Lift Up Your Hearts!

Don't you just love it when an otherwise obscure reference clicks in your mind?

First, one of my favorite non-family blogs, The Occasional CEO, has a post entitled Steampunk in Pictures.  Steampunk, Wikipedia tells me, is a subgenre of science fiction.  Wait—I cut my teeth on science fiction, and I'd never heard of it?  Turns out steampunk came of age during the 1980's and 90's, when our kids were cutting their teeth and I was too busy to keep up with that part of my former life.

But then, just this morning, I learned that my nephews' writing teacher will be leading a class on steampunk.

Then on the way home from church I heard part of A Prairie Home Companion^*, which was being broadcast from New York City.  Garrison Keillor, describing the crowds at Times Square, reported that city locals were not there, but rather were at—and here he named several other places, including "the Christmas shops at Bryant Park."  That would have passed by me into obscurity just like all the other places he mentioned, except that last December I had passed by Bryant Park twice a day while doing research at the New York Public Library, and had seen those very shops—along with the portable ice skating rink and other magical sights of the season.

This phenomenon, that the more we know, the more we are aware, the more we learn—and often, the more we like—is a big reason why I believe even very young children should have the opportunity to encounter as many of the good things in this world as possible, from hearing new languages to making pancakes to looking at pictures of great art to any number of other wonderful things.  When it comes to knowledge, from the vital to the trivial, "to everyone who has, more will be given."

It is fitting to end my November Thanksgivings with gratitude for a wonderful visit with family and a safe journey home.  Despite Heather’s prediction that I would post more about our activities than she would, you’re not likely to hear much about them.  I was too busy living the adventure to write about it.¹  Of yesterday’s voyage from Pittsburgh to Orlando I have much to say, and the illusion of time to say it.

It was a long day—nearly 16 hours door-to-door—but I can’t complain as Porter still had some 13 more hours to travel after I was safe in our own house.  If it weren’t for the final blow from JetBlue, I wouldn’t have minded at all.

Perhaps the beginning of the trip was a portent, as we began by brushing the first, wet snow of the season off the car.²  Traffic was bad but the driving fine on the way to the airport, and there was no line at either of our check-in counters, so we had plenty of time.  The security line was by far the longest I’ve experienced in Pittsburgh, but short by Orlando standards, and neither of us had to make the body scanner/pat down choice.

All too soon we had to go to our separate gates, but kept in touch by SMS:

many flights out of nyc canceled³

mine ok so far

delayed to 10:40

our plane just landed.  praying for your connections

ours not here yet

on plane

me too

Remind me not to schedule non-direct flights during the winter if possible.  I was flying through New York City instead of directly home to Orlando because I was taking a free trip Porter had earned by being bumped from a JetBlue flight earlier in the year.  If it weren’t for the most important part—I got to my destination and home again safely—I might be tempted to say the flights were worth the cost.⁴

Flights out of JFK airport were delayed and cancelled left and right…but not the one flight I wanted to be delayed:  my 12:30 New York – Orlando leg.  I must say that JetBlue got me to New York in time to catch the flight, had we not been so far above the airport at boarding time.

When we finally were allowed to land, I remarked that if I had wanted a thrill ride I could have stayed at home in Orlando.  One of the airport employees later described the weather as a monsoon and a tornado combined.  In Florida we’d call that a hurricane, but whatever it was, that’s what it looked (and felt) like from the airplane, too.

Safe on the ground—not without a cheer and a communal sigh of relief from the passengers—I sped out of the plane hoping that my connecting flight had been delayed at least as much as we had, but it was no longer on the display board.  I noted that the next flight to Orlando was currently boarding, so I sprinted from Gate 6 to Gate 17 to pant for a seat.  No go.  Well, no go for me.  As it turned out, they had room for my luggage, though I would later learn that the price it paid for the privilege was not one I would be willing to pay for myself.

I almost didn’t mind the delay, however, because I received one more SMS from Porter:

 just made the narita flight, got my first jog in in 2 weeks

Better him than me, by far.  If he’d missed that connection, his next chance wouldn’t have been until the following day.

