Lift Up Your Hearts!

I'm inclined to believe that any comfort angels have to offer comes after the terror part. And that's probably a good thing.

At Heather's suggestion, I am now reading Hidden Figures: The American Dream and the Untold Story of the Black Women Mathematicians Who Helped Win the Space Race, by Margot Lee Shetterly. We'd enjoyed the movie version very much, but so far the book is orders of magnitude better. Especially if you don't mind a bit of math and the technical aspects of airplanes and flight. Even if you do, it's a well-written story, and it covers so much more than the movie.

I'm a third of the way through the book, and have just now reached the point of Sputnik. It would be hard for the story to get more interesting, however, at least for me. I see in the stories of WWII-era female mathematicians, black and white, a possible glimpse into that stage of my own mother's life, of which I know very little. She graduated in math from Duke University in 1946, and worked as an Engineering Assistant at General Electric for a few years after that.

There's enough to say about my mother's story to warrant its own post, so it will have to wait. In the meantime, here's an excerpt of one of my favorite tales from the book.

For Katherine, being selected to rotate through Building 1244, the kingdom of the fresh-air engineers, felt like an unexpected bit of fortune, however temporary the assignment might prove to be. She had been elated simply to sit in the pool and calculate her way through the data sheets assigned by Mrs. Vaughan. But being sent to sit with the brain trust located on the second floor of the building meant getting a close look at one of the most important and powerful groups at the laboratory. Just prior to Katherine’s arrival, the men who would be her new deskmates, John Mayer, Carl Huss, and Harold Hamer, had presented their research on the control of fighter airplanes in front of an audience of top researchers, who had convened at Langley for a two-day conference on the latest thinking in the specialty of aircraft loads.

With just her lunch bag and her pocketbook to take along, Katherine “picked up and went right over” to the gigantic hangar, a short walk from the West Computing office. She slipped in its side door, climbed the stairs, and walked down a dim cinderblock hallway until she reached the door labeled Flight Research Laboratory. Inside, the air reeked of coffee and cigarettes. Like West Computing, the office was set up classroom-style. There were desks for twenty. Most of the people in the space were men, but interspersed among them a few women consulted their calculating machines or peered intently at slides in film viewers. Along one wall was the office of the division chief, Henry Pearson, with a station for his secretary just in front. The room hummed with pre-lunch activity as Katherine surveyed it for a place to wait for her new bosses. She made a beeline for an empty cube, sitting down next to an engineer, resting her belongings on the desk and offering the man her winning smile. As she sat, and before she could issue a greeting in her gentle southern cadence, the man gave her a silent sideways glance, got up, and walked away.

This is where my brain threw an interrupt, and I paused in my reading. I'm willing to bet that my reaction was quite different from that of most people reading about the encounter. The obvious response is to label the engineer a racist, sexist bigot—of which there are certainly many examples in the book. But what I saw in his reaction was not a bigot, but an engineer.

The people at Langley were not just engineers, mathematicians, and physicists; they were some of the brightest of their species in the country. That kind of intelligence is often accompanied by what in my day we called "quirkiness." I know that not all engineers are alike, any more than all black female mathematicians are alike. But I know something about engineers. There are five generations of engineers in my family, and a goodly number of mathematicians. My father was a mechanical engineer with a master's degree in physics, and he worked for the General Electric Company's research laboratory in Schenectady, New York. With its abundance of mathematicians, physicists, and above all engineers, living in Schenectady was in its heyday like living in Silicon Valley or Seattle today. And no doubt much like the world of the the Langley Memorial Aeronautical Laboratory in Hampton, Virginia. It was the air I breathed, the water I swam in. It wasn't until we moved to Philadelphia's Main Line when I was in high school that I encountered a broader world.

So when I read of the encounter between Katerhine and the engineer, here's what I saw: Not the clash of race, sex, or social position, but this: An engineer is sitting by himself in his own world, working on a project, his thoughts very far away, when another person unexpectedly invades his space, looks right at him, smiles, and even makes eye contact. His concentration is broken, his train of thought is derailed, and he flees to safer territory. Or maybe not—but that's the scenario as I imagined it.

The real story is better.

