Lift Up Your Hearts!

Bah, humbug.  We live in very safe, sidewalked neighborhood of over 900 homes, and to our door tonight came one, count 'em, ONE boy who might have been in middle school, a handful of high school students, and two ADULTS begging for candy!  One had a pacifier-sucking toddler in a stroller, presumably as her excuse for trick-or-treating, though in this case I have to hope she was planning to eat the candy herself.  Nothing interesting in the way of costumes.

Maybe next year we'll save on candy and just keep the lights off.  We have more leftover candy than our grandkids could (read, "would be allowed to") eat in a year.  It's not your grandmother's Hallowe'en anymore.

On a cheerier note, in a neighborhood nearby the child-like inhabitants had a glorious time celebrating the day, which is the real reason for this post.  Enjoy!  (H/T a WWMB friend.)

What was Hallowe’en like when you were a little girl, Grandma? 

No one has as yet asked me that question, but if things run true to form for most Americans, someone will, someday, after I am past being able to respond.  So I will answer it now.

My Hallowe’en formative years were in the 1950s and early 60s, in a small village in upstate New York.  Contrary to what we’d like to believe, it was not an idyllic and crime-free time.  One of my first (and worst) Hallowe’en memories was of the teenaged thugs who thundered onto our porch, grabbed our carefully-carved jack-o-lanterns, and smashed them to bits.  I lived a sheltered life:  this was my first view of senseless, wanton destruction; my first encounter with people who get pleasure from breaking the hearts of little children.  Our tiny village did not escape teen gangs and vandalism, which seemed to be more widespread, if much less dangerous, in those days.   At least they attacked property, not people.

That was the only scary thing about our Hallowe’ens.

The most important difference between Hallowe’en then and now is that the occasion was first, last, and always for children.   A few adults dressed in costume for the neighborhood parade and party, but the purpose of the event was to entertain the children.  The only excuse for anyone over 12 going out trick-or-treating was to escort the younger ones—every once in a while a compassionate homeowner would give us a piece of candy, too.  Now, when high schoolers come to my door, I give them candy if they’ve made any attempt at a costume, but I pity them, that at their age they are begging door-to-door for candy instead of helping younger children to have a good time.

On the other hand, teenaged trick-or-treaters is a clear improvement over teenaged vandals.

The Hallowe’en season began several weeks in advance of October 31.  No, not because Hallowe’en stores began popping up all over town, and shelves everywhere sprouted candy in yellow and orange.  Because of the costumes.  Store-bought costumes were largely unavailable, and anyway, who would have wanted one?  Hallowe’en was an occasion for great creativity.  Merely deciding what to be could take a month.  (Decisiveness, I’ll admit, was never my strong suit).  Those who come to our door today are mostly beings—a cat, a princess, a Star Wars character—but we favored things:  one might be a rocket ship, a pencil, or the whole Mad Hatter’s Tea Party (no relation to the present-day Tea Party, as mad—in either sense—as they may be).  The challenge was to create a costume from whatever we could scrounge around the house without actually having to spend money.  No problem—we had not yet forgotten what any five-year-old knows:  the cardboard box is the most universally useful of all materials. (More)

I love this Feudal Effort strip!  (Click on the image for a larger version.)  It describes exactly the attitude I have when watching quasi-historical movies.  Not to mention movies based on books.   ("Would it have hurt them to actually read the book?")

I do cut Shakespeare some slack, however.  He didn't have the same access to sources as we do, and anyway, he certainly didn't have time to spare.  It just might have killed him to do basic fact-checking.

Speaking of historical interest, Duncan I was my 28th great-grandfather.  :)

So.  I just spent all afternoon creating a Hallowe'en post.  A perfectly adequate Hallowe'en post.

On the way to the grocery store, I realized that it needs to be completely re-written.  And I'm going to do it.

If Thomas Mann was correct in saying that a writer is a person for whom writing is more difficult than it is for other people, maybe I really am on my way to becoming one.

— 1 —

Porter planted a wildflower garden in our front yard.  The excuse was to cover a patch where the grass, and even the green weeds, had long since stopped growing.  We think it is a definite improvement over boring grass! (Click on the image to enlarge it.)

— 2 —

Now that my daughter's birthday has come and gone, I can reveal the exciting news:  Speculoos à Tartiner, a.k.a. Biscoff Spread, is now available at Publix!!! And at a couple of other local stores as well.  This pleasant development came only just in time:  Our supply, generously imported for my birthday—from France via Switzerland—was running dangerously low.  Oddly enough, it's in the peanut butter section; perhaps not so oddly, as that's where they keep the Nutella, too.

