Lift Up Your Hearts!

Information rushes at us with overwhelming speed and intensity; we lack the capacity to take it in, much less analyze it intelligently.  The stream washes over us, and much of it adheres to our subconscious minds without benefit of filter.

I hope to write soon about Joel Salatin's article, "The Human Touch in Food Is What We're Losing." I have enormous respect for Mr. Salatin and Polyface Farms, and don't want this to take away anything from the importance of what he says.  I know all too well how easy it is to make errors in writing followed by errors in editing and proofreading.

Nonetheless, while re-reading his article preparatory to writing the upcoming post, the following statement jumped out at me:

Of the 1.3 million farmers over age 65, only 300,000 are 35 or younger.

(I'm betting on a cut-and-paste error for that one; it happens to me a lot.)  After a moment's amusement, I realized it brought up a serious point, hence this post.  There are far more serious numerical errors that come our way, unchallenged.

That particular numerical nonsense was easy to catch, but mark that I only noticed it on my second reading.  And it was an easy mistake to see.  Most of the numbers that fly so confidently through our information stream are more difficult to verify, even if we have the time, ability, and will to attempt it.  Yet that doesn't stop whatever point those numbers are illustrating from staying with us.  Especially when they're picked up and quoted and requoted all around the Internet and the office watercooler.

What I tell you three times is true. — Lewis Carroll, The Hunting of the Snark

Christmas 2025 has come and gone, but I'm not waiting 11 months to share this fun peek at things you might not know about "A Charlie Brown Christmas." I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.

As you might guess, I'm one of the dinosaurs who remembers waiting eagerly for the one and only time slot of the year we could watch this show. Only in my case, it didn't matter whether Snoopy's doghouse was red or blue—not on our black and white television set.

As I've mentioned before, I've been enjoying going through (and digitizing, where possible) my father's old journals and letters. I particularly like coming upon examples of his sense of humor, which often relied on either exaggeration or understatement, or both. The following, from a mid-1988 letter, made me smile this morning.

Last Monday while I was carrying an ancient and defunct television set out to the trash, my back gave way. It was not a heavy load--certainly not more than 20 pounds--but even though I had no trouble getting it up the basement stairs and through the house, the problem came without warning as I was descending the front porch steps.

Over the next several days, interspersed with other news, Dad reported feeling fine enough to spade the garden, then feeling considerably worse, finally consulting a doctor and getting x-rays which revealed a compression fracture. He next visited an orthopedic specialist, who was not concerned about the x-ray results, since they showed only something minor that might have happened many years ago. Based on Dad's description, the doctor concluded that the problem was muscular, and prescribed "time and a heating pad." When Dad then asked what kind of activities he could could indulge in, the doctor replied, "Anything you want." For anyone reading this who knew my father, the alarm bells are now going off....

Dad did limit his activities to the extent that he did not go bungee jumping, nor bowling, the latter having landed him back in the hospital on a previous occasion when his surgeon had told him that he could "do anything you feel like doing." He did decide that that heavy gardening was still on the table, and paid for that the next day, but the orthopedic doctor was apparently right, and the references in his letters to his back petered out. In the end, he was left with the following conclusion:

I guess this confirms my feeling that television is bad for you. But on the other hand, if you have one, keep it.

I don't usually pay attention when Hollywood celebrities preach about issues unrelated to their own professions, and at my age, I've finally learned to take even the confident pronouncements of experts with a grain of salt. But as an old Star Trek fan, when I heard that Mr. Spock (aka Leonard Nimoy) was narrating a special on the climate crisis, I had to watch. It's 22 minutes long and worth seeing in its entirety.

If you're not frightened or angry, you may at least be amused.

The year was 1978. We had recently graduated from college, gotten married, and begun our careers. The year before, we had moved into our first house; the following year we would welcome our firstborn child. Life was good.

Little did we know that doom was on our doorstep.

Yesterday, January 6th, was the holy day of Epiphany, celebrating the revelation of God's Light to the Gentiles (the Three Wise Men) and marking the end of the Twelve days of Christmas.  Recently, however, some people have tried to appropriate that day for political purposes—Left and Right alike. 

I will have none of that!

Before dawn yesterday morning, I was up performing the ritual of Chalking the Door, a practice we ran into in Europe before spending a few years in a church that honored that custom.  We still have the chalk which was officially blessed in 2020.  It only gets used once a year, so we're not likely to outlive it.

Lord God of heaven and earth, you revealed your only begotten Son to every nation by the guidance of a star.  Bless this house and all who live here and all who visit.  May we be blessed with health, kindness of heart, gentleness and the keeping of your law.  Fill us with the light of Christ, that our love for each other may go out to all.  We ask this through Christ our Lord.  Amen.

It is Epiphany.  The Twelve Days of the Christmas Season are ended. And yet I will honor their departure with one more Christmas post.

I hope you enjoy this setting of the poem "Noël,"  written by J. R. R. Tolkien in 1936, rediscovered in 2013, and revealed to me by a fellow lover of the Good, the True, and the Beautiful.

In 2025 I read 35 books, among my lowest annual totals and less than half 2024's count. I know of no particular reason for that, unless it is that six of the books were by Brandon Sanderson; dropping one of his books on your foot could send you to the emergency room. But some years are just like that: You get extra busy, other things take higher priority, there's a different mix of easy reading and that which takes more time and effort. I am content, although I do hope to read more in 2026.

The statistics:

• Books read this year: 35 (average 2.9 per month) 
• Total books read since 2010: 1067
• Total unique books (not counting multiple readings since 2010): 914
• Fiction: 26 (74%)
• Non-fiction: 8 (23%)
• Other: 1 (3%)
• Months with most books: September (7)
• Month with fewest books: February, March, and April tied (1)
• Authors read most frequently: Laura Ingalls Wilder (9), Brandon Sanderson (6), J. R. R. Tolkien (4), S. D. Smith (3)

Here's the list, sorted by title. The ratings (★) and warnings (☢) are on a scale from 1 to 5, with 1 being the lowest/mildest. Warnings, like the ratings, are highly subjective and reflect context, perceived intended audience, and my own biases. They may be for sexual content, language, violence, worldview, or anything else that I find objectionable. Nor are they completely consistent; your mileage may vary.

There are Lies, Damned Lies, and Statistics.

Here's a very interesting, 14-minute video that sheds light on one reason Americans are so unhealthy: It's not that they've gotten sicker; it's that we're discovering things wrong with them that would never have hurt them in the past. Perhaps Americans in general really are less healthy than we once were, but the misuse of medical statistics is no way to prove that, nor to treat it.

It's worth your 14 minutes, despite a few bizarre misreadings of the script, and one word that somehow slipped through the profanity filter.

Pay special attention to the problem of overaggressive treatment that is encouraged by early detection of problems that would have been better left alone. I speak here from personal experience: My mother-in-law was saved from the trauma, expense, and harmful side effects of aggressive treatment of a cancerous mass only because she had something more urgently wrong that needed to be dealt with first. By the time she was ready for the cancer treatment, the mass had disappeared completely on its own.