Katherine watched the engineer disappear. Had she broken some unspoken rule? Could her mere presence have driven him away? It was a private and unobtrusive moment, one that failed to dent the rhythm of the office. But Katherine’s interpretation of that moment would both depend on the events in her past and herald her future. Bemused, Katherine considered the engineer’s sudden departure. The moment that passed between them could have been because she was black and he was white. But then again, it could have been because she was a woman and he was a man. Or maybe the moment was an interaction between a professional and a subprofessional, an engineer and a girl.

Outside the gates, the caste rules were clear. Blacks and whites lived separately, ate separately, studied separately, socialized separately, worshipped separately, and, for the most part, worked separately. At Langley, the boundaries were fuzzier. Blacks were ghettoed into separate bathrooms, but they had also been given an unprecedented entrée into the professional world. Some of Goble’s colleagues were Yankees or foreigners who’d never so much as met a black person before arriving at Langley. Others were folks from the Deep South with calcified attitudes about racial mixing. It was all a part of the racial relations laboratory that was Langley, and it meant that both blacks and whites were treading new ground together. The vicious and easily identifiable demons that had haunted black Americans for three centuries were shape-shifting as segregation began to yield under pressure from social and legal forces. Sometimes the demons still presented themselves in the form of racism and blatant discrimination. Sometimes they took on the softer cast of ignorance or thoughtless prejudice. But these days, there was also a new culprit: the insecurity that plagued black people as they code-shifted through the unfamiliar language and customs of an integrated life.

Katherine understood that the attitudes of the hard-line racists were beyond her control. Against ignorance, she and others like her mounted a day-in, day-out charm offensive: impeccably dressed, well-spoken, patriotic, and upright, they were racial synecdoches, keenly aware that the interactions that individual blacks had with whites could have implications for the entire black community. But the insecurities, those most insidious and stubborn of all the demons, were hers alone. They operated in the shadows of fear and suspicion, and they served at her command. They would entice her to see the engineer as an arrogant chauvinist and racist if she let them. They could taunt her into a self-doubting downward spiral, causing her to withdraw from the opportunity that Dr. Claytor had so meticulously prepared her for.

But Katherine Goble had been raised not just to command equal treatment for herself but also to extend it to others. She had a choice: either she could decide it was her presence that provoked the engineer to leave, or she could assume that the fellow had simply finished his work and moved on. Katherine was her father’s daughter, after all. She exiled the demons to a place where they could do no harm, then she opened her brown bag and enjoyed lunch at her new desk, her mind focusing on the good fortune that had befallen her.

Within two weeks, the original intent of the engineer who walked away from her, whatever it might have been, was moot. The man discovered that his new office mate was a fellow transplant from West Virginia, and the two became fast friends.

So much of Grace's story is about waiting for news. This time, it was for the results of an all-day assessment at Dartmouth last Wednesday, including EKG, MRI, regular oncology checkup, ophthalmology and audiology. Short story: All great news!

Back story: From the beginning, Grace was compliant and helpful about wearing her hearing aid. But two or three weeks ago, she started to balk, saying that God was healing her ear so she didn't need it anymore. Anecdotal evidence indicated that her hearing had, indeed, improved, and you can see from the report below that the audiologist agreed. [For the one person reading this who knows what the numbers mean, they went from 38 to 80.] So instead of getting fitted for a permanent hearing aid as planned (to replace the rented one), they were told that if she doesn't want to wear one, she doesn't need to!

Grace could also teach us adults about how to deal with getting an MRI: It took her about 60 seconds after getting into the machine to fall asleep.

Here's the overall report, excerpted from Heather's post.

Wednesday's many tests all went well. The MRI showed shrinkage of the tumor, especially around the ear canal (less so in the cheek/salivary gland.) The hearing test confirmed Grace's attestation that her right ear is significantly improved. Her eyes are still perfect. Her heart is also good, no changes.

So we praise and thank God for these results. And continue to pray for the tumor to shrink to nothing and for no side effects from the selumetinib. She occasionally has diarrhea, but one half dose of Imodium every couple of weeks is enough to keep it at bay. The nutritionist also gave us a list of binding foods that had more in it than the classic banana that Grace is kind of tired of. (:

Deo Gratias!