If you've never experienced a Biscoff cookie, you're missing one of life's higher pleasures.  (For a long time I thought they were limited to flights on Delta Airlines, but the grocery store now sells the cookies, too.)  Speculoos à Tartiner is even better.  Making a spread out of cookies was a brilliant idea.  Think of the possibilities:  Oreo, chocolate chip, Girl Scout Thin Mint....

— 3 —

Seeds are amazing. When we feed our worms, it's generally with food that has been chopped rather vigorously, as that makes it more digestible for them, and hence they convert garbage to fertilizer at a faster rate.  Nonetheless, after one butternut squash meal last year, I noticed a large number of sprouts that grew vigorously in the worm bin, despite maceration and a total lack of sunlight.  Such persistence deserves some reward, so I rescued a few of the seedlings and planted them in our garden.

The plants appeared to thrive, putting forth healthy leaves and a multitude of blossoms.  However, perhaps due to it being the wrong season for growing most vegetables in Florida (too hot), or our persistent nematode problem, or a lack of water when we were on vacation—for whatever reason, the fruit that set would grow for a little while, then drop off.  The three squash you see here were the entire crop.  Even the largest is much smaller than those you see in the grocery store.

When cut open, the smallest was revealed to be too dry for use, but I cleaned and cooked the other two.  What a surprise!  The largest was very good, and the middle-sized (which was actually quite small) was the most wonderful butternut squash either of us had ever tasted.

My view of zucchini completely changed once I realized it was better to pick them small than large, and now the grocery stores have also realized that bigger isn't better.  But I can't buy butternut squash this size to determine if that's what made our squash taste so good.  Perhaps we'll have to try growing our own again, in a different season.

— 4 —

Picking squash before it is fully grown may be a good idea, but the same is not true of plucking human babies prematurely from the womb.  The steady rise in mothers and doctors who believe otherwise has prompted the March of Dimes to campaign against elective Caesarians and labor inductions before the 39th week of gestation.

Studies have shown that as many as 36 percent of elective deliveries now occur before 39 weeks, and many of these early deliveries are contributing to an unacceptable number of premature births and avoidable, costly complications. ... This is not to suggest that women should panic if labor begins earlier on its own. “It’s a whole different story when a woman goes into labor early than when labor is induced" ... [T]he textbook definition of “term pregnancy” as one that lasts from 37 to 41 weeks “is arbitrary—it has no biological basis. If a woman’s water hasn’t broken, if labor hasn’t begun on its own, if there are no medical or obstetrical problems, there’s no reason for a woman to be delivered before 39 weeks.” ... The recommendation applies not just to women whose labor is induced, but also to those having a scheduled Caesarean delivery. Too often, women are mistaken about when they got pregnant, which can throw off the calculation of their due date. Even when a “dating” ultrasound is done during the first trimester of pregnancy, there can be as much as a two-week margin of error.

Why on earth would someone without medical complications want to deliver a baby prematurely?  (Besides the obvious discomforts of late pregnancy, that is?)

Well-educated women may be more inclined to want to schedule birth at a convenient time for themselves and other family members. Doctors, too, may suggest an elective delivery so that birth occurs at a time that best suits their schedules, including office hours and vacation times. Sometimes doctors, fearing a malpractice suit if something should go wrong if a pregnancy proceeds to term, choose to deliver babies early when they are alive and well.

The March of Dimes wants to make the "well-educated" mothers more educated about the dangers of induction and elective Caesareans, confident that no mother will deliberately choose convenience over the long-term health of her child.  Sounds good to me.  Maybe they should enlist the help of midwives, who have been preaching against such practices for a long time.

— 5 —

Do you have trouble falling asleep?  Perhaps you should ditch the Ambien and reach for an ice pack.  Researchers from the University of Pittsburgh designed special "cooling caps" and studied the sleep patterns of volunteers.  Why?  Insomnia is associated with increased metabolism in the frontal cortex, and cooling decreases the metabolism.

Patients with insomnia who were treated at maximum cooling intensity for the whole night took about 13 minutes to fall asleep and slept 89% of the time that they were in bed, the researchers said.  That's similar to the sleep enjoyed by healthy study subjects who didn't have insomnia (who took 16 minutes to fall asleep and also slept 89% of the time).

Maybe it's just a placebo effect for me, but an ice pack really does help me fall asleep when my brain won't get out of high gear.