Another sprint—or rather, a fast walk, as there was plenty of time before the next Orlando flight—brought me to the “Just Ask” desk, where the friendly and apparently helpful agent listened to my story and quickly printed me a new boarding pass.  I walked away, very impressed with JetBlue’s service.⁵

That good feeling lasted just long enough for me to get to the gate and be told that my boarding pass was not a ticket, just a placeholder on the standby list for a completely full flight.  Still, the gate agent was fairly encouraging, as if he expected several of the “already checked in” passengers to disappear at the last moment.

Being on standby pretty much tied me to the gate area, as I wanted to be available at a moment’s notice.  In fact, everyone was told to stay in the gate area, since flight statuses were changing with a fairly regular randomness.  Not that this kept me from getting my exercise:  the gate changed from 14 to 5, pretty much as far as you can go in the JetBlue area.  Presumably this was because the plane we were to take to Orlando was now coming into Gate 5 instead of Gate 14, so we were hopeful that we⁶ might soon be on our way. 

Just kidding.  I dutifully re-told my story to the new gate agent and settled in with the crowd, but after much more waiting and wondering, we were informed that “our” plane had been diverted to Atlantic City.  Fitting, I suppose.  Air travel in winter is always a gamble.

I had asked the agent at Gate 5 if it wouldn’t be better to get a confirmed seat on a later flight than to take my chances with a sold-out flight that piled delay upon delay, but she told me to stick with the standby.  The Atlantic City diversion sent me back to Just Ask for a second opinion.  The agent there confirmed that the later flight was also full—but that a few seats had opened up on my standby flight, and he would confirm me on it.  Hallelujah!  I wish the gate agent had been willing to do the same, but in all fairness she was mighty busy, and it did take 10 minutes and a phone call or two to make it happen.

But happen it did, and clutching my confirmed boarding pass I pulled up a square of carpet near an electrical outlet and sat down for the first time in hours.⁷  I finally felt secure enough to relax and pull out my computer, but alas, those waiting for posted updates did not get any, as for reasons still unknown I could make neither the gate-area wi-fi nor our air card work.  I soon repacked the computer and resumed standing—the floor was cold and hard.

At last our plane escaped from New Jersey, and even managed to land without another gate change.  We boarded and were soon in the air and on our way home.

Flights to Orlando are unique in that the pre-boarding line, which includes those travelling with young children, can fill up much of the plane before anyone else gets on board.  Amazingly, although a baby or two cried occasionally, and one two-year-old with a high-pitched scream was set off ‘way too many times, the children were incredibly well-behaved for having been cooped up in an airport for most of the day.  Not that this stopped one nearby passenger from complaining, loudly and rudely.  I would guess he was in his mid-20’s, but even the two-year-old with the nails-on-blackboard screech was more mature than he.

Even more amazingly, he was the only rude and immature person I encountered.  The camaraderie of shared difficulty mostly seemed to make people friendlier. We talked, we joked, we helped one another.  I’ve had less fun at parties!⁸

Three hours later, the plane touched down at good ol’ MCO.  We cheered, we packed up our belongings, we retrieved our luggage from the overhead bins.  We waited patiently for the exit line to start moving.  And waited.  And waited.  The jetway at our gate was broken, and all other gates were occupied.  After much effort and failure, the proper mechanic was sent for, but his efforts were equally fruitless.  At last another gate opened.  Thanks no doubt to the same regulations that require us to learn on every flight how to fasten and unfasten a seat belt, we couldn’t moved until all the luggage was restowed in the overhead bins, and all the passengers back—and belted—in their seats.  Thus protected, we made our way—at an altitude of 0 feet above the ground and at a speed slower than I can run—around the corner to our new gate, and deplaned at last.  Even so, everyone but the aforementioned rude young man was cheerful and patient.  My neighbor did refer to this delay as the final blow, and I told her to wait to say that until she had her luggage in her hand.  Sometimes my prescience astonishes me.