The article is a mix of humor and serious commentary. It uses satire to make a broader point about constitutional literacy and the dangers of politicizing legal interpretation. While it’s clearly written from a particular ideological perspective, it raises a valid concern: that Americans of all political stripes should ground their arguments in the actual text and structure of the Constitution, rather than in partisan reflexes.

That's what Microsoft's Copilot had to say when I showed it my What Part of Commander-in-Chief... post.

I think I'm going to have Copilot write my reviews. I'm told AI has learned how to lie, how to deceive, how to ignore instructions, and as I've said before it has learned how to flatter, and also to dig in its heels and shout "NO!" as well as any toddler. AI may turn out to be more like humans than we intend....

For another of the numerous projects that overflow my cup of time, I was perusing my post of almost a decade ago, A Dickens of a Drink, in which I lament the loss of a favorite drink from the old Kay's Coach House restaurant in Daytona Beach. Although the kindly bartender responded to our family's enthusiasm and my youthful pleas by writing out the recipe, I was never able to acquire many of the ingredients. Even today, with Google and the vast resources of the Internet to help, a search for "Bartender's Coconut Mix" brings up only a sponsored handful of coconut liqueurs—and my own post. Cherry juice was not something available in grocery stores back then, and I'd never heard of grenadine.

As I have occasionally been doing recently, as part of my AI Adventures, I asked Copilot to analyze the text of my old post. As part of its response, it asked, "Would you like help modernizing the Tiny Tim recipe for today’s ingredients?" What an idea! Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained, and here's what it came up with (click image to enlarge):

I am looking forward to trying this out on a smaller scale. I'm sure I can find all the ingredients. A quick reflection makes me question some of the proportions, but it's a great place to start. Maybe that's what an AI tool should be all about: Begin with a well-researched base, then add the human element (experiment and taste) to make it real.

Based on the last time I read through our Constitution, I'd say the Babylon Bee is spot on here: Democrats Outraged After Court Rules Commander-In-Chief Of Armed Forces Can Command Armed Forces. (Article II, Section 2) The headline says it all, but here's an excerpt from the article:

Democratic leaders said that the ruling was a clear and present threat to American democracy and they feared for the future of a country where the person in charge of things could actually be in charge of things.

"This is an extremely dangerous precedent for the court to set," said Senator Cory Booker. "There is no way that the president should be allowed to exercise his constitutional authority to tell the U.S. Armed Forces what to do, as though he were somehow their highest-ranking commanding officer. These activist judges are trying to make Trump out to be some type of president or something."

At publishing time, Democrats were so outraged by Trump's overreach that they threatened to impeach the president for acting as the president.

I'll admit it is somewhat amusing, if also disturbing, that our natural tendency is to assume that an action—be it legislation, court ruling, or presidential initiative—must be unconstitutional because we disagree with it.

In this we all embody the quote attributed to Supreme Court Justice Thurgood Marshall: "The Constitution is what I say it is." (As far as I can tell, he didn't actually use those words, but they are a pretty accurate précis of his more nuanced position.)

I highly recommend reading the entire U. S. Constitution, including the Bill of Rights and other Amendments, at least once a year, to keep it fresh in our minds. For such a monumental document, it is surprisingly short, and takes only about half an hour to read through.

The RobWords YouTube channel is often interesting, but this one will resonate strongly with some of my readers, who have long known that babies are geniuses, and not just in language. It starts out basic, but then gets into some fascinating cutting-edge research, such as 

• Babies in the womb can tell the difference between one language and another.
• Four-month-old babies can tell different languages apart without hearing them, by watching the speaker's lips.
• Babies use a complex statistical process to figure out word boundaries.
• Children figure out grammar patterns before age two, e.g. children brought up in an English-speaking environment have by then already learned that word order is important.

Two questions this short explanation raises in my mind:

• What does the importance of lip-watching in language development mean for children born blind, and for those whose view of the speaker's lips was obscured during that critical time by a face mask? (I know a speech therapist who was exceedingly frustrated by trying to work with children who could not see her mouth thanks to COVID restrictions.)
• For babies to learn words, then phrases, then sentences may be the most common pattern, but I find fascinating that one of our grandchildren—whose speech and grasp of language is top-notch—did the process in reverse, i.e. to all appearances, he learned complete sentences first, then figured out how to break them down into smaller parts.