Lift Up Your Hearts!

Why do Jehovah's Witnesses bring out the worst in me?  They're only doing what they think is best.

I'm not good with any form of un-asked-for solicitation, be it door-to-door, phone, e-mail, blog comment, junk mail, or any other form of spam.  I don't like being rude, but I've found that a quick, "No, thank you; I'm not interested," followed immediately by hanging up the phone or closing the door, to be the solution that wastes the least amount of time—not only mine, but theirs.  Why let them go on and on when I know I'm not going to give in to whatever they're selling?  I did know someone who would, on occasion, invite them in, and let them go on and on, thinking they were about to make a sale, until the whole evening was used up.  He figured he was saving several dozen other folks from having their evenings interrupted, and he found it somewhat amusing.  (Reality TV hadn't been invented yet.)  But that's not me.

When it comes to JWs, I also know people who will invite them in, serve them coffee, and spend the evening preaching the gospel to them.  I admire those who can do that, but it's definitely not me.

Porter, having been a door-to-door salesman himself, is much more understanding and will often take a few minutes to answer questions and ask some of his own.  He still doesn't buy anything—unless it's Girl Scouts selling cookies or Lake Brantley band members selling apples; even I am happy to welcome that kind of solicitor with a smile and a sale—and if anything has come from a discussion with a Jehovah's Witness, we won't know it till Heaven.  But at least he's friendly.

I, on the other hand, get Really. Ticked. Off.  Especially on a Saturday, when I have a thousand more pleasant things to do, like scrubbing the kitchen floor.  On my hands and knees.  With a toothbrush.  Or defrosting the freezer, which is why the garage door was open.  I opened the door from the house to find two JWs in the garage, keeping Porter from his work of replacing our kitchen light fixtures.  He was gracious, and polite, engaging them in conversation.

Me?  I panicked, turning tail immediately and skedaddling back into the house, with an inarticulate growl and an "if looks could kill" expression.

Sigh.  Do we learn humility from humiliation?  I hope so.

It's not polite to think about items you didn't get for Christmas while we're still in the Christmas season.  But hey—at least no one thinks I'm hinting for a gift as I ponder things.

Those who know me will be shocked at what I am about to reveal, almost as shocked as when I admitted that I might actually want to own a Wii.  Oops, I haven't actually confessed that here yet.  But I had such a blast with the Wii Fit over Thanksgiving....

I am a book-lover.  That is, a lover of real, paper, take-'em anywhere, you-own-it-and-Amazon (or whoever)-can't take it away kinds of books.  Books that smell like books.  I dislike reading on a computer screen.  Back in the Dark Ages of last century, I tried reading a book on my then-leading-edge Palm handheld device.  Yuck.

However, the thought of owning an e-reader (Kindle, Nook, etc.) is slowly breaching my event horizon.  For one thing, the price is coming down.  I had dismissed Kindle early on, at the mere thought of holding a $300 "book" that would likely to break if dropped.  But $100 is a little less scary.  More than 2/3 less scary, for some reason.

Then this morning I was struck by two prods in the e-book direction.  First, an e-mail from Janet inquiring about a certain book, which opened my eyes to the idea that one can give e-reader books instantly, without worrying about delivery time or overseas shipping charges.

Shortly thereafter I read Conversion Diary's 7 Quick Takes Friday, from which I quote:

My husband got me a Kindle for Christmas. “I guess I might use it for the occasional fiction book,” I thought. “But I’ll never do regular reading on an electronic device.” To put it bluntly: I COULD NOT HAVE BEEN MORE WRONG. This thing has become like an appendage of my body. It’s my favorite gadget I’ve ever owned. Here’s what’s great about it:

• You can create highlights and make notes — and they’re available online. First of all, I was delighted to discover that you can highlight sections and make notes with e-readers. Then, when I logged into my Kindle account on Amazon and saw all my highlights and notes right there, I almost passed out from the awesomeness. (It has been pointed out to me that you can only do this with books you buy through the Kindle store. Which is definitely a downside. But whatever! Because then there’s this:)
• It lies flat. The other day the baby was unusually fussy and insisted on being held all day, and in the moments when she’d finally doze off I was able to get a lot of reading done. I had to use both hands for the ninja techniques required to keep her happy, and so it would have been hard to hold a paper book open. Being able to just glance down at my Kindle, then press a button to turn the page, made hands-free reading a breeze.
• It doesn’t require a monthly data plan. I was under the mistaken impression that you had to buy a monthly data plan in order to download books on e-readers. I was delighted to find that I can use my Kindle on my home wireless network to get my purchases.
• The screen is like reading on paper. I’m amazed at how similar the look of the screen is to a regular book: It doesn’t glow, it’s not glossy, and it’s easier to read the more light you shine on it.

I will still buy some books in paper form, but count me in as e-reading’s newest convert.

So now you’re convinced. You’re sitting in front of your computer saying, “Jen, you’re right. I thought my life was complete, but now I see that it is a mere shell of an existence compared to what it could be if I owned an e-reader. I am going to purchase a Kindle as soon as I finish reading your astoundingly insightful Quick Takes. However, I am going to go all out and get a Kindle Fire!” No. Do not do this. Go with the low-end version. Here’s why:

One of the reasons I thought I wasn’t an e-reader kind of gal is because my mom has an iPad, and I could never get into reading books on it when I’d borrow it. First of all, I don’t like reading a lot of text on glowing screens. Second, there were too many distractions: I’d sit down with the intention of getting into Scott Hahn’s latest title, but would somehow end up in a heated debate about nuts in desserts on Twitter. It was just too tempting to do something interactive like surf the web or check my email and social media accounts. What’s wonderful about the basic-model Kindle (and presumably the basic models of other e-readers as well) is that there’s no temptation to do anything other than read a book.

So, I think I was right that I don’t like reading on electronic devices; what I was missing is that the basic Kindle is more like a book than an electronic device.

So ... it's not like reading on a computer screen after all.  And it seems there are lots of cool features not available with print books.  It might be just the thing for books I want to read once, but which aren't good enough to merit any of our already over-taxed and precious bookshelf space.  (Well ... erm ... out of curiosity I did a quick calculation of how much bookshelf space we have:  Over 200 feet.  That's 2/3 of a football field of books lined up along their narrowest dimension.  No wonder an e-reader is beginning to sound attractive.)

What's more, you can store pictures and Word docs and text files and pdfs and mp3s.  Think of all the cute grandkid photos I could take along with me.

I'm leery, however, of committing to a proprietary format.  And unhappier still that the companies can apparently yank a book off your own device without your permission.

I realize I'm coming very late to the table here.  After all, the Occasional CEO told me nearly three years ago that I should get one.  (Actually, he told me nearly three years ago that someone else should get me one, but I digress.)  So I'm throwing the question out to my more up-to-date, tech-savvy readers.  What do you think?  Do you own an e-reader?  Why or why not?  Which do you think is best?

(Continued from Pre-Christmas Fun.)

You wouldn't think that with just the two of us it would still take all day to open presents, but it very nearly did.

We slept a little late, due to yesterday's exhaustion, but we can never sleep in much, even without the pleasure of being awakened to Christmas carols on the clarinet.  (Yes, that is a pleasure!  We missed that this year.)  I finished the few preparations that I'd negelected last night, and we sat down to open our stockings.

Mothers—sometimes fathers, but more commonly mothers—often develop the bad habit of filling their own stockings.  For one thing, and this is unavoidable, if you have a gift that everyone gets (in our house this includes Toblerone, Mentos, citrus fruit, a coin) it makes sense to drop one into each stocking.  It would look very strange for one person to be left out.  But beyond that, it's just a bad habit.  One parent takes on the role of chief stocking-filler, and the other is content to let that stand.  In our case, when we had guests, this was almost a necessity, as so many moms were contributing to stockings that they overflowed without the dads having a chance.  But this year, I resisted.  There were only two of us, and why should I deprive Porter of the joy of finally having a chance to be Santa Claus with more than his traditional dollar coin?  So when I picked up a set of combs for each of us, I wrapped Porter's but put mine in the drawer.  When I bought tape, I wrapped some for Porter's stocking, but did not put any in my own.  Etc.

What a good decision!  Porter is a great Santa Claus!  So here is a word to all moms caught in my trap:  Share the joy!  Even if it means prodding your man a bit to get him started.  Why should moms do all the work have all the fun?

On to breakfast!  As usual for Christmas day, the clementines from the toes of our stockings were the only part of breakfast we could consider healthful.  But mmmmm!  Raspberry kringle (thanks, NMKB!), Dutch banket (pastry filled with almond paste), almond raisin bread ... you get the picture.  When our children were young Christmas breakfast was primarily Lucky Charms, as Christmas and birthdays were the only occasions sugary cereals were allowed in the house.  We adults prefer our sugar in different forms, but Christmas morning at our house is traditionally overwhelmingly sweet.  Traditional for our family, that is.  Growing up in my own family, I don't remember any particular Christmas breakfast traditions besides a stocking tangerine, and an "eat faster so we can get to the Christmas tree!" attitude.  My parents graciously, but with a show of reluctance, conceded to drink their after-breakfast coffee in the living room.

Neither of us drinks coffee, but I would have brought my tea into the living room if we had had time.  But it was then time to get ready for church.

Having done yeoman's duty Christmas Eve, our choir had the day off.  So we eschewed the long drive to our usual church and attended the Christmas service at All Saints Episcopal in Winter Park.  I'd been there once, maybe twice before, but never for a regular service.  Not that you can tell much about a church by what you see on Christmas Day, either.  Their choir also had the day off, but the service was still glorious, and filled with music.  It's an old, beautiful church with a huge pipe organ.  And imagine:  the full, resplendent sound of a pipe organ—once the loudest man-made sound on earth—and we never once needed to seek recourse in our earplugs.  At our own church, and many churches we have visited, the services are physically painful (and, I'm convinced, ear-damaging) because of the volume of the electronic instruments, even in a more traditional service where the only instrument is an electronic keyboard.  I'd forgotten how lovely it is to be able to pay more attention to worshipping God than to the agony of my ears.  For the sake of our future hearing, we wear earplugs in church—and in many other places, such as movie theaters and skating rinks—but it's distracting, and makes me feel distant from the rest of the worshippers.  Not to mention that it makes singing well very difficult.

I'm not sure if it was a good or a bad thing to be so powerfully reminded of what worship can be.

Be that as it may, we had no regrets for leaving our present-opening to consider together the greatest gift of all.

Not that we weren't excited about coming home to the Christmas tree, where we opened gifts from each other and from distant family members.  There's never a lack of gifts when you emphasize the practical, though there was no underwear this year.  There were several un-practical, but particularly appropriate and delightful gifts to be opened as well.

Then reality hit:  It's 2:30 and I haven't begun to work on Christmas dinner!  Our guests weren't coming until 6:00, but beef roasts take time to cook, and bread takes time to rise.  Plus quite other items on the day's agenda.

So this is the Christmas I learned that I could let some plans go and still have a wonderful evening.  I reduced by three the number of dishes I had planned for dinner—and the dinner was probably better without them.  (I'd mention them, but one of our guests will eventually read this and know what he missed.)  It was certainly good enough, and we were still too stuffed for dessert.  I also (re)learned that letting other people help can be much better than doing everything yourself.  Our guests brought a gorgeous salad, much more beautiful than the one I would have made.  Porter set the table, and had both more time and more interest than I for making it look nice—and in lighting candles around the house.

I concentrated on the rest of the dinner:  beef rib roast, mashed potatoes, gravy, steamed broccoli, and homemade rolls.  The roast was tricky, because I cook them so rarely, and the directions from two cookbooks and numerous Internet sources were mutually contradictory.  I ended up gonig mostly with my brother's advice—he was cooking a beef roast for their dinner, too—which was pretty much, "I usually just put it in the oven and see what happens."  What happened this time turned out to be really good, so I guess it was great advice.

The potatoes weren't supposed to be mashed.  When I serve roast beef, I like to boil potato chuncks to the not-quite-done stage, then put them, with a little of their cooking water, alongside the roast near the end of its cooking time.  That way they take on a lovely brown color and absorb some of the delicious beef drippings.  But that, too, can be tricky, so I decided that mashing the potatoes would be good enough and a lot quicker.  Everyone seemed happy with the results.

I cheated a bit with the rolls, picking an easy bread machine recipe so the machine could take care of the kneading and rising for me.  I even used (mostly) the white bread flour called for in the recipe, not having time to take a chance on experimentation.  Well, okay, I did substitute whole wheat for about a third of it, in the name of flavor.  It worked well, but next time I'm going to roll the dough thinner than the recipe called for and make crescent rolls that are not so huge.  But if they weren't the prettiest, they sure tasted good.

The gravy I'm particularly proud of.  Because I did not cook the potatoes in the roasting pan, I had pure drippings to work with after Porter and his carving knife took away the roast.  It was lovely, dark, and deep, because I have learned The Secret:  the roast had rested on a layer of chopped onions, which happily caramelized while it cooked.  To the drippings I added sufficient flour to make a good roux, then about a cup of white wine, and then most of the leftover potato water.  This wasn't just any potato water:  I had added some beef bouillon to the boiling potatoes, so what was left was essentially beef stock.  With the addition of some more beef bouillon and a generous dose of pepper, it was awesome, if I do say so myself.  (Any cook will realize that I've left out a few important actions, notably "stirred and cooked for a while" between most of the steps.)

The best part of the whole meal, however, was being together with our neighbors.  They shared some of their Christmas traditions, we shared some of ours, and we all shared some great conversation.  Just as wonderful as the morning's reminder that it is possible to worship without high decibels, was the evening's confirmation that even in these polemic days it is possible to have—nay, to enjoy—a lively discussion among people whose views differ substantially, without anyone getting hot under the collar.  Isn't it amazing what respect, consideration, and good manners can accomplish?

For the second day in a row we went to bed too late, and exhausted.  But what a good kind of exhaustion it was!

On the Second Day of Christmas, my true love gave to me ... Christmas Rest!  The busy-ness has been for the most part wonderful, but there's a reason "the Sabbath was made for man."  We need days of rest.  When we felt hungry (which, after Christmas dinner, wasn't often) we snacked on leftovers.  When we didn't, we concentrated on a new Sudoku puzzle book (Porter) and a new Miss Read book (Linda).

All the while being very grateful that we were not throwing up, an affliction besetting this day an appalling number of friends and family on both coasts of the United States (as well as the middle) and on both sides of the Atlantic (but not in the middle).

On the Third Day of Christmas, my true love gave to me ... returning health to our loved ones, and a gentle return to work for us, along with continued rest.  (Finished the book.  Started another one.)

On the Fourth Day of Christmas, my true love gave to me ... a determination to prepare a collection of Advent music to enjoy during most of December next year.  It's only the Fourth Day, and even I am tired of Christmas music.  We're still enjoying the tree, the lights, and all the other decorations, however.

A cold front came through last night, so we are enjoying a crisp, clear, cool (55 degrees) sunny day.  It's time to close this post and get on with life.

The Zen of Fish: The Story of Sushi, from Samurai to Supermarket by Trevor Corson (HarperCollins, 2007)

Eating sushi is like rearing children:  there's always someone happy to point out that you're doing it all wrong.

Not that I care much.  So what if many of the rolls I love are American inventions?  If the Japanese consider them to be inside-out rolls?  If adding more seasoning to your roll is an insult to the chef?  (Well, I suppose I care a bit more about the last.  I don't like insulting people, especially not those who are providing my dinner.  Then again, I'm the one eating it.)  I like Japanese sushi; I like American sushi; and I don't mind being too unsophisticated to enjoy the sea urchin and raw quail egg combo that Porter ordered in Boston.

However, I was happy to learn that sushi is meant to be eaten with the fingers, not chopsticks.  And eaten in one bite—though I'm not sure how.  Do the Japanese have larger mouths than Americans?  Seems unlikely.

The Zen of Fish weaves the history, science, and culture of America's unexpected food craze together with the adventures of students at the California Sushi Academy.  It's well-written, highly informative, fun to read, and will make you very hungry—when it's not causing you to rethink consuming fish in any form.  My only complaint is that the author apparently considered his target audience to be largely made up of adolescent boys.  I could have done without most of the sexual references and innuendo—although it was quite cool to learn about the shrimp that start out male, then after a few years become female.  The timing of the change assures a gender-balanced population, suggesting perhaps that shrimp are smarter than people.

Okay, even writing about sushi makes me hungry.

This post was going to include Christmas Day, but it turned out to be pretty long, so I've divided it into two parts.

Last Sunday we enjoyed the Festival of Nine Christmas Lessons and Carols at the Cathedral Church of St. Luke, featuring the Boy Choir and Girls Choir.  I'm tired of hearing that today's kids only want to sing pop songs!  If that's all they hear, of course that's what they'll want to sing.  But these boys and girls sing excellent music from several centuries, and with beautiful, pure voices.  The singers included a couple of friends of ours:  one boy man, now a college graduate (alumni are invited to sing with the choirs), whom we knew as a very young Suzuki violinist, and a second-generation Girl's Choir singer whose mother we knew when she was in high school.  Perhaps my favorite part of the service, however, was the instructions, printed in the bulletin, to the congregation.  No slackers allowed:  "Please stand and sing the entire hymn in harmony."  (Emphasis mine.)  That and seeing several long-time friends (I've reached the age when "old friends" is not the preferred term) at the excellent reception afterwards.

Friday night we took a break and returned to the Morse Museum for our third time in a month: they showcase music as well as art during this season.  We didn't stay long, however, and spent most of the time talking to some friends we unexpectedly met.  We would like to have returned Saturday, when the Raintree Chamber Players were to be featured, but that was Christmas Eve, and we had a few other plans....

On the 24th, Porter decided to join the throngs of procrastinating shoppers, and found the crowds suprisingly sparse.  Given the state of the stores and highways leading up to the day, however, I conclude it has little to do with the economy.  Perhaps beginning the Christmas shopping season in early October was sufficient inspiration for most people to be fully prepared (or at least out of money) with no need for a last-minute rush.

Not me, though.  My shopping was done, but I had plenty of other last-minute things to do.  While Porter was out I finished the wrapping, and frosted our Christmas Cutout cookies.  I had planned to be lazy this year and not bother with the frosting, but I'd used 100% white whole wheat flour (see the discussion in the comments here) and it made the already-not-very-sweet dough into something not quite right for Christmas.  So I whipped up our traditional egg white and confectioner's sugar frosting with a healthy glug of Penzeys double-strength vanilla and it did the trick perfectly with the cookies, which, incidentally, I had spiced this year with last year's gift of Speckulatius-gewürz.  I was still lazy, frosting them in single colors with a knife rather than painting them artistically with tiny brushes, but I'm sure they didn't taste the worst for that.

After my early, experimental batch of Variations on a Dream cookies, I made two more, plus two of Christmas Cutouts, two batches of Almond Butter Crunch, and one each of Dark Chocolate Cherry and Dark Chocolate Orange fudge.  Sounds a bit over-indulgent for two people, doesn't it?  Fortunately, Christmas goodies serve well as gifts for choir members, neighbors, and assorted other folks.  But yes, we did save some for ourselves....

All too soon it was time to leave for church, and our two Christmas Eve services.  (Actually, there are three, but the choir was not needed at the earliest one.)  We had a brief rehearsal, and began the first service at 7:00.  I thought the evening might be a marathon, but hadn't realized it would be a sprint as well.  Episcopalians make up for not singing Christmas carols during Advent by singing them all on Christmas Eve!  With thirteen hymns and four anthems, along with the rest of the service, I was exhausted and  hoarse when the service ended an hour and a half later.  The choir has a tradition of eating together between the early and the late services, but it has grown to include the entire performing arts ministry and their families—some sixty people—which was more than this introvert could face between two exhausting services.  Fortunately, a fellow choir member felt the same way, and he took us to his home, where his wife had waiting a meal of bread and soothing hot soup.  Restored, we were back at church by 10:30 for the final service.  It was just as crazy, but this time I was prepared and knew when I could fit in essential sips of water.

My favorite part of the evening?  Singing the Hallelujah Chorus.  TWICE.

My second-favorite part?  Not burning the church down.

In the later part of each service, as the congregation returned from receiving Communion, each person was given a candle.  The choir sang one verse of Stille Nacht, then everyone sang Silent Night as the choir dispersed into the congregation to light the candles.  Of course, for the proper candlelight effect, the lights must be turned down.  As I made my way along the darkened, narrow aisle to my assigned rows, I tripped over what I later determined to be someone's folded-up walker leaning against the wall.  I recovered, and offered the lady on the end of the aisle my candle, from which to light her own.  That was when I realized she didn't have a candle.  The lady whose lap I had nearly fallen into didn't have a candle because she had a nasal cannula.  Attached to an oxygen bottle.  I gingerly reached w-a-a-a-y over her to light the candle of the person sitting beside her.

We made it home by about 12:30 Christmas morning.  I broke with tradition and did not listen to Mannheim Steamroller while finishing up Christmas preparations, but went to bed at the same time as everyone else.  With "everyone else" being no one but Porter, all but filling the stockings and placing the remaining gifts under the tree could wait for morning.  Later morning, that is.

Here's one reason why it's more fun to be Episcopalian/Anglican/Catholic/Orthodox or anyone else for whom Christmas lasts a full twelve days.

— 1 —

Don't forget NORAD Tracks Santa!  (I see they have some new videos this year.)  As I write this, Santa is at the International Space Station.  I'd love to see what a reindeer wears for a space suit.

— 2 —

This is for our children, who never considered themselves Disney fans as the world knows Disney, but who grew up in Mickey's backyard.  Happy memories! (H/T Richard S. and the GGGAMB)

Happy Christmas to all, and to all a Good Night!

— 1 —

This will be my last 7 Quick Takes Friday, at least on a regular basis.  It's been fun thinking in this way, and I have enjoyed reading other people's Quick Takes.  But it takes a lot of time (it's not "quick" for the writer, at least not for me), and if I spread the work out over the week, well, why not publish immediately rather than wait till Friday?  I think getting seven posts all at once overwhelms some of my readers, too.  Perhaps I'll do more 7 Quick Thanks posts, or gradually collect short posts around a theme for an occasional 7 Quick Takes.

It's probably due more to the season than to my joining the 7 Quick Takes gang, but I've been overwhelmed with spam comments since commencing.  I wonder if it will drop off now (whether due to my dropping out or to the end of the infamous Shopping Season), or if that door has been opened never to close.

Any real, human readers who stopped by via the 7 Quick Takes program are welcome to come here directly.  :)

— 2 —

Requiem Aeternam Dona Ei, Domine.   One of my strongest memories from 1968 is the feeling of desolation as Soviet tanks rolled into Czechoslovakia. RIP Václav Havel.

"Truth and love must prevail over lies and hate."

— 3 —

Steven E. Landsburg was a math classmate of mine at the University of Rochester.  I remember him chiefly for his brilliance and for his decision to forgo a bachelor's degree in favor of a master's because the master's program had no physical education and language requirements.  (The link in his name takes you to the Wikipedia article on Steve, which has, as far as I can tell, at least one error—I believe it was his bachelor's degree, not his master's, that he received after becoming a professor of economics at the U of R.  The University of Chicago would hardly have accepted him into its PhD program with no degree at all.)  Steve appeared in the Wall Street Journal last month with this article:  A Short Econ Quiz for the Super Committee.  Here's how it ends:

The government's chief asset—in fact, pretty much its only asset—is its ability to tax people, now and in the future. The taxpayers are the government's ATM. Make a withdrawal today, and there's less available tomorrow.

Now the ability to tax is a pretty huge asset and the government has not (yet!) come close to depleting it. In that sense, there's a lot of money in the bank. But no matter how much you've got in the bank, a policy of ever-increasing withdrawals is nothing at all like a decision to earn more income. It's important to get the analogy right. And it's clear from the blogs and the op-ed pages that not everybody gets this.

Instead, the notion persists that an extra trillion in federal spending can be converted from "irresponsible" to "responsible" as long as it's accompanied by an extra trillion in tax hikes. That's like saying a $500 haircut can be converted from "irresponsible'' to "responsible'' as long as you withdraw the $500 from your bank account. If the super committee loses sight of this fundamental truth, it is doomed to fail.

Once upon a time, the United States had huge assets independent of its ability to tax people.  We had the better part of a whole continent, in fact.  Sometimes I wonder if we were any wiser than Napoleon in disposing of our riches.

— 4 —

Too Much of a Good Thing? I love Christmas music, and we have a huge collection thereof:  over 500 songs at last count, from Medieval chant to Mannheim Steamroller.  I'm not complaining!  But I do wonder, occasionally, if I might have been richer as a young child, with three or four 33 1/3 rpm vinyl records of Christmas music that I loved dearly, knowing nearly every word, note, and album cover by heart.

— 5 —

Brad Smith.  Brad who?  That's what I said.  Our Christmas collection has been enriched by the fact that Janet's massive CD collection largely resides with us, and this year I added her Christmas music to the playlist on the mp3 player that pours out random Christmas treats as we go about our work.  With all the new music, I often found myself thinking, "That's a wonderful arrangement; what's it from?"  Time and time again the answer turned out to be Brad Smith's The Gift:  A Christmas Celebration.  (Click on the link to hear samples.)  A little research revealed that Brad Smith is a master craftsman—a woodworker.  But he is also an artist of a different sort, a musician—a master of the oboe and English horn, as a matter of fact, which explains both his presence in Janet's collection and my captivation with his music.

— 6 —

 Variations on a Dream (Cookie).   Dream Cookies were a favorite with my family growing up, and equally so with our family now.  I don't know where the original recipe came from; as far as I'm concerned, it's my mother's.  :)  It came a bit later in my life than the other cookie recipes I consider essential for a traditional Christmas, but I'll bet my siblings don't remember a time without Dream Cookies.  Here is the original recipe:

Dream Cookies

• 1 cup butter, softened  (Actually, we often used margarine, back in the days when it was considered healthier.  The taste was still good, though different.)
• 1 cup sugar
• 1 teaspoon vanilla
• 2 cups flour
• 1 pinch salt
• 1 teaspoon baking powder

Preheat oven to 300°F.  Cream butter; add sugar, and beat until light.  Mix in vanilla.  Sift dry ingredients together.  Add and mix well.  Form into small balls; dip in colored sugar crystals and place on ungreased cookie sheet.  Bake for about 18 minutes until done but not browned.  Alternatively, instead of dipping dough in sugar crystals, try dipping warm, baked cookies in a mixture of ¼ cup confectioner's sugar and 1 teaspoon nutmeg.

And here's the new version I created recently.  It was a huge hit.

Variations on a Dream

• 1 cup butter, softened
• 1 cup sugar
• 3/4 teaspoon Penzeys double-strength vanilla (Regular vanilla would probably do.)
• 1 tablespoon Penzeys almond extract (I'm a Penzeys snob, but you could use another brand.)
• 2 cups King Arthur white whole wheat flour (Does anyone else make white whole wheat flour?)
• 1 pinch salt
• 1 teaspoon baking powder

Preheat oven to 300°F.  Cream butter; add sugar, and beat until light.  Mix in vanilla and almond flavorings.  Stir dry ingredients together.  Add and mix well.  Form into small balls (we always did this by hand, but I find my new cookie scoop works very well, too); dip in colored sugar crystals and place on ungreased cookie sheet.  Bake for about 18 minutes until done but not browned.  I suspect the powdered sugar/nutmeg version would not work well with the almond flavor, but who knows?

— 7 —

Thoughts on the Incarnation.  For years I unthinkingly accepted the admonition that Easter should be a more important holiday for Christians than Christmas.  After all, the resurrection of Christ is the one spectacular event on which Christianity stands or falls.

Or is it?  If it is unique and astonishing that a man so clearly dead should in three days be so clearly alive, and alive in such a new way that he has a physical body (that can be touched, and fed) and yet comes and goes through space in a manner more befitting science fiction—is it any less unique and astonishing that God, the creator of all that is, seen and unseen, should become a human being, not in the shape-shifting ways of the Greek gods, but through physical birth, with human limitations?

Debating which holiday is more significant for a Christian is like asking whether my left or my right leg is more important for running.

A very Merry Christmas to all !

God bless us, every one.

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The Corpse Walker: Real Life Stories, China from the Bottom Up by Liao Yiwu, translated by Wen Huang (Pantheon, 2008)

With a title like The Corpse Walker, you might expect this to be a frightening book.  And you would be correct.  But there's not a zombie in sight.

We are so Euro-centric.  We repeatedly hold up Adolf Hitler and Nazi Germany as the epitome of evil.  If pressed, we might acknowledge Joseph Stalin, but Russia is more distant, foreign, and unknown than Germany.  Compared with Mao Zedong's China, however ... well, you can read more about that in this article on democide.

The Lord of the Flies meets 1984.  Liao Yiwu's book is must reading for anyone who still hangs on to the idea that unfettered human nature is basically good, or that the acquisition of power is not one of the most deadly, corrupting circumstances ever.

Although Liao Yiwu is still an outlawed writer on the run from the Chinese government, you won't find many complaints about present-day China in this collection of interviews; it may not be safe to criticize the Communist government of the past, but it's a whole lot safer than criticizing the Communist government of the present.  However, the view of Chinese history through the eyes of the survivors of the past sixty years may be crucial to understanding the Chinese of today.

Take a puppy, abuse him, kick him, mistreat him—he'll revert to feral carnivore. Take his litter brother, pet him, talk to him, let him sleep with you, but train him—he's a happy, well-behaved house pet. Take another from that same litter, pet him on even days and kick him on odd days. You'll have him so confused that he'll be ruined for either role; he can't survive as a wild animal and he doesn't understand what is expected of a pet. Pretty soon he won't eat, he won't sleep, he can't control his functions; he just cowers and shivers. — Robert Heinlein

Humans aren't puppies, and the Chinese people aren't cowering and shivering.  But without a doubt they have had too much of being petted on even days and kicked on odd days.  But kicked a whole lot more than petted.  Perhaps this (almost certainly apocryphal) story of Stalin is more appropriate:

On his deathbed, Stalin summoned two likely successors to his side, to test which one of the two had a better knack for ruling the country.  He ordered two birds to be brought in, and presented one bird to each of the two candidates.  He then instructed each of them to make sure that the bird did not fly away.  The first candidate, terrified that the bird would fly free, squeezed the poor creature so tightly that when he opened his palm, the bird was dead.  Seeing the disapproving look on Stalin's face and being afraid to repeat his rival's mistake, the second candidate loosened his grip so much that the bird freed himself and flew away.

Stalin looked at both of them scornfully. "Bring me a bird!' he thundered. They did. Stalin took the bird by its legs and slowly, one by one, he plucked each feather of this poor creature from its tiny little body.  Then he opened his palm. The bird lay there naked, helpless, and shivering.  Stalin looked up, smiled gently, and said, "You see, this little bird is thankful for the human warmth of my palm."

I fear that those who prescribe free-market capitalism as the secret to democratizing China are as wrong as those who believe a severely abused child can be healed merely by placing him in a loving home.  China has a lot of healing to do.  To be fair, many of the injuries were inflicted before Mao came to power; he only made them infinitely worse by taking away what little stability the country had.  If the life of a peasant had been grinding misery, it was not improved by mass starvation.  If the country had been controlled by rival gangs of thugs, it was not made safer by a government of thugs.  If the traditions that ruled Chinese society had been onerous and discriminatory, destroying those traditions left the Chinese with no history, no foundation, no moral compass.

We joined the Communist revolution so we could live a better life, have enough to eat, marry a beautiful woman, and raise a family.  This basic concept was totally distorted in the Mao era.  All we talked about were the abstract ideas such as the Party and the People.  Private lives were considered something disgraceful.  You can't marry the Party or the People, can you?  We used to hear phony stuff like "So-and-so has been nurtured by the Party and the People."  What do the Party's breasts look like?

But I am giving you the entirely false impression that The Corpse Walker is about politics.  It's not.  It's about people.  Ordinary people, who have had extraordinary things happen to them.  Some are uniquely Chinese; some could be from anywhere.  Meet the Human Trafficker, whose entry into the trade began with selling his own daughters—"What do they know about happiness?  My daughters are the children of a poor peasant.  As long as their husbands have dicks, that's all I care."  The next time you eat vegetables, think about the Public Restroom Manager and how Chinese fields are fertilized.  Fear the unrepentant Former Red Guard—"Ï was born into a family of blue-collar workers.  The Cultural Revolution offered me the opportunity to finally trample on those elite.  It was glorious.  I couldn't get enough of it."  See the 20th century through the eyes of a 103-year-old Buddhist abbot.  Meet survivors who endured unthinkable tortures.  Marvel at how resilient is the human spirit, and tremble at how quickly ordinary people learn to commit extraordinary evil.

A book's impact depends heavily on its translator, and Wen Huang is clearly fluent in English.  Perhaps too fluent, or at least too familiar with slang and other informal language, which gives the dialogue an occasional jarring note.  Profanity from the mouth of the human trafficker is unpleasant to read, but he is an unpleasant person and his words less shocking than his attitudes.  But for higher-class, otherwise articulate, elders to use phrases like "an old fart," "making the big bucks," and "I was so grossed out" is incongruous and detracts somewhat from the stories.

You're still wondering about the title, aren't you?  It comes from the practice of returning the dead to their hometowns by literally walking them from place to place.  It is by no means the most macabre of the stories.  I could have said, "The Lord of the Flies meets 1984 meets the Donner Party."

— 1 —

This is for my Carngie Mellon MechE grad daughter, who loves gears.  Check out the rest of this Celebrating a Simple Life post for more fascinating videos and a TED lecture by kinetic sculptor David Roy.

— 2 —

One of my favorite lost causes.  Just when the Republicans have about convinced me to vote for Barack Obama in the coming election, along comes Joe Biden to shove me in the other direction.  The Obama administration has given up on the dollar coin.    "Nobody wants them," Biden said.  One would think a politician would know better than to call any voter a "nobody."  I want the dollar coins, very much, and make a point of spending them when I get the opportunity.  I'd like to see two- and five-dollar coins, as well.  What I don't want are 1-, 5-, and maybe even 10-cent coins. and yet "the Mint says it is committed to producing the one-cent pieces."  My Favorite Economist says that is technically an incorrect statement:  The Mint has nothing to say about what gets minted—that is completely up to Congress.  Which is why the dollar coins will still be minted in limited quantities.  It's also a specious argument to say that eliminating the coin will save $50 million per year, without mentioning how much would be saved by eliminating the dollar bill.  I've seen estimates ranging from $183 million to $500 million per year, depending on whether or not we bite the bullet and close down the secondary branch of the Bureau of Engraving and Printing.  Here's more from My Favorite Economist:

Getting rid of the bill makes more sense.  Did we have 10-cent bills when we were kids?  A dime from then (pre-65) is worth over $2.30 in silver now.  Even using the government's own inflation numbers a dollar is down to 13.7 cents from 1964.

Politically, however, the powerful states Massachusetts and Texas are both against the idea.  Massachusetts is where the paper for our currency is made, and the second Bureau of Engraving and Printing—which could be eliminated if the $1 bill were no longer printed—is in Texas.  In this season of "payroll tax holidays" and other stupid PR moves to give the public bread and circuses, reasoned argument does not prevail.

Americans are wedded to the $1 bill because they think if it exists it will still be worth something.  Getting rid of it is a psychological admission that the currency has gone to junk.  Same thing about the utterly useless cent.  Now there is a coin the Congress should eliminate.

You can read more about the benefits of replacing small-denomination bills with coins from the Dollar Coin Alliance.  The EU, Switzerland, the UK, Australia, New Zealand, Canada, and Japan are among the major countries where the change in your pocket has real value.  If we can't muster the political will to make this change, what hope do we ever have of adopting the metric system?  That switch was predicted to be "imminent" when I was a child ... half a century ago.

— 3 —

The Tooth Fairy Economy.  It's all well and good to talk about inflation-adjusted dollar values, but what does it all mean?  When I was losing my primary teeth 50+ years ago, the Tooth Fairy routinely left a dime under my pillow (molars earned a quarter, presumably because of their size).  In 2011, according to the Official Tooth Fairy Poll, the average American child received $2.52 per tooth.  (I think the Tooth Fairy should leave coins, not bills, which is a bit awkward when your largest widely-circulating coin is the quarter.)

Do you want to know how the American economy is doing?  Forget Dow Jones and the NASDAQ—check out the Tooth Fairy Market Price:

— 4 —

My Political Statement.  This year we ended our Christmas newsletter with the following:  I’ve spared you the mundane as well as the bad, the ugly, and a lot more of the good than you see here.  You don’t need to know about work frustrations (but still employed), computer problems (but still functioning), or health issues (but much to be thankful for); no doubt you have plenty of your own.  And you certainly don’t want to hear any comments about the current political or economic situation!  I'm sure that's true of most people, but one friend responded, "I would be very interested in your comments about the current political situation!."  So this is for you, Jamie.  (Not that I have any assurance that he ever reads this blog.....)

1. We have a Democratic president, many of whose policies I think are disastrous.  I pray for him daily.
2. We have a Republican state governor, many of whose policies I think are disastrous.  I pray for him daily.
3. In our most recent election I voted—with pleasure—in our non-partisan city mayoral race for someone with whom I have many areas of disagreement but who I believe has done a good job in the past.  I pray for her daily.
4. I wish I could make more political decisions as in #3.  I am not holding my breath.  But I'm still praying.

— 5 —

A Plug for Penzeys.  Is is possible to have a political disagreement over spices?  Bill Penzey frequently writes essays in their catalogue that have political implications with which I disagree strongly.  (I've tried to engage in conversation, but for some reason he's too busy—providing the seasonings I love—to write back.)  That doesn't change a bit what I've said before:

Penzeys can be considered the Cadillac of spices.  You can certainly find herbs and spices for less money elsewhere.  But there are times when it's worth paying a little extra for quality, and quality is where Penzeys excels.  Variety, too—they have exotic herbs and spices I'd never heard of, plus a stunning variety of their own excellent blends.  They even excel in quantity, from tiny jars for the spices you use rarely, to large bags (at a commensurately lower per-ounce price) for greater needs.

My recent Penzeys experience deserves a public accolade, so here it is.

I was seeking a small gift that would say "thank you" to some people whose kindness I had particularly felt recently, and was having a hard time finding something that would be (1) appreciated, (2) healthful, (3) consumable, and (4) a little different.  Then my Penzeys catalogue arrived.

Their latest promotion, the Kind Heart gift box, is billed as "the perfect gift for those whose little acts of kindness have brightened your life."  Voilà!  I picked up the telephone.  When the representative told me the total price, I said, "That can't be right."  She replied, "Oh, if you think it's important to thank these people, it's important to us, too.  All you pay is the shipping charges."  That wasn't advertised!  It sure brightened my day, not so much for the savings, though they were appreciated, but for the delightful surprise and the attitude.  Of course you can't stay in business for long that way, and Penzeys is a good business.  What's particularly encouraging is they don't find any contradiction in being simultaneously committed to good quality, good business, and good deeds.

— 6 —

Oatmeal Season.  Our weather has been warm again for a while—in that lovely range when the HVAC blows neither hot nor cold—but the first cold snap of the year was sufficient to reset my breakfast habits.  In the hot months I eat (homemade) granola, and in the cold, oatmeal (steel-cut Irish, or "old fashioned" rolled oats; not <shudder> the flavored, instant variety).  I really like oatmeal cooked in milk, but I use water to make clean-up easier, and add dry milk powder at the very end.  To me, oatmeal requires raisins.  The other flavorings I use include maple syrup, honey, brown sugar, cinnamon sugar, Penzeys Cake Spice sugar, various jams—or nothing at all (the steel-cut oats have a wonderful taste by themselves).  It's great to have a food that I love to eat and is good for me!  I'm not sure why oatmeal has such bad press, unless it's because of those packets of over-sweetened, over-processed mush that bear the same name on the grocery shelves....

— 7 —

Thanks to the Occasional CEO, I now understand more about the new generation gap in communications.  Previous communication gaps had more to do with content than method, but this one is fundamental.

E-mail is a wonderful means of communication for those of us who love language and communicate better when we have time to think.  It has most of the advantages of postal mail but is much faster.

Our nephews (and their parents) text all the time.  I'll agree that texting has its place, but in my world that place is small and limited.  Since my cell phone doesn't do e-mail, I like texts when I'm away from home because you can send a message without (needing to) interrupt the recipient.  (It's even better when communicating with Switzerland, where texts are free for the recipient and for the sender cost a whole lot less than calls to a foreign cell phone.)  But even with a full keyboard (which my phone doesn't have), you still have to peck out a message one letter at a time, leading to incomplete sentences, lack of punctuation, and abbreviations, which are like fingernails on a blackboard to me.  U C?

Using the word "blackboard" reveals my age also, neh?

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A Facebook discussion set me to pondering what I have learned through the years about necessary and unnecessary stress at Christmastime.  Yes, I think there is such a thing as necessary stress.  The discussion was prompted by this quotation from Ann Voskamp:  Whenever Christmas begins to burden, it’s a sign that I’ve taken on something of the world and not of Christ. Any weight in Christmas has to be of this world.

I appreciate the point, but I beg to differ, slightly.

The Christmas season, like all other seasons, has its own burdens and blessings. The work that goes into it, like the work that goes into life, can be delightful and can be stressful. I don't think it's a sign that we're doing something not of Christ just because it's stressful or burdensome.  Good things take work.  Labor, as in the birth of a baby.  The more effortless a work of art looks, and the more joy it brings to others (inspiring musical performance; smoothly-running household; creative, confident, well-behaved children), the more labor you can assume went into it.  Yet there's no denying that we can get so caught up in the effort that we miss the point, be it Christmas, or a wedding, or life itself.

Here are some things we've done, or not done, over the years, that made a difference to our Christmas stress level.  Your mileage may vary.

Media exposure.  One of the best decisions we ever made was to severely limit the presence of television in our home.  This included—for good reason—videos and public television, but it was the lack of commercial TV that made the greatest difference at Christmastime.  Our children didn't beg for toys they didn't know existed and certainly didn't know they "needed."  That wasn't our motivation for banishing children's television programs from our lives, but it was an especially helpful benefit.

Santa Claus.  I grew up with the excitement of the jolly ol' guy, but we decided to tell our children from the beginning that honoring the real St. Nicholas had evolved into a fun, but fictional, Christmas story.  I won't say that Santa never delivered gifts to our house—there were grandparents' wishes to consider—but we never, ever, stood in a long line, or paid ridiculous prices, or fought over the last Tickle Me Elmo just because our children had asked Santa, and Santa was expected to deliver.  (That line never worked in my childhood, but somehow expectations have grown over the years.)

Loss of anticipation.  Despite the absence of a too-generous Santa, our children did not lack for presents and other reasons for looking forward to Christmas.  But they never experienced the long period of anticipation I remember.  In my childhood, the weeks between Thanksgiving and Chistmas  j-u-s-t  d-r-a-g-g-e-d.  Life is busier now, and children feel time flying in a way that was once only an adult curse.  Holiday stress has no age limits.

 Christmas parties.  Every organization or activity we or our children were involved in felt it necessary to have a Christmas party, complete with gift exchange, during the busiest and most expensive season of the year.  I don't know why:  the secular organizations had no need to celebrate Christmas, and the churches should have realized that Advent / Christmas Eve / Christmas / Epiphany worship services are a much better excuse for a celebration than "we have to have parties because everyone else does."  I realize that some people are energized by such events, but I could have drastically reduced my stress level by declining at least half of the Christmas events we were invited to.  I would much, much rather have baked and decorated cookies at home than attended parties, yet more often than not the latter squeezed out the better.

Christmas traditions.  Frankly, I don't have any answers here.  I still grieve over not having established our own family's holiday traditions, and for letting some treasures from my past fall by the wayside.  For years we celebrated Thanksgiving with my in-laws; after that, we joined my family's gathering at my sister's house.  Our children have wonderful memories of time spent with our extended families, which is of infinite value ... but no memories of Thanksgiving at home.  Christmastime was usually spent at our house, but always with company, usually my in-laws.  This was a great treasure, and I wouldn't trade it.  But it was also stressful, as we accommodated their desires (e.g. Santa Claus), and in the time crunch I dropped some of my own cherished Christmas traditions.  Why stress ourselves with making and decorating cookies (precious memories from my childhood) when we knew Grandma would bring piles of wonderful food with her?  This was one of the "if only I were more organized" stresses:  couldn't I have fit it all in, somehow?  Without a doubt, family is far more important (and fun) than a particular cookie tradition.  But there's still a loss, and a stress to deal with.

We've been part of our church's Christmas services for nearly as long as our kids have been alive, in some combination of childen's choir, adult choir, Christmas musicals, Scripture reading, and/or setup and takedown.  Overall this is a great thing, and I find it hard to "do congregation," especially in churches where congregations don't do all that much.  Active involvement is both educational and inspirational.  But it also has its losses and stresses, from missing the neighborhood Santa drive-by (small loss, I think, but the kids loved getting the candy he tosses); to staying up into the wee hours of Christmas morning finishing tasks, having returned from church well after midnight; to burdening our guests with the choice of (1) be at church with us for a long time, sometimes attending multiple services, (2) providing their own transportation (difficult when the church was a complicated 40-minute drive from home), or (3) staying home without us, whom they had come long distances to be with.  On the plus side, what with the exhuastion and staying up late, we rarely had to deal with early-rising children on Christmas morn.

Gift giving.  This deserves a post to itself, but I'll try to keep it short.  A gift, whether inexpensive or costly, can be a precious expression of love, or at least appreciation.  But there's no question gift giving can be a problem, even without Santa in the picture.

• For a long time I was embarrased about the number of gifts under our tree, but I've gotten over that.  Even though we had only two children, we always had visitors for Christmas to swell the present pile, and we have many generous relatives.  We also made a point of wrapping as gifts things most families probably just buy as a matter of course, such as clothing (yes, even underwear), educational materials, and other necessities of life, just because it's so much fun to watch people unwrap presents—and they were never ungrateful, not even for the underwear.  Most of the generous relatives were good about sending useful presents, too.
• The number of presents wasn't the only reason it took us all morning and most of the afternoon to open our gifts.  It was important to us to treasure each gift (even the underwear), so we opened gifts slowly, and two gifts were never opened at the same time, no matter how many people were in the room.  All attention was focused on one person, one gift.  I can't say strongly enough how wonderful this custom was for us.  Every gift was treasured, every giver thanked in person (or the gift carefully noted down if the giver was not present).  The ungrateful do not deserve gifts.  Thankfully, we never had to enforce this.
• Unfortunately, we were pretty bad about thank-you notes.  We almost always got them out, but much later than we should have.  I don't know why it was so difficult.  The children were truly thankful, but getting them (or, to be honest, myself) to put pen to paper was a battle.  But, really,  how hard can it be?  If I were doing it over, I'd include under the tree a special box of notecards for each child, and make a point of sitting down at the beginning of each subsequent day and writing one thank-you note.  Even with our generous family, they'd have been finished before Epiphany.  Let me add that, in these days of multiple means of communication, I wouldn't insist on hand-written, need-a-stamp notes, although those are always lovely to get.  But whether expressed through letter, e-mail, phone, Skype, SMS, IM, or Facebook, what the giver wants to know is:  Did the gift arrive?  Was it broken or defective in any way?  What do you like about it?  What don't you like about it?  Here is a great opportunity for a lesson in basic courtesy:  how to thank someone for his thoughtfulness and generosity while letting him know that at age 12 you really don't want any more pink elephant slippers.  Trust me, the giver has better things to do with his money than to give you presents you don't want.  And please, mention gifts individually.  "Thank you for the presents" meets the bare minimum requirements, but does not satisfy a loving and generous heart.
• If I were doing it again, I'd fret less about some of the gifts our children received that didn't fit well with our priorities and values.  There was never anything truly awful—though in my opinion, a Barbie doll comes close—but I don't think they were scarred for life by being given stick-on plastic earrings and play nail polish.  Relatives are good for expanding one's horizons.
• Charity gift catalogues (e.g. World Vision, Compassion, Heifer Project) are a gimmick, I know, but nonetheless a very effective and educational way to involve children in contributing to those in need.  And I think the donation of a goat, or a bicycle, or an anti-malaria bed net would be just perfect for those otherwise meaningless Christmas party gift exchanges.  I wouldn't go as far as this family (the same Ann Voskamp mentioned above) and have no gifts at all under the tree:  receiving gifts is not only a joy for children but also a lesson in thankfulness.  And anyway, what would we do without underwear?  But the basic concept is worth working into our gift-giving, one way or another.  Buy a few extra items to keep on hand during the year, too.  They won't spoil (you get a card; the gift has already been given) and you'll have an easy present to pull out when needed.
• When I read, years ago, about a woman who had all her Christmas shopping done before Thanksgiving, I knew I could never be so efficient.  Deadlines inspire me, but they must be real deadlines:  I'm no good at mentally determining to be done by a certain time if my gut knows I really have another two weeks.  But for the past several years, Thanksgiving has been a real deadline, because that's when our family gets together, and we all like to save on postage.  True, it's a soft deadline—I can and do still shop in December—but it's solid enough to spur me into action a month early.  It's an awesome feeling to go into December (and Advent) with much of the labor completed!
• What I really want to do is gather Christmas gifts slowly, all year 'round.  This is harder to do for children of a certain age, whose interest in a particular item may not be sustained from February to December, or for things that people might buy for themeselves in the interim.  But that still leaves a number of possibilities, from consumables (food, sandpaper, crayons) to items you know someone would love but would not treat himself to.
• We need to get over our embarrassment about homemade gifts.  Few things say love like something that takes time and effort rather than a credit card.  Homemade jam and hand-knit sweaters were always big hits at our house.  Just don't take anything homemade to a Christmas party gift exchange, where for reasons I still don't understand, mockery is frequently mistaken for humor.

What has helped—or hindered—your celebration of Christmas?

A phrase from George McDonald sums up how I'd like to approach this season of blessing and stressing.  Labor without perturbation, readiness without hurry, no haste and no hesitation.  For the visual thinkers and chart-minded among us, I've created a graph that I find helpful in determining whether or not a particular Christmas activity is worthwhile for me.

The y-axis, Duty, represents the importance of a project or activity, whether in my own mind or imposed by others; the x-axis, Delight, is a measure of the joy received as a result of my participation.  There is nothing mathematical about the placement of the adjectives within a quadrant; they are merely suggestive.

A given type of event may fit into any of the four quadrants.  For example, the Christmas party.

The first quadrant is all positive; this is where you want to be.  For me, it would be a small gathering of good friends, where we take our voices and various instruments on a carolling tour of the neighborhood, preferably on a still, quiet night with a few snowflakes falling.  Then we'd repatriate and warm up by a cheerful fire with cups of steaming cocoa and an assortment of snacks and cookies.  (Yes, I'm aware that I live in Florida.)  

Quadrant Two might be your office Christmas party, which you dread, but you know that if you don't show up—with a smile and a gag gift—your boss will consign you to the "not a team player" abyss.  Grit your teeth, take a good attitude with you, and please try to stay out of trouble.

The third quadrant is bad all around:  no fun and no good reason to be there.  Perhaps it's your church's production of The Young Messiah, served with Crystal Light lemonade and peanut butter cookies, which you know will distress your ears, your brain, your stomach, and your musical sensibilities.  You like to support church activities, but they're expecting an enthusiastic crowd of three hundred and you will not be missed.  Cross this one off your list with gratitude and a sigh of relief.

Quadrant Four is where you'll find the chocolate cake of life:  Not good for you, but not harmful in limited quantities.  Perhaps your neighbors are staging a back-to-back showing of your favorite Christmas television specials.  No one will be offended if you stay home, and you don't anticipate any benefit, not even a chance for conversation—no one but you appreciates pausing a show to discuss the philosophical implications of the Ghost of Christmas Present, or the symbolic significance of the Island of Misfit Toys—but you would love to see A Charlie Brown Christmas again.  The greatest danger with activities from this quadrant is that it is too easy to let them accumulate until they've multiplied stress by crowding out Quadrants One and Two.

I see the Ann Voskamp quotation as unrealistically one-dimensional:  Anything that is not in Quadrant One must be in Quadrant Three.  I suggest that the Christmas season, like life, cannot be reduced so neatly—not even to my two-dimensional analysis.  But in any case, a reasoned consideration of what contributes to a joyful celebration and what detracts should lead us in the direction of a

Merry Christmas!

Which is an appropriate activity for Advent.

— 1 —

Thanksgiving is one of my favorite holidays, but I wish we celebrated it in October, like the Canadians.  For one thing, winter weather would be much less likely to interfere with "over the river and through the woods to Grandmother's house we go."  Okay, in this case, it's Grandmother who does the travelling, but you get the point.  October is a better time to have a harvest festival, anyway.  And since the commercial interests have already declared that the entire last quarter of the year is the Christmas shopping season, they could kick it off with Thanksgiving the way they used to.

— 2 —

It's almost impossible to celebrate the succession of Advent, Christmas, and Epiphany in modern America.   Another benefit of moving Thanksgiving to October would be that it it would no longer step on Advent.  We almost always miss the solemn and lovely First Sunday in Advent because of our Thanksgiving travels.  Worse, it's difficult to concentrate on reflection, self-examination, repentence, and anticipation of Christ's return when everything around you—including most churches—is shouting, "Christmas!"  It's also unneighborly to be fasting when others invite you to a feast.

Then, when the anticipation has reached its height, and Christmas has been welcomed with bells on the midnight between December 24 and 25, and you are ready for a twelve-day-long celebration, the rest of the country stops caring.  Abruptly.  Around noon of the 25th.  The atmosphere becomes positively Grinchy.  Christmas trees, many having been decorated since before December began, are back in the attic, if not the trash, before Epiphany.  Epiphany?  What's that?  Perhaps one benefit of our growing Hispanic population will be a rebirth of the Three Kings holiday.

— 3 —

So, we compromise.  I'm thankful to be in a church that celebrates Advent, Christmas, and Epiphany.  But I do try not to be Grinchy myself, and to go along with this peculiar admixture of Advent and Christmas.  Unless we live in a cloistered community, it's unfriendly, not to mention quite against the spirit of the season—especially Epiphany—to shut ourselves off from our neighbors' joy.  Besides, we'd miss some of the best music of the year!

— 4 —

Christmas in the Park.  Every year on the first Thursday of December, the Morse Museum brings some of its beautiful Tiffany stained glass windows, along with the Bach Festival Choir, to nearby Central Park to celebrate Christmas.  For Morse members, this was preceded by a reception at the museum.  The food was good, but we recognized no one, not even the musicians.  Nonetheless, a woman came up to me and asked, "Do I know you?"  I couldn't place her at all, not that that means much, given my memory for names and faces.  But it was my brown and white sweatshirt she knew.  "Did you go to Westtown?  I graduated from Westtown, and so did my husband."  I explained that it was my nephews that went there, and I got the sweatshirt.  Amazing, I said, that we were talking about the same Westtown.  Drawing herself up, she replied, "There is only one Westtown."  Then she laughed, and added, "Only one brown-and-white, Quaker Westtown, anyway!"

After the reception we walked to the park, and met up with some friends we hadn't seen in a while.  It's a good thing we had cell phones, because the park was so packed with people we couldn't even get a good look at the famous windows, let alone find someone in the crowd.  The window depicted to the left is Christmas Eve, ca. 1902.  If God the Father looks a bit like Santa Claus, that's no coincidence:  the window was designed by the son of Thomas Nast.  There's some debate over who that figure is meant to be—it may be St. Nicholas—but I'm siding with those who call it a depiction of the Father, to complete the Trinity; it's hard to tell in this small view, but the Christ Child is holding a dove.)

It was a great concert, as outdoor performances go, beginning with standard carols and then branching into more interesting and lesser-known songs.  The audience was invited to sing along, and the four of us had a blast singing all the verses of our favorites.  We even did pretty well with the Hallelujah Chorus, although it's hard to keep track of the parts without music.  (We made a quartet:  soprano, alto, tenor, bass.)

Winter Park is as close to a European city as you can find around here.  Walking along, we were reminded of last year's Christmas adventure in Strasbourg, France—only more crowded and without the chance of slipping on the ice and sliding into a frigid river.

— 5 —

Advent Lessons and Carols.  Three days later, we were back in Advent, at the Cathedral Church of St. Luke.  Sadly, there are reasons we can't make that our home church, but it has the best music in town.  We sang not one contemporary "praise song," but instead:  Come, Thou Redeemer of the Earth; Creator of the Stars of Night; Hark! A Thrilling Voice Is Sounding; On Jordan's Bank the Baptist's Cry (second time that day); Sleepers Wake! and O Come, O Come, Emmanuel.  All verses, even of the last.  Interspersed with these were Scripture lessons and offerings from the choir that included works by Bach (Lord Christ, the Only Son of God), Palestrina (Advent Matins Responsory), Heinrich Biber (thee of his Rosary Sonatas), John Rutter (Nativity Carol), Javier Busto (Ave Maria), Peter Mathews (Pray for the Peace of Jerusalem), and Benjamin Lane (Advent Vespers Responsory), plus a spiritual (My Lord, What a Mornin'), a Medieval English Carol (There is No Rose), and more!

As an unplanned bonus, we met and sat with our favorite elementary school music teacher.  It was good to catch up with her.

— 6 —

Speaking of elementary school music, here's a version of Handel's Hallelujah Chorus from some fifth graders in Quinhagak, Alaska.  Since it was a computer project done by students, I can forgive the misplaced apostrophes, usually a pet peeve of mine.  (The teacher commented, "I now have a very teachable moment once we start school again.")  I wonder, however, what was the source of their text.  Can you spot the two interesting errors I found?

UPDATE 8/15/19:  At some point over time, the end of #6 and the beginning of #7 went missing.  I have no idea why.

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We will never forget.

A day that will live in infamy.

Forever is a long time.  How long will it be, I wonder, before the most recent unprovoked, surprise attack on American soil is as distant a memory as the one before?

I usually judge society's remembrance of an event by how often it is mentioned in the comic strips.  Back in 2006, BC and Mallard Fillmore were among the few that commemorated the day.  Today, I found none at all.

But a 70 year anniversary deserves recognition:  Today is, and will always be, Pearl Harbor Day.

— 1 —

(In)Security.  Here's another of the TED talks I accumulate from various places; unfortunately I no longer remember who to credit for the tip.  Security expert Bruce Schneier speaks on our models of security, our feelings of security, and why these often differ from the reality of our security.  I wish he had given more concrete examples, but it's still a good talk, especially at the beginning when he makes the point that all security decisions are tradeoffs, and the proper question to ask is not so much, "Does this make us safer?" as "Is it worth the cost?"  He's probably thinking about national and computer security, but the application that immediately jumps to my mind is parenthood.  Whether it's airport body scanners, tamper-proof bottles, or removing tall slides from playgrounds, it's important to realize that security—or even the illusion of security—comes at a cost.

UPDATE 8/15/19:  At some point over time, a large chunck of this post—numbers 2-7—went missing.  I have no idea why.  The video below obviously went with one of the missing posts.

For more Quick Takes, visit Conversion Diary!