Cheerfully I hauled my heavy backpack and heavier duffle bag across the airport to baggage claim, where I searched in vain for my suitcase.  It should have been easy to spot, with its 1992 Sunshine State Pow-wow patches and bright red Towers-Perrin strap, but bag after bag went by, and I reluctantly had to admit mine was not among them.  At the JetBlue baggage desk I was astonished to find that they could not tell me if it had made it onto the plane.⁹  I did, however, find it myself, in a small group of orphaned bags from previous flights.

My rejoicing was short-lived.  The bag was canted at an odd angle, and refused to come along when I pulled.  The cause of this recalcitrance was not hard to discern:  the wheels—both of them—had been Snapped. Clean. Off.

Back to the baggage desk line I went, only to be told, “They don’t cover wheels and handles.”  I ask you, does the above look like normal wear and tear?  Having had my bag badly mangled on a previous trip, I took especial care to pack this one completely full and in a way calculated to minimize problems.  And it worked—the body of the bag came through in fine shape.  Perhaps I shouldn’t have been so diligent, as if they’d bashed the body they would have acknowledged the claim.  But then the contents might have been damaged, and so far all looks well in that department.  The bag, however—our one remaining of that size not damaged beyond usefulness—is a total loss.  The clerk said I could file a “courtesy claim,” but when pressed admitted that it would make no difference whatsoever.  Mindful of the hour and my kind neighbors who had been waiting a long time for me, I said good night.  But for the record, whatever JetBlue claims for its successful baggage handling, their statistics are off by at least one bag.

Did I mention kind neighbors?  We have the best!  My original plan had been to take the bus home from the airport and walk the mile and a half home.  When I ended up bringing home the extra 48-pound bag, my revised plan was to ask our neighbors to pick me up at the bus stop and save me the half-hour walk with heavy luggage.  However, as my chances of getting into Orlando at a decent hour grew slimmer and slimmer—and the odds of my getting to the bus stop after midnight greater and greater—I went for Plan C and asked for a ride from the airport.  This is no small favor, the airport being 45 minutes away, but as I said, they are great neighbors and came to my rescue.  Given the baggage situation, it was a much greater rescue than any of us knew—dragging the wheel-less bag the 50 feet to their car was difficult enough. I think we owe them Outback dinners for the rest of the year.

On the way home, after I told my baggage story, they—seasoned travelers themselves—remarked that these days you almost have to look on luggage as a disposable item.  Perhaps they’re right:  We reuse plastic cutlery, zip-lock bags, and yoghurt containers until they give out, but don’t mourn overmuch when they do.  I’m pretty sure some of our yoghurt containers have lasted longer than the dearly departed suitcase, but then again, they never had to go through the airline baggage system.

Adventures or misadventures, all in all it was a great trip.  I’m glad to be home, and thankful for all the wonderful people who made it enjoyable from beginning to end.

The older I get, the easier it is to give in to the habit of grumbling.  It's not easy to watch the world go to hell in a handbasket without complaint, and it’s part of the necessary wisdom of the elders to make the younger generations aware of what they are in danger of losing.  But too much of that attitude is unhealthy.  It’s bad for society and worse for the individual.  What, then, could be a better choice for my November New Year’s resolution than to cultivate a habit of thanksgiving?

Some of my favorite Bible verses are related to an attitude of thanksgiving.

Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.  (Philippians 4:6)

Rejoice always, pray continually, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.  (1 Thessalonians 5: 16-18)

For everything God created is good, and nothing is to be rejected if it is received with thanksgiving.   (1 Timothy 4:4)

The Bible also warns against grumbling, it being one of Israel’s troublesome sins.

Do not grumble, as some of them did—and were killed by the destroying angel.  (1 Corinthians 10:10)

Most of my resolutions have come to me well in advance of my 8^th of the month deadline, but this one, despite the clarity of the choice once it was made, did not.  It was especially interesting, therefore, to see how quickly after I made the decision I started seeing confirmation everywhere.  Not that I should have been surprised—‘tis the season of Thanksgiving!

