Lift Up Your Hearts!

Ender's Shadow, by Orson Scott Card (Tor, New York, 1999)

Having read Ender's Game and Speaker for the Dead while visiting one son-in-law's library for the birth of a grandchild, it seems only fair to read Ender's Shadow while visiting the other son-in-law's library for the birth of the next grandchild.

Although I liked Ender's Game a lot, I was disappointed by the sequel and thus did not pursue the series any further.  But Ender's Shadow is Ender's Game as seen from the point of view of Bean, one of my favorite characters, and was recommended to me, so when I found it on the bookshelves here I couldn't resist.

It's good.  Maybe better than the original.  Not great, but fun to read and hard to put down for anything less than a grandchild.

Overheard this morning:  Jonathan (7) and Noah (4) were making breakfast.  I wish I'd had a hidden video camera; the whole show would have had a chance to go viral on YouTube.  As it was I only caught bits and snatches as I went about my own affairs.

Jonathan: I'll make the eggs,  because if someone else makes them they’ll put in something I don’t like, like green peppers.

Noah:  I’ll help!

Jonathan:  You get out all the eggs—not the ones with the writing on them.  [The hard-boiled eggs are marked with an H.]

Noah:  Bud, we need Tuscan Sunset.

Noah:  Do we have rye bread?

Jonathan:  You need a towel, because the eggs don’t stay still if you put them [directly] on the counter.

Noah:  Huh?

Grandma:  He doesn’t want to make egg rolls.  [A reference to Noah’s favorite joke, which he says he made up himself:  How do you make egg rolls?  You take an egg and roll it.]

<SPLAT>

Jonathan:  I’ve got it mostly under control.  Don’t anybody step there.

Jonathan:  One, two three, four, five, six, seven.  That’s good.

Noah:  I’m not putting this in.

Jonathan:  But it’s onion!

Noah: Yes, but I’m not putting it in because it doesn’t have one of those [a shaker lid].

Jonathan:  Mom might be able to guess that I used nutmeg, but she’ll never guess we used paprika.  Paprika looks like red pepper but it’s mild as a pild.  [Jonathan’s latest verbal venture is frequent use of “(adjective) as a (rhyming nonsense word).”]

Jonathan:  Bud, that was 'way too much Tuscan Sunset.

Noah:  Okay, but I know we love Tuscan Sunset.

Jonathan:  [putting away the minced onion]  M … mace …. [This for my friend who also keeps her spices in alphabetical order.]

[Noah’s interest wanes and he gets distracted by other things; Jonathan carries on.  Jonathan does not require a second person for conversation.]

Why did someone put this big pan on top of our best frying pan?

[Pours scrambled eggs into the pan.]

Oil!  Oil!  Oil!

[Pours scrambled eggs back into the bowl.]

[Pulls big jar of oil from cupboard.  Puts it back.]

Canola oil isn’t the only kind you can use.

[Gets olive oil mister from the cupboard.]

This makes it easier not to pour too much oil.

[Sprays oil, returns eggs to the pan, turns on the stove, and commences stirring.  Later, a call comes from the kitchen.]

Can someone help me stir?  My arm is tired!

The eggs were almost done, and soon we sat down to a delicious breakfast of scrambled eggs, accompanied by recitations from Green Eggs and Ham.

Thank you, thank you, Jonathan and Noah!

Ha!  Engish is cool, too.  German has its Eszett (ß) and Spanish its eñe (ñ); the world is full of accents and umlauts and other characters that make life interesting and typing difficult.  By contrast, English is plain and boring.

But it wasn't always so.  We had - ta da! - The Thorn.

From Michael Leclerc of the New England Historic Genealogical Society:

One of the most abused of all letters (and former letters) in the English language is the Thorn. In Latin, the letter was written as Þ (capital) or þ (lowercase). In English, however, the thorn looks like the modern letter “y.” The thorn is no longer used in everyday English. The Thorn was pronounced the same way as the digraph “th” in modern English. In proper usage it is NEVER pronounced as the letter “y.”

It is often found on old gravestones, usually in its y-shape followed by a superscript letter ("Here lies y^e body of"), and in the names of stores attempting to appear quaint (Ye Olde Coffee Shop).

Lest you think this is all ancient history, the thorn can also be found in Unicode, on Icelandic keyboards, and in html (þ = &thorn;).

I think that's cool.

In Bad Science, author Ben Goldacre delivers the following paean as part of a discussion of drug side effects.

I really enjoy the sensation of orgasm.  It's important to me, and everything I experience in the world tells me that this sensation is important to other people too.  Wars have been fought, essentially, for the sensation of orgasm.  There are eveolutionary psychologists who would try to persuade you that the entirety of human culture and language is driven, in large part, by the pursuit of the sensation of orgasm.

Far be it from me to deny the pleasure to which he refers, but the man has obviously never felt the sensation of holding a sleeping baby on his chest.

Joy is one week old today.  She is a remarkably good-natured child, or, as her Uncle Stephan would say, "chill."  She naturally sleeps for two hours at a stretch, and only fusses slightly when hungry.  Yet when she is awake she is alert, bright-eyed, and looking all around, and she eats with great (and noisy) enthusiasm.  Joy puts up cheerfully with being handed around from one person to another, whether in the gentle, even timid, arms of an adult, or the more enthusiastic attentions of her siblings.

Nighttime, naturally, is not quite so perfect.  That's when she's most likely to fuss, and to produce a large quantity of messy diapers.  But the other day Heather awoke beaming and refreshed—and you know you're a new mother when you can be so enthusiastic over having gotten 10 hours of sleep in five two-hour segments. (More)

Overheard during the flurry to get everyone out the door in time for church:  "Jonathan, now is not the best time to tell us all about grain elevators."

In my review, I mentioned that Ben Goldacre's book, Bad Science, suffers from a tendency to sneer.  Although he usually directs his disrespect at those with whom he disagrees, every once in a while he takes aim at his readers.  Take, for example, this footnote in the chapter, "Why Clever People Believe Stupid Things":

I'd be genuinely intrigued to know how long it takes to find someone who can tell you the difference between "mean," "median," and "mode," from where you are sitting right now.

I find that as insulting as some of the dumb questions asked by Sunday School teachers, the kind that have students sitting on their hands not because they don't know then answer, but because it's so basic and obvious they're embarrassed it was even asked of them.

From where I am sitting, I need look no further than my own chair.  We learned mean, median, and mode in elementary school, and if I was never clear on exactly when each was considered the best "average" to use, I could certainly define and calculate them.  I'd be shocked if Jon and Heather couldn't also.  But probably not Jonathan (7), and certainly not Noah (4), Faith (2), or Joy (five days), so I suppose our household average isn't so impressive.  In this case, I am smarter (or at least more knowledgeable) than a first grader.  (Though if asked about guns, or Star Wars, or several other topics, I'd lose.)

How about at your house?