that we have left those days behind.  How often in the 21^st century do we get advice to respect someone else’s wishes over our own?  To think less selfishly?  I’m reminded of Ann Landers’ own (later) advice to women unhappy in a relationship:  Ask yourself:  “Am I better off with him, or without him?”  Always, “What is best for me?” and rarely, “What is best for others?”^*

We have lost as well as gained.

Confessions and Reflections of a Traveler, by Brett R. McLean (Iona Press, Vancouver, 200)

If you can't judge a book by its cover, you can't judge it by random samples, either.

Both of our book-loving girls married book-loving men, so a visit to the grandchildren often leads to picking up random books, which might be found anywhere in the house.  This particular book was on the bathroom reading shelf, and I found myself picking it up several times a day.  In this manner I read many small samplings of the book, taken randomly from the middle.

McLean and a college companion decided one summer to travel across the United States on half a shoestring.  Since this is what Porter did some 20 years earlier, I thought the book might be a good gift for some upcoming occasion.  To be certain, I decided to borrow the book and begin at the beginning. (More)

I suppose it's cheating to make two posts in a row about someone else's post, but I can't pass up this great Conversion Diary guest post by Simcha Fisher.  Her analogy between childbirth and the Child-birth (Christmas) is an imaginative tour de force worthy of Ray Bradbury.  (If her writing is less brilliant and esoteric than Bradbury's, it is still excellent, and definitely more uplifting.)

It would be stretching "fair use" too far to quote as much as I'd need to to make her point.  Go to the original and follow her from Advent (third trimester) through Christmas (birth, and the first few weeks after) and Epiphany (the light at the end of the tunnel) to Ordinary Time (the return to normal life, with a big difference).  Enjoy!

Jon's long-time friend Sara Foss writes a newspaper column in my old home town.  Recently the family stopped by for a visit, and ended up featured in the latest Foss Forward.  Having given Jon ample time to post about it himself, I'm breaking the news here, along with some of my favorite excerpts.  :)

[M]y friend Jon; his pregnant wife, Heather; and their three young children — ages 2, 4 and 7 — visited my home in Albany.

Naturally, I was all freaked out about having a bunch of kids descend upon my one-bedroom apartment, which lacks toys, children’s books and games. I did run out and buy pretzels and graham crackers, so that they could have a snack, but for the most part I felt woefully unprepared to entertain my young visitors.

Fortunately, the New York State Museum is right around the corner, and after a brief stint in my apartment, in which the girl played with my collection of turtle knickknacks (I even filled a bowl with water so that she could watch the plastic wind-up turtle paddle around) and her brothers improvised a game of darts in the bedroom, we headed up the street. I suspected the kids would enjoy riding on the carousel, looking at gems and stuffed animals and playing on the computers in the Discovery Room, and I was right.

In truth, I never should have worried about whether I would be able to entertain Jon’s family for an afternoon.

I’ve known Jon since I was 2, and I sensed that his kids were a lot like him — curious, imaginative, friendly, eager to do new things and see new places. What I enjoyed most about them was how well they played on their own; I didn’t have to worry about entertaining them because they entertained themselves. In fact, it seemed like they had just as much fun running up and down the sidewalk and jumping in snowbanks as hanging out in the museum, and their antics reminded me a bit of how Jon and I used to play in the snow when we were kids.

 (More)

Stephan's thoughtful parents gave Porter a jar of Speculoos à Tartiner for Christmas, and I can't wait to try it.  It's made by Lotus, the same folks who make the incredibly delicious Biscoff cookies Porter occasionally brings home from a plane flight.

I don't have as much quarrel with the TSA as many people do, but I am tired of having my luggage singled out for hand inspection nearly every time I fly.  On my most recent trip to Switzerland, I wasn't particularly surprised to find the tell-tale TSA notice in my checked bag when it and I were finally reunited (that's another story), because I was carrying a large, metal cylinder filled with dangerous ... candy canes.  The can did a great job of protecting the fragile candy, but must have looked intimidating on the x-ray.  There is no packing job so good that the TSA can't make a hash of it, but the only victim of their efforts was one crushed chocolate truffle.  We promptly destroyed the evidence.

On the way home I thought I had a chance of escaping.  I had a few bizarre encounters with airport security—none of which involved pat-downs, I'm glad to say—but it wasn't until I landed in Charlotte that my checked bag became a problem.

First, I was singled out for special treatment at Customs, because I'd answered honestly the question, "Are you bringing any food into the country?"  That always gets me into trouble, although normally as soon as I explain that the food is chocolate, cookies, and similar items, they lose interest.

Not this time.  Everything, including my purse, went through a scanner.  "What's in the jar?" I was asked.  "It's kind of like peanut butter," was the best I could do, but it was sufficient.  The pleasant Customs officials released me, and I thought I was home free. (More)

Two, apparently unrelated, stories shook my complacency this morning, particularly in their juxtaposition.

First (h/t MMG), this disturbing TED talk by Hanna Rosin:  New data on the rise of women.

UPDATE August 6, 2019  Apparently this post has become corrupted over time. The link to the TED talk still works, but all text relating to the mysterious second story is missing. And while I continue to love the St. Crispin's Day speech from Henry V, I now have no idea how it might have been related here.

The Vintage Bradbury: Ray Bradbury's Own Selection of His Best Stories, by Ray Bradbury (Vintage, 1990) (original copyright 1965)

I picked this book out from my son-in-law's collection because my nephews had recently read Something Wicked This Way Comes for their book club, and I realized I hadn't read any Bradbury in a long time.

Now I'm probably done for another five years or so.  Some of the stories were enjoyable, but most I found too weird and depressing for me.  Tales of bizarre "healers" whose treatment of choice turns out to be rape, and of children plotting to kill their parents—not to mention babies murdering their mothers!—are not worth spending precious reading time on.  I'm very sensitive to the content of what I read and watch—One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s nest troubled me for years—and find it better not to give my mind too many dark ideas upon which to brood.

On the other hand, nobody writes like Ray Bradbury.  I wish he had put his imagination and incredible descriptive skills to a more uplifting purpose; he’s a genius, without doubt.  His stories are about as close to poetry as prose can get—at least not without falling into the outlandish world of James Joyce.

And family is family.  Ray Bradbury is my sixth cousin twice removed. 

Resolution #1, Read More Books, was by far the most successful of the dozen I developed throughout 2010.  I read 65 books in the year:  fiction and non-fiction, from children's lit to an 800-page survey of ancient history.  This is a marked improvement over recent years, and I attribute it to (1) recognizing that I had let other activities replace the habit of reading, (2) deciding to make the change, and (3) setting up a system of measurement (a simple, but public, list) whereby I could see my progress or lack thereof.  This resolution is a keeper.

What did I learn most from this experience?  The realization that we can probably no longer call ourselves a literate nation.  Is there really much difference between someone who can't read and someone who doesn't?  I'm a fast reader and a good one; I love to read books and I watch television only rarely; I'm a homemaker whose children are grown.  What's more, few of the books I read were difficult, and I counted audio books as well.  In short, I have everything going for me when it comes to reading, and I made the goal as easy as possible to reach.  Yet it took a deliberate, sustained effort to read at a rate of just over one book per week.  It is now clear to me that if we want to recover literacy, it's not going to happen without serious, determined work.  Nor can we leave the effort to our schools, which to give them credit have been trying every trick in the book and then some to get kids to read, but which cannot seem to produce many graduates who read without coercion.  Literacy, like charity and world peace, must begin at home.  How can kids learn the importance of books if they never see their parents reading? (More)

I started 2011 early, being at the time six hours ahead of most of my readers.  But as I did not get back into this country until very late last night, I lost that advantage and then some.  In an unusal and daring move, I did not take my computer with me this trip.  (At each of the many airport security checks, I proudly answered, "no" when the agent pointed to my backpack and queried, "computer?")  This step was not as meritorious, nor as risky, as it might seem, since I had three other computers at my disposal at my destination, but one must begin somewhere.

Despite the opportunity to indulge in e-mail and blog checking on an almost daily basis, real-life events (remember real life?) pared that to essentials.  In other words, I returned home to an intimidating backlog for both.  By eating the elephant one bite at a time I am making progress, but some areas are not getting their usual attention, so if you wrote something important and I haven't responded, feel free to try again.

And Facebook?  I'm not even going to try to catch up.  If I missed a major life event you posted only on Facebook, have pity on me, forgive me, and let me know about it some other way.