The latest Christianity Today includes an essay on gratitude by Mollie Ziegler Hemingway; unfortunately it is not yet available online.  Hemingway makes the point, quoting Cicero, that “Gratitude is not only the greatest of virtues, but the parent of all the others.”  She also provides a serious antidote to my statement above that it's not easy to watch the world go to hell in a handbasket without complaint.

Consider German pastor Martin Rinckart, who served a town that became a refuge for political and military fugitives during the Thirty Years War.  The situation in Eilenburg was bad even before the Black Plague arrived in 1637.  One pastor fled.  Rinckart buried another two on the same day.  The only pastor remaining, he conducted funeral services for as many as 50 people a day and 4,490 within one year.

Yet Rinckart is best known for writing, in the midst of the war, the great hymn that triumphantly proclaims this:

Now thank we all our God,

with heart and hands and voices

Who wonderous things has done,

in whom this world rejoices;

Who from our mothers’ arms

has blessed us on our way

With countless gifts of love,

and still is ours today.

We sang that powerful hymn—in both English and the original German—at Janet and Stephan’s wedding, and I’ve long appreciated it, but I did not until now know its history.  You can learn more about it, hear the traditional tune to which it is sung, and view the words in German, at NetHymnal.

On the lighter side, Hemingway’s essay also alerted me to this video on grumbling in the midst of plenty.  Apparently it has been viral online for over a year, but if I’d never seen it, probably some of my readers haven’t either.  As modern comedy goes, it’s not terribly offensive, but neither is it grandchild safe.  It does, however, fit well with this resolution, and perfectly wtih my Good New Days series.

Developing an attitude of thanksgiving will take much practice, hence the title of this resolution.

Progress Report

I've taken to reading my list of resolutions out loud at the start of every day.  It does help keep me thinking about them.

#1  Read More Books  I'm doing even better here than I expected.  I've already met my year's goal of one book per week, and am only three books short of meeting the outside-chance, five-per-month (on average) goal that I thought was very unlikely even a month ago.  Next year I plan to revisit and analyze each resolution, but here's a preview for this one:  I'm convinced that the reason I've been so successful here is largely due to the fact that it is the only one of my resolutions that is easily quantifiable and measurable.

#2  Rediscover Feasting  I'll say one thing for Fasting Wednesdays—they certainly make me appreciate the other days of the week!  That said, I'm finally getting to the point where I can do without food for a day without thinking much about not eating.  That's a big step forward for me.

#3  Learn to Relax  I've been reading Into the Silent Land:  A Guide to the Christian Practice of COntemplation (that will be a link once I post my review) and while it's a difficult book, it has already helped me some here.

#4  Like More Things  Last month I reported learning to enjoy running.  This still needs some work before it's really "mine."  On the other hand, I think I'm solidly a fan of honey now.  There are still some forms I'm not that fond of—unfortunately, they tend to be the most common ones, like clover, which accounts for my heretofore lifelong averson—but our local beekeepers, Winter Park Honey, have taught me that I like far more varieties than I dislike:  raspberry (my hands-down favorite), blackberry, tupelo, Florida wildflower, avocado, fireweed ... who'd have thought varieties of honey could be so different, and so good?

On the non-food front, I'm learning to apply my Swiss laundry lesson to other chores:  Don't resent the time they take, don't rush to get them over and done with, don't even try to make them into a game, or to use the time for other purposes (composing essays, listening to books on tape).  Cultivate instead an appreciation for the task itself:  the dance-like rhythms of housecleaning, the feel of a baby's soft skin when changing diapers, the pleasure of physical exertion while shoveling snow, the satisfaction of watching words arrange themselves into a coherent paragraph, the deep forest scent on one's hands after pulling weeds.

#5  Pay Attention  Techniques from Into the Silent Land have thus far helped more here than with #3.  The idea of calmly, patiently, consistently and without self-reproach bringing the mind back to its proper focus of attention has been particularly useful.  It reminds me of a loving mother, helping her child learn to resist the temptation to grab a forbidden object by gently, but persistently, moving the child's hand back to where it belongs.

#6  Cast Away Fear  Believe it or not, Into the Silent Land seems to have applicability here, too.  I wish it were an easier book to understand!

#7  Talk Less, Listen More  It's funny, but when Porter is away I find myself taking over some of "his" regular conversations, such as with the folks who sit next to us at concerts, and certain people at church.  This involves both talking and listening more.

#8  Enjoy Spontaneity  I haven't written my planned GTD update yet, because I'm not nearly as far along in the process as I would like.  But in October I discovered that I've made more progress than I thought.  Thanks to having clearly spelled out for me what needed to be done before we could leave, and what could wait, I was able to enjoy our nearly spontaneous trip to Miami.  That's quite a change for me.

#9  End with the Beginning in Mind  Not much to report here, because of falling behind with GTD, but when I do manage to set things up for the morrow before going to bed, the next day always goes better.

#10  Care More about Other People—and Less about What They Think  I'm working on this—but as I said in #1, it's easier to report (and to make) progress when it's more quantifiable.

Taking a slight diversion from my Good New Days series, today I am thankful for cooler weather.  Fall has been terribly late in coming this year.  In our early years in Florida we sometimes turned the furnace on at the end of September—those  were the days when Climate Change meant the series of unusually cold winters that destroyed the citrus industry in Central Florida—but this year we needed the air conditioning right through the end of October.

But for the last few days I have been able to enjoy wearing jeans again.  I have put a blanket on the bed and dug out my winter pajamas.  Lows in the mid-40’s and highs in the mid-60’s, with bright sunshine and a pleasant reduction in the humidity:  that’s my kind of weather.  It makes me feel alive, and happy for no particular reason at all.

This morning when I woke up, the inside temperature was 60 degrees.  Normally that's cause to turn on the furnace, but by Wednesday we’re supposed to be back up into the 80’s.  So for now I’m thankful for the joy of wrapping cold fingers around a hot cup of tea.  I may even break out the oatmeal for breakfast, and enjoy a steaming hot cup of cocoa!

Stella Sung: The Phoenix Rising
Chausson: Poème
Tchaikovsky: Romeo & Juliet
Vaughan Williams: The Lark Ascending
Stravinsky: The Firebird

This concert was pure pleasure.  Five gorgeous works, two new and three old favorites.  Plus I found a new and much easier way home. 

New Year’s Resolution #8 was “Enjoy Spontaneity.”  This is far from my natural inclination; I like plenty of warning, and generally agree with the old Holiday Inn commercial that “the best surprise is no surprise.”

Actually, that’s not completely true.  Surprises can be nice.  But my idea of a great “surprise getaway,” for example, runs along these lines:  “Hey, honey!  I have a great idea for a weekend adventure and I want it to be a surprise for you.  Is your schedule clear for three weeks from now?  You would need to pack clothing both for hiking and for eating in moderately nice restaurants, and also a warm jacket.”  That gets me a mystery adventure where someone else has done all the planning, and yet I can plan for it.

Fun, but hardly a model of spontaneity.  So you will see that our trip to Miami last week was really quite spontaneous, for me.

I did have a little warning:  We had known for a few weeks that Porter would have business at the Thai Consulate in Coral Gables, and—noting that the consulate is not far from the Miami Library—I had spent a little time planning some genealogical research.  But the paperwork moved so slowly we had long since given up the idea of combining business with pleasure this month.

Then, suddenly, Porter got the green light Wednesday evening, and we had to go the next day because of the consulate’s working hours.  There were hotel and rental car reservations to be made, sight-seeing to be planned, maps to be printed, paperwork to gather, research to be organized, and packing to do.  GTD really helped, as I was able to know what of Thursday and Friday’s work needed to be done before we left, and what could wait till our return.

We left early Thursday afternoon, arriving at our hotel in time to enjoy a walk on the beach before sunset.  The only thing I knew about the famous South Beach was that it had a diet named after it, so I'll admit I was shocked to find that our "beachfront" hotel was in the middle of the city and had no parking whatsoever.  I’m not used to valet parking and was rather nervous about turning the keys to our brand-new rental car (we started the trip with 46 miles on the odometer!) over to some stranger.  But it worked out all right.

The Doubletree Surfcomber turned out to be a fine hotel, and we had only to leave the grounds and cross a lovely pedestrian/bike path to get to the beach.  Once there, I received my second surprise:  I was expecting wall-to-wall sunbathers, hawkers, and a littered beach.  Perhaps that is true in the middle of the day, but in the early evening there were but a handful of swimmers, a couple of families on the beach, and some soccer players.  What’s more, it looked as if the whole beach had recently been swept of its trash—only the litter caught amongst the kelp revealed that the cleanliness was not natural.  The water, too, held some surprises:  unlike the ocean further north, the color of the water was that lovely, clear turquoise we've seen in the Keys—and despite the name of the hotel there was no surf at all!

As the sun set, we headed inland, crossing Lummus Park and walking down Ocean Drive in search of a place to eat.  There were certainly enough restaurants to choose from, but it was impossible to make a reasoned, intelligent decision.  Anyone who has experienced end of the Mexican ride at EPCOT can imagine what the walk was like:  impossible to walk 10 feet without having someone hawking at you, offering you coupons, regaling you with descriptions of their food, leading you to a seat.  Most restaurants had outdoor menu displays, which would have been convenient if we could have been left alone to peruse them, but no, there was always a smiling server who would not let the menu speak for itself.

More out of desperation than free choice, we settled on a seafood restaurant associated with one of the hotels, and it turned out to be pretty good.  Not exceptional, but good enough.  One of our friends likes the outdoor tables on Ocean Drive, saying it’s a great spot for people-watching.  Me, I don’t see the thrill in that, but it was nicer to be outside than in.

We returned to the hotel via the above-mentioned pedestrian/bike path, and Porter tried out the huge outdoor pool while I reclined in a deck chair and read.

The next day was full from beginning to end.  The consulate didn’t open till after noon, so after a leisurely breakfast we spent the morning at the Fairchild Tropical Botanic Garden.  This is our own little Leu Gardens writ large, and we barely had time for a tram tour of the grounds.  But our Leu membership gets us into Fairchild on a reciprocal basis, so we didn’t mind the short shrift, and will gladly return for more another time.

At this point we split up, Porter dropping me at the library while he went on to the consulate.  It took him several hours to complete his business, so I was able to get quite a bit of research done.  An observation:  At the New York Public Library I found the clientele to be primarily researchers, with an occasional (apparently) homeless person thrown in for variety. In Miami, the proportions were reversed.

Aside from a huge stop-and-stop traffic jam leaving Miami, and high-speed, bumper-to-bumper traffic on the Turnpike from Miami all the way to the Disney World exit, the trip home was fine.  It was good to be home, but I’m amazed at how much I was able to enjoy this almost-spontaneous adventure.

It has not been a good couple of months for my relationship with spiders.

I grew up on Be Nice to Spiders, the delightful story of how cleaning up all the spiderwebs at the zoo made the animals miserable because the flies multiplied out of control.  We read it to our children, too, which is why Heather hesitated to take action when the spiders multiplied out of control at her house.  That was my job when I visited in September; heartless Grandma, oblivious to Jonathan's plea, "If there are any wolf spiders, don't kill them!"  I'm afraid I didn't take the time to ask for identification as I tackled the basement infestation.  We left plenty to take care of the flies, and I'm pretty sure none of them were wolf spiders.

Of this one I'm not so certain. (Click on the image for an up-close-and-personal view.)

I hope it's not a wolf spider, but I'm afraid neither Porter nor I managed to get a good look at its eyes.  We like spiders, we respect spiders, we're grateful to spiders ... but at 5 a.m., in the shower, without one's glasses on ... when one sees something this size scuttling about at one's feet ... some more primitive instinct gets in the way of both scientific curiosity and the desire to be kind to animals.

I'm just glad it was Porter who was in the shower, not me.  My own Close Encounter involved a palmetto bug (giant cockroach) and a bra, and I wasn't thinking about being nice to bugs, no I wasn't.

This resolution has been coming up on my agenda for months, only to be replaced by what seemed to be a more urgent or appropriate idea.  But now its time has come.

I love you.

What a powerful phrase—perhaps the most blessed concept in any tongue.  But what does it mean?  What do we mean when we say it?

• I want you.
• You're sexy.
• I like the way you make me feel.
• I want you to love me.
• I need you.
• I like the power I have over you.
• You make me happy.
• You're good to me.
• You're good for me.
• I want to live my life through your accomplishments. 
• I know what's best for you.

And so on.  How often is what we call our love for another person mixed up with our own needs and desires?  In my case, too often.  Why else would I worry so much about what others will think of what I do, say, or write?

Mind you, there's some good in that concern.  It's good to consider the consequences of one's actions.  But I think many of us spend far more time asking not what affect our actions have on others, nor what they think of our words and deeds, but what they think of us.

You can't run a business that way, you can't teach a class that way, you can't raise children that way—at least not with much success.  Maybe you can't live a life that way.  For certain you can't love that way.

I've caught myself up short, sometimes, thinking, "Who am I more concerned about in this interaction, the other person, or myself?"  This resolution is an effort to make that question second nature.

Progress Report

#1  Read More Books  September was a very good month, with nine books read.  Some were of more substance than others, but all were read for their own sake, not for swelling the list, so I'm happy about it.  The count stands at 44 books for the year, so I think I have a good chance of meeting my one-book-per-week goal (eight more), though going into the long holiday season, it would be a real stretch to meet the more ambitions five-per-month goal (16 more).

#2  Rediscover Feasting  About the same.

#3  Learn to Relax  Ditto.

#4  Like More Things  I'm beginning to understand why people like to run.  I've always liked walking, but to enjoy running is new.  I also realized this month that I actually enjoy drinking wine and can now answer the "What do you think of this wine?" question a little more intelligently than, "Eh, it's wine."  I don't think I"ll ever be enthusiastic about it—certainly not the way I am about chocolate—but as with soda, it is good to be able to enjoy it occasionally, rather than actively disliking it.

#5  Pay Attention  Status quo.

#6  Cast Away Fear  The same.

#7  Talk Less, Listen More  Several times in different conversations I made a consious decision to do this, which I regard as progress.

#8  Enjoy Spontaneity  Not much to report.  Perhaps a step backwards, as my GTD system is fraying around the edges and needs a tweak.  GTD is the best resource I've found yet for enabling me to enjoy spontaneity.

#9  End with the Beginning in Mind  I've made a point of starting a new book as soon as I finish one, which may help explain September's progress at #1, though to be honest that was probably more influenced by being sick for more than a week.  I've also discovered that having clearly defined, small, "next actions" are important here.  Having a big project all lined up to go in the morning can lead to neglecting other projects and a return of the nagging worries GTD is supposed to eliminate.  What I really need to do is discipline myself to make progress, however small, on all fronts worthy of being called active projects, then give extra attention to the one that is currently grabbing my attention.

I haven't time for a long post this morning, so here's the story I alluded to yesterday.

There is one upside to allowing several months to elapse between visits with the grandchildren:  the thrill of realizing how much they have grown in the interim.  During my recent visit, all three of the young Daleys surprised me.  This is Jonathan's story.

The assignment:  clean up the boys' bedroom, which is also the playroom, especially the craft area.  Crafts are probably second only to Legos as a Daley favorite activity, and papers, beads, pipe cleaners, stones, cereal boxes, paper plates, and other supplies were spread wide, intermingled with precious "I can't possibly throw that away" creations.  After a psychologically draining couple of hours, the job was done, but my favorite part came at the beginning.

Jonathan explained that the reason papers were piled up on the craft table was that their plastic file pockets had fallen off the wall.   I suggested he go ask Daddy to put them back up.

"No," Jonathan replied. "I'll take care of it."

He clattered down the stairs from the attic to the basement, and returned bearing the electric drill and a box of bits.  After selecting the correct bit, and affixing it to the drill, he proceded to drill two holes, insert two screws, and hang the file pockets once more.

Jonathan did accept a small amount of help, in the form of (1) allowing Mom to provide two new screws when he discovered that his own stash did not have the right kind, (2) allowing Grandma to hold the file pocket up while he marked the location for drilling the second hole, and (3) bowing to a reminder that the job is not complete until the tools are returned to their proper locations.  But truthfully, we were just hovering, and he could have managed it all on his own.

Not bad, I say, for a guy still a few months shy of his seventh birthday.

Micro Mobility Systems makes classy scooters, and look what I discovered when I ventured onto their website from a FRK article:

I like to take the bus to the airport, but the mile and a half walk to the bus stop is hard on luggage wheels.  They're not designed to take long distances on concrete.  But this is!  It's a scooter, zipping one to the bus stop and then folding to cabin-baggage size.

On second thought, it wouldn't really solve my problem, as cabin-baggage isn't that hard to haul to the bus; my real problem comes whenever I have to bring a bag big enough to check—the weight is much greater and the wheels no better.   With Lufthansa having an 18-pound carry-on weight limit, the scooter part probably adds an unreasonable amount of overhead, anyway.  But it's still a cool idea.

Micro Mobility's scooters in general look pretty classy.  They might make a nice addition to bicycles and trams in the Swiss commuting arsenal.

Regular readers of Lift Up Your Hearts! know I'm a fan of Lenore Skenazy's Free-Range Kids blog, though I blush to admit I haven't (yet) read her book of the same name.  I've written quite a few comments there, and a recent letter I sent evolved into a guest post, which you can find here:  A List that Sums Things Up Nicely.

To anyone who may have wandered over from the link at FRK, welcome!  Things are pretty random here, as this is where I post, for family and friends, whatever happens to be on my mind.  That way they don't have to hear me talk about it quite so much.  Okay, so it's really just a small portion of what is buzzing around in my brain; fortunately, life imposes time limitations.

In the upper right hand corner you'll find links to what it's all about here, and various disclaimers and disclosures.  Thanks for visiting!

For friends and family who prefer to ignore Facebook:

Jonathan:  Dad, the spaceship book gave me an idea, and I'm going to be working on a project. It requires liquid oxygen....

Anyone have some spare LOX for an ambitious six-year-old?

In George MacDonald's novel, Salted with Fire, I encountered the following statement:

He would never rise from a finished job, however near might be the hour for dropping work, without having begun another to go on with in the morning.

I read it long ago, but it has never left me, and is the inspiration for this month's resolution.   It's likely that Getting Things Done has also inspired me, with its emphasis on "next actions."

Whatever the impetus, I know from experience that finishing a job, however satisfying, soon gives way to feeling at loose ends, uninspired, and sometimes depressed.  I still have plenty to do—so much that I can't seem to get started on any of it.  Life goes much better when I'm in the middle of a project and know just what the next step is.

So this is the crux of this resolution:  to keep my GTD "next actions" lists well-populated with specific, actionable, non-threatening tasks; to remember that a task or a project is not completed until the next task or project is ready for action; and to sleep well, knowing that tomorrow's work is ready to begin when I awake, and needs no attention (a.k.a. "worry") until then. 

Progress Report

#1  Read More Books  August proved once again that it takes determination to read, even for someone who loves it as much as I do.  One of the two books in August's tally I began months ago, but at some 800 pages I'm not beating myself up over having taken so long to finish it.

#2  Rediscover Feasting  Having been away from it for a month and a half, I found it hard to readjust to Fasting Wednesdays—I'd eat breakfast before realizing what day of the week it was.  But I think I'm back into the pattern now.  What still needs a lot of work is an Ordinary Time pattern; too many days still qualify as feasts to make feasting as special as it should be.

#3  Learn to Relax  I continue to think about consciously relaxing my muscles, and it does help.  The GTD process (see