— 6 —

Speaking of drugs, it turns out that cannabis can induce symptoms of schizophrenia in healthy people.  Healthy rats, too:

[T]he drug completely disrupted coordinated brain waves, which are essential for memory and decision-making, in the area across the hippocampus and prefrontal cortex. ... The resulting brain activity was uncoordinated and inaccurate ... The rats exposed to the cannabis-like drug were left unable to make accurate decisions....

Having grown up in the infamous 1960's, let me just say that this explains a lot about modern American society.  :)

— 7 —

Here's a 7.5-minute video about a mood-enhancer with positive effects on your brain.  It makes you happier, it makes others happier, it makes them think more positively about you, it has no calories, and it's absolutely free.  You could try to listen to Ron Gutman's TED talk without smiling, but I wouldn't recommend it.  It may be the healthiest thing you do all day.

For more Quick Takes, visit Conversion Diary!

This was just posted on Free-Range Kids, and deserves to go viral.  So I'm doing my part.  The author, Darreby Ambler, is a writer and mother of three from Bath, Maine.

These were the travel rules we used with our kids when they were smaller.  They are now 15, 19, and 21, and travel independently and joyfully around the world. (You can tell from the rules that it wasn’t always this way!  Hang in there, parents!)

Ambler Family Travel Rules and Responsibilities

• It’s good to talk to strangers.  The outside world is full of them.  The place you don’t have to deal with them is at home, which is where people who can’t cope with strangers will stay next time.
• Each traveler is responsible for finding things to be excited about, and sharing that enthusiasm.
• If the enthusiasm of others embarrasses you, pretend otherwise.  Being cool is dull, except in a sports car.
• Unusual foods are part of the point.
• Staying home is usually more comfortable than traveling, but traveling is more interesting.  Prioritize well.
• Travel disruptions are normal and a good way to show your readiness for more challenging adventures.
• Remember that your dislikes do not make interesting conversation.
• Wash your hands.  You have no immunity to foreign germs.  Throwing up is not interesting.
• You have travel in your future that you can not even imagine.  Adhering to these guidelines makes you eligible for such travel.

What's the point of having a camera that takes videos if you can't share them?  Hence my venture into the world of YouTube as something more than a bystander.  If this one works, you can expect more from time to time.  This is Joseph, two months ago, playing on our brachiation ladder.

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This. Is. Not. Good.  It's only my third Quick Takes Friday, and I had not written word one before today.

It's Google's fault.  Picasa made me do it.

— 2 —

I had experimented with Google's Picasa back in its early days, and still had a version of Picasa 2 on my machine.  I never used it, except occasionally for the image viewer, because I hated the way it took over my machine, and consumed so much space on my hard drive with its thumbnail images.  But a friend recently raved about Picasa 3's face recognition ability, and as I was (am) in the middle of working with a large batch of photos, and had been recently blessed with a new 500 Gb drive, I decided to try it out.

WOW.

True, the &*^%$ program still takes over the machine.  The first thing Picasa did was spend several hours examining and cataloging all my images, and then at least as long analyzing them for faces.  As far as I can tell, there is no way to stop the process other than shutting down the program.  Even now, if Picasa is running, even minimized, it will occasionally take up so much of the CPU that it looks as if the machine has crashed.  (Mostly, if I'm patient, it will eventually come back.)

But oh, the face recognition is incredible!  You train Picasa by identifying "unknown" faces, and it catches on very quickly.  Soon it begins offering you suggestions for the identification, and after a while makes its own decisions, asking only that you confirm or correct them.  It's really, really good.  Occasionally it mistakes one of my daughters for the other, but mostly it's spot on.  It is eerily able to extrapolate from a childhood picture to the same person as an adult, and vice versa.  It recognizes family relationships:  if it makes mistakes in the identification of a child, the suggestion is almost always the mother, father, sibling, or sometimes a cousin.  This is what makes Picasa addictive, resulting in the problem noted in QT#1.  You'd think the process of adding, correcting, and confirming identifications would be tedious, but it was difficult to pause, even for meals and sleep.  I was constantly calling to my husband in the next office, "Come here!  You have to see this.  You won't believe it!"

I'm finding that it's not quite as impressive now that it's store of possibilities is much larger, but it's still incredible.  And hopefully will be incredibly useful.  Note that this is not an overall endorsement of Picasa.  I haven't used it enough to make a judgement of the software as a whole.  But if the police have resources like this, it's no wonder the can identify criminals from security camera photos.

— 3 —

Do you ever get stuck on a project and can't get back into gear because it keeps growing and growing and you can't deal with the new stuff because the old stuff hasn't been dealt with and it keeps preying on your mind but you can't make yourself get back to it because it's all so overwhelming?  That's the situation my photo collection was in.  Never mind all the physical prints from years back that I still have to identify and label; I'm talking about our digital photos since early 2009, when thousands of pictures from our daughter's wedding caused my system to overload and crash.  Not the computer; me.

I'd already learned the lesson about how much can be accomplished if you tackle a project in small, but regular, sessions.  ("How to you eat an elephant?  One bite at a time.)  But I couldn't get started.  This week I finally learned another important lesson: Sometimes a mighty effort can break a log jam.  I decided to spend four, concentrated hours working on the wedding photos, and made arrangements to have as few interruptions as possible.

As usual, things take much longer than expected, even with relatively few interruptions:  In four hours I didn't even finish preparing and organizing the photos, much less do any sorting, analyzing, culling, or labelling.  But it was enough to break the mental block, and I'm back on track to finish in, maybe, 2020 or so.

— 4 —

Speaking of overload—at the risk of being a bit incestuous by referencing a post at Conversion Diary, which hosts 7QTF, Jen's post on how she deals with feeling overwhelmed rang so many bells with me I thought I must be caught in a clock tower at noon.

I have a personality type that leads me to feel overwhelmed a lot. I’m ambitious but lazy; I have a latent perfectionist streak that comes out at unexpected times; I’m an Olympian procrastinator; and I’m so non-confrontational that I often find myself saying “Yes, I’d love to help with that” when what I should be saying is, “I CANNOT EVEN FIND TIME TO BRUSH MY HAIR RIGHT NOW, LET ALONE SIGN UP FOR ONE MORE FREAKING THING.”

To her excellent four-step survival plan—Get your physical environment in order, Get some sleep, Pray — preferably outside of the house, and Talk through it—I would add one more:  Exercise.  Because exercise takes extra time, it tends to go out the window when I'm feeling pressed.  I can whittle a two-hour shopping trip down to 30 minutes if I drive instead of walking.  When deadlines loom, even a half-hour run seems too time-consuming.  But just as with prayer, sleep, and order, it seems that the busier I am, the more important physical activity becomes.

— 5 —

I haven't had time to play with it much (see QT#2), but I've discovered AreYouInMyPhoto.com, a site for identifying old (and not-so-old) photographs and the people in them.  If enough folks get involved, this could become a great resource for genealogists and others with mystery photos.  I'm hoping it will also save old pictures from being tossed simply because no one knows who might appreciate them.

— 6 —

Another genealogical resource that can be fun for almost everyone is FindAGrave.com.  Thousands of volunteers have scoured cemeteries and uploaded gravestone information, sometimes with photographs.  Do you wonder where suffragist Susan B. Anthony is buried?  If, like me, you went to the University of Rochester, you know her grave is in nearby Mt. Hope Cemetery.  But ordinary mortals can find out the same information through Find A Grave.  Would you like a photograph of your great-grandfather's gravestone but can't manage a trip to Nebraska?  Check it out; someone may have done the work for you already.  Find A Grave is always growing, and I have often hit a brick wall in my research only to come back three months later and find exactly what I needed.

— 7 —

Thirty-two years ago, as I write this, I was within seven minutes of the culmination of a 20-hour ordeal.  Only a saint can see the glory to come while yet in the midst of suffering, but it's a lesson first-time mothers never forget.  Happy birthday, Dearest Daughter!

For more Quick Takes, visit Conversion Diary!

Modesty:  propriety in dress, speech, or conduct (Merriam-Webster)

It’s an old-fashioned word, uncommon in our hyper-sexualized, push-the-envelope, anything-goes culture.  It even has negative connotations, as when it is associated with oppression of women in Islamic countries, or with certain Christian circles in which women, even young girls at play, wear only long dresses.

But it’s a good word, and a good concept.  We’re not meant to share all that we are with all-and-sundry.   Merriam-Webster’s other definition, freedom from conceit or vanity, gives a hint as to one of its benefits:  modesty focuses our attention away from ourselves.

Perhaps because of the extremes, discussions and practices of modesty almost always focus on matters of dress and behavior:  physical modesty.   To our great loss, we have largely ignored what I will call soul modesty.  What is blogging but baring our souls to anyone with an Internet connection?  What is Reality TV but a striptease in which hope of financial gain entices the few to allow their emotions, weaknesses, and character flaws to be exposed to the ogling many?  How can the reporter’s demand that a grieving mother tell the world how she feels about her child’s murder be considered anything other than verbal rape?

Lest you think this is not a problem if one stays out of the public eye, how much do you know about what happens in your children’s schools, Sunday school classes, day care, and other activities?  As a school volunteer as well as a parent, I came to realize that our young children are frequently subjected to emotional intrusion that, were it physical, would have a teacher out on the street in a heartbeat.  We take great care to teach our children about private parts of their bodies, and how to recognize and report “uncomfortable touches,” but don’t give them the tools to detect and deflect uncomfortable questions or manipulative exercises.

What puzzles me the most is that I find as little respect for soul modesty among those who prize physical modesty as I do in the general community.  It is particularly prevalent in churches, where community, fellowship, and bonding are often forced, rather than being allowed to grow organically from shared life and work.  I had one friend from a former church—a dear, self-sacrificing lady—who not only shared the most intimate details of her own life but pressed others to reveal themselves similarly—all the while thinking she was “just being friendly.”  It was uncomfortable enough talking with her, but downright scary to see her apply the same approach to children.   More than that, she saw it as her duty to be intrusive in this way, and was hurt when others were not similarly “friendly” to her.  And she was hardly unique.  It must be difficult for churches to discern how to be inquisitive enough to appear friendly to some people while not driving others away.

I’ve been to more than one church gathering where crowd dynamics and peer pressure have induced people to make revelations that I’m certain they regretted the morning after, if not immediately.  I mean, what sadist dreamt up the idea of asking, “What was your most embarrassing moment?” as an icebreaker?  To this day I’m embarrassed for some of the things others confessed.  There’s a reason confessional booths are small.

Although they may differ on the particulars, most people will agree that when it comes to physical modesty, relationship and circumstance should guide our behavior.  That slinky nightgown is appropriate to wear for my husband, but not for my neighbor.  Family members may see us in our underwear, but that’s not how we dress for grocery shopping.  Doctors have privileges with our bodies that almost no one else does.

It’s time we took as much care for our souls. 

— 1 —

Many people have, at one time or another, described their jobs as "shovelling manure."  Last week, this was literally true for me.  A local mushroom farm sells their leftover compost by the truckload for a you-can't-afford-to-pass-this-up price.  Our neighbor has a pickup truck.  Hence the need for an extra shower that day.

— 2 —

Changing lives one soda bottle at a time:  Filipino entrepreneur Illac Diaz brings light to darkened homes.

— 3 —

My afflication has a name:  earworm.  According to this WebMD article:  They bore into your head. They won't let go. There's no known cure. Earworms can attack almost anyone at almost any time.  More prosaically, it's "stuck song syndrome," a song or song fragment that takes over your brain and will not go away.

On Sunday, our otherwise wonderful pastor, in an otherwise wonderful sermon, reiterated his determination to have us sing simple "praise choruses" at all our services, even the most traditional, so that they will stick in our heads and we'll have them handy in times of need.  I've complained about this before, because what is apparently comfort to him is torture to me.

Stuck song syndrome annoyed, frustrated, and irritated women significantly more than men. And earworm attacks were more frequent—and lasted longer—for musicians and music lovers. Slightly neurotic people also seemed to suffer more.

Well, there you have it.  Female, music lover, and slightly neurotic.  My own perfect storm.

— 4 —

With a hat tip to Liz,  I pass on this Salon article by Kate Fridkis, A Home-Schooler Goes to College.  I read the article, and thought it well-written and an accurate description of some of the shocks that await an unschooled child who goes off to college.  I thought it might be an encouragement to homeschoolers, and help others understand them a little better.  But after reading the comments below the article, I'm no longer sure.  It's almost always a mistake for me to read the comments to major blogs or newspaper articles:  they generally make it very difficult for me to remain in my little bubble of isolated naïveté, where people actually care about listening to and trying to understand those who are different from themselves.

— 5 —

Our grandchildren are growing so fast.  Joy (seven months) has progressed to crawling, sitting, creeping, and now pulling herself up since we saw her in August.  Joseph (15 months) clearly shows that he understands much, and is beginning to communicate, in three languages.  The older children also seem to have changed significantly in the two months since we were last together.  How miserable it must have been to be a long-distance grandparent in the days before blog posts, Skype, videos, and digital cameras!  I suck in newly-uploaded media like a camel at an oasis.

— 6 —

Tomato with a capital T and that rhymes with P and that stands for....  Here's good news for gardeners with young boys.

A team of Finnish researchers found that sprinkling tomatoes with human urine mixed with wood ash was the ultimate eco-friendly fertiliser.  It worked just as well with cucumber, corn, cabbage and other crops.  The mixture produced bumper harvests when compared to untreated plants. ... The university study ... found using nitrogen-rich urine does not carry any risk of disease.

Hmmm.  Two young grandsons whose home is heated by a wood fire.  And I thought their record-breaking harvest this year was due to their new watering schedule.

— 7 —

We had a taste of autumn a week ago, but after a weekend that would have inspired the original Noah—nearly doubling the rainfall record set in 1954—summer is back.  The foretaste is a promise of more pleasant days to come, however.  October is a lovely month in so many places!

For more Quick Takes, visit Conversion Diary!

Eight Rick Brant Science-Adventure Stories:  The Rocket's Shadow,  Sea Gold, The Caves of Fear, The Electronic Mind Reader, The Scarlet Lake Mystery, The Pirates of Shan, The Flaming Mountain, and The Flying Stingaree by John Blaine (Grosset and Dunlap, New York, 1947-1963)

The Mystery of the Timber Giant (A Tom Quest Adventure) by Fran Striker (McLoughlin Bros./Clover Books, New York, 1955)

Tom Swift and The Visitor from Planet X (The New Tom Swift Jr. Adventures) by Victor Appleton II (Grosset and Dunlap, New York, 1961)

The uncovering of a box that had been mostly ignored since our move (yes, that was eight and a half years ago) transported me back to early childhood, on the wings of these books that simply had to be read to help make the agonizing decision:  keep? give away? ebay?  (Note I said "help."  The decision has still not yet been made.)

As a child, I never cared for Nancy Drew or the Hardy Boys; I was hooked on a less popular series:  Rick Brant's Science/Electronic Adventures.  And do you know?  I still am.  There are plenty of times when I look back on things I liked/believed/wrote/said/did and am flooded with embarrassment rather than nostalgia.  But even though the science in the Rick Brant books is dated—they were written between 1947 and 1968—the value of the stories is undiminished.  The science, although somewhat futuristic, was believable then, and so the human elements still are.  There is just one aspect that I find embarrassing now, as I did 50 years ago:  the female characters, specifically the teenage girls.  No wonder I almost always identified with the boys in my childhood books.  Looking back, I can see that the girls are more intelligent and less flighty than in many books of that time, but still!

I'd like to be able to finish reading the Rick Brant series, and hope efforts to republish them will be successful.  But, unlike the Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys books, these are rarely carried by libraries.  Looking back, I'm frustrated with myself for not having bought all the books, or at least made stronger requests for them at Christmas time.  It's hard to believe today how unusual it was to buy books back then.  We read an awful lot, fetching armloads of books regularly from the library, but buying books was an unusual expense.  It was not until after I graduated from college that I broke away from that attitude.  (And then with a vengeance; our house has more books than square feet of living space.)

Reading The Mystery of the Timber Giant was the final installment on a very old debt.  The book was the thoughtful gift of a friend, and I'm sure I received it with due thanksgiving at the time.  But I never read it.  I was a picky child when it came to books, and back then was especially suspicious of anything recommended to me by someone else.  (I drove my mother crazy; thank you, Heather and Janet, for being more reasonable.)  But I kept the book, out of some weird sense of duty.  I dragged it, and an accompanying portion of guilt, through five moves, still unread!  But now, the debt is paid at last.  And guess what?  I enjoyed the book.    Perhaps if I had known as a child that Fran Striker had also created The Lone Ranger, I would not have been so hesitant to open the book.  I'm not likely to seek out more of the series at this point, but it was an interesting story.

The Visitor from Planet X was my first encounter with Tom Swift, Jr., as this book was from Porter's childhood, not mine.  Whether or not I would have liked it as a child, I can't say for sure, but I think not.  I liked science fiction (and still do), but unlike in the Rick Brant stories, the science here is too unbelievable to be enjoyable.  Even fantasy worlds must be credible in their own way, and having your hero avert world-destroying disasters with inventions he thinks up in an hour and builds in a day is further than my credulity will stretch.

Reading all these books within a short span of time, what struck me the strangest was how much all the characters, villain and hero, relied on fist-fights to settle their difficulties.  There's not all that much violence otherwise, but that was an era when playground scuffles were not uncommon and boys could exchange black eyes one day and be best friends the next.  It's not something you see much in children's literature today.

There is no way I'm going to write this without sounding corny or superficial, but I'm doing it anyway.  I caught a glimpse of God's love (and sense of humor) today.

Let me begin by noting that the event itself was, on God's scale of things, and even on the human scale, absolutely trivial.  But any human lover knows how much love can be expressed through trivia.  More disturbingly, I've experienced having trivial victories followed quickly by tragic defeats.  But it is what it is, and worth reporting.

To simplify the story, there's a store at which we get what can amount to a very significant discount by using a particular credit card.  The catch is that we never know what the discount will be until the purchase has been made.  I've seen discounts of greater than 50%, and yet on some items it may be only a few percent, or nothing at all.  Shopping at this store is my substitute for playing the state lottery:  it's a thrill to "win big," but there's no point in buying something that you wouldn't pay full price for, because you might have to.  Of course, you can always cancel the transaction, but I hate asking the checkout clerks to do that.

So here's what happened today.  There's an item I wanted to buy, but there's no way I could justify paying full price.  Still, I wanted it badly enough to grit my teeth and face cancelling the transaction just to learn what the discount would be.  So this morning, on my way from the church where I had a commitment to sing, to the church where I had a commitment to get a flu shot, I stopped at the store.

As I pulled into the parking lot, I realized that I was fretting, getting tense over the idea that there might be little or no discount on this item that I really wanted, and worse, over the potential embarrassment of having to tell the clerk that despite having wasted his time and that of those behind be in line, I didn't want to make the purchase after all.  The morning's excellent sermon on worry, however, was not entirely lost on me.  The featured text, Philippians 4:4-8 ("Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God") is one of my favorite Bible passages.  So, thankful for the opportunity, I made my requests and relaxed.  I know, I know.  It's trivia.  And most of you will have no idea why the thought of returning a purchase is so stressful for me.  But it is, and I know some of my readers will nod their heads with understanding.

I never did find out what the discount would have been.  But not because I wimped out at the last minute.

Having found the correct department, I pulled out my notes to ascertain the correct model number.  To my dismay I realized that I had neglected to write down that crucial piece of information.  Ah, not to worry; I was pretty sure I could figure it out.  Sure enough, I picked out what looked to be the right model, and if I'd had any doubts, they were removed when I noticed that this model, out of all the models and manufacturers on display, was the only one on sale, and the cost was just thirty percent of the regular price.  A seventy percent discount!  Our credit card at its best is never that good.  I stood there in awe for a few minutes; when I came back to earth, I bought two!

No, it wasn't anything earth-shattering, or even important.  But it was the unmistakable touch of a lover's hand that says, "I am here"; the completely unexpected, simple gift that proclaims, "I love you."  And maybe, perhaps, "You can trust me through the dark and doubtful times, also."

— 1 —

For three years I have been considering joining the crowd that participates in Conversion Diary's "7 Quick Takes Friday."  It's a handy way to gather together random ideas that are cluttering up the backblog and/or are too short to make into posts of their own, and because it links back to the other participants, I get involved in a larger community.  Which is probably why it took an introvert like me three years to take the plunge.

— 2 —

We've been watching How to Look at and Understand Great Art from The Great Courses (formerly The Teaching Company).  I'll review it after we have completed the course, but already we are thrilled.  I don't know how anyone can graduate from high school without this kind of knowledge, but I did—and I was valedictorian.

— 3 —

Do you know how Google Translate works?  It's very clever.  I would never have guessed, but thanks to the folks at Little Pim, I know there's magic involved—well, Harry Potter, anyway.

Rather than try and do any actual translating itself, Google Translate figures that someone else has probably already done the hard work for you.  Google uses its incredible computing power to trawl through the vast swathes of human translation work, and pairs your English sentence with a human-translated equivalent. ... Whenever you ask Google to translate a sentence, it draws on vast archives of translated text, including everything the UN and its agencies have ever done in writing in six official languages. ... This is why books like Harry Potter are so useful.  With translations in 67 languages, Harry Potter provides an excellent frame of reference for Google Translate to draw upon.  While there may be no recorded history of direct translation between Hebrew and Welsh, by running both translations through the hub of the original English text, Google can attempt a direct translation.

— 4 —

I took the Front Porch Republic out of my feedreader's A-list because I simply couldn't keep up.  Fortunately, they send me occasional e-mails with their top posts, so I didn't miss Allan Carlson's The Family Centered Economy.

American writer and social critic Wendell Berry was born just three years before Russian agricultural economist Alexander Chayanov died in the Soviet Gulag; Russian-American sociologist Pitirim Sorokin was born at the same time as Chayanov but outlived him by 30 years.  The insights of these three men lead Allan Carlson to suggest seven social changes that  are sure to inspire and infuriate.  Who (besides me) would have thought that the secret to a healthy economy would involve homemaking, homeschooling, micro-business, small-scale farming, breastfeeding, and large families?

— 5 —

My family is tired of hearing me preach about the wonders a nightly xylitol rinse has done for my teeth and gums.  I find the dental profession in general remarkably incurious about this inexpensive and pleasant dental health aid, but here is some encouraging news, in both the linked article and other articles under "Related Stories."  The stories are depressingly old (2007/2008), but this paper says that the American Academy of Pediatric Dentistry has supported "the use of xylitol as part of a preventive strategy aimed specifically at long term caries pathogen suppression and caries ... reduction in higher risk populations" since 2010.  Ask your dentist.

— 6 —

Last Saturday we enjoyed the Orlando Philharmonic Orchestra's season-opening concert, Puccini é Verdi, a presentation of excerpts from the two composers' great works.  Music Director Christopher Wilkins certainly knows how to draw a sell-out crowd to begin the season with great enthusiasm:  feature the University of Central Florida Chorus and the Florida Opera Theatre Chorus and you're bound to draw many of their friends as well.

What impressed me the most about the production was how well it was staged.  The stage was structured so that the soloists, rather than waiting their turns stiffly on front-and-center chairs, made their entrances through the orchestra as they were singing.  It wasn't a complicated setup, and added much to the effect.

— 7 —

Crime is down, way down.  Everyone from Free-Range Kids to the New York Times to our local police department is telling us so.  Why, then, is fear up?  Here's my take on the subject:

Certainly the relentless, sensationalist, sponsor-driven news coverage of any tragedy, no matter how remote, is to blame.  Even worse, however, are regular television shows. (Books, too, but TV is more graphic.)   Face it: a kid walking safely to school does not make for an exciting story. So what do we see? Lots and lots of crime. Kidnappings, murders, rapes, dismemberments, terrorism, torture, lots of car chases and bullets spraying. Twisted neighbors, abusive family members, corrupt cops.

We know it’s fiction, but the sounds, sights, and terror have an impact on our brains we cannot control. Bare statistics about crime are no match for the horrors that our gut knows surround us—because we have seen them.

What do you think?

For more Quick Takes, visit Conversion Diary!

Shakespeare:  The World as a Stage (Harper Perennial, London, 2007) by Bill Bryson

Once again, a hit for Bill Bryson.  (Thanks, Stephan!  You'll get the book back in January.)  This time he tackles, with his usual wit and excellent writing, what we know (and, importantly, what we do not know) about the greatest English playwright.

Actually, it is arguable that Shakespeare was not, in truth, the greatest English playwright, but to their undeniable status as great works, his plays added the stellar quality of survival, most playwrights of that era not having had the benefit of compilers Henry Condell and John Heminges, who with unusual foresight put together a collection of most of Shakespeare's plays after his death.  We don't know what we are missing.

Full many a gem of purest ray serene
The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear:
Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,
And waste its sweetness on the desert air.
(not Shakespeare)

On the other hand, we have certainly been spared a mountain of dreck.

To prosper, a theatre in London needed to draw as many as two thousand spectators a day—about 1 per cent of the city's population—two hundred or so times a year, and to do so repeatedly against stiff competition.  To keep customers coming back, it was necessary to change the plays constantly.  Most companies performed at least five different plays in a week, sometimes six, and useed such spare time as they could muster to learn and rehearse new ones. ... What is truly remarkable is how much quality the age produced in the circumstances. ... For authors and actors alike, the theatrical world was an insanely busy place, and for someone like William Shakespeare, who was playwright, actor, part owner and probably de facto director as well ... it must have been nearly hysterical at times.  Companies might have as many as thirty plays in their active repertoire, so a leading actor could be required to memorize perhaps fifteen thousand lines in a season ... as well as remember every dance and sword thrust and costume change.  Even the most successful companies were unlikely to employ more than a dozen or so actors, which meant a great deal of doubling up.

And you thought your life was crazy?  Most of us, whatever our field of endeavor, like to think that we, too, could produce high quality work if only we had the time.  But true geniuses, like William Shakespeare and Johann Sebastian Bach (whose job required him to write a new cantata every week, in addition to his other considerable responsibilities), create their great works in spite of, if not because of, tremendous pressure to produce. (More)

Perhaps it's my own OCD tendencies, but I greatly enjoyed Monk, the TV show about a brilliant detective with obsessive-compulsive disorder.  Given that and a prejudice in favor of my country-in-law, how could I resist Ursus Wehrli, the Swiss artist and comedian whose concept of order stands out even in the country of precision watches and trains you can set those watches by.  (H/T Jon)

Wehrli's TED lecture, Tidying Up Art, shows what I mean.  If you think modern art is just a little too random, Wehrli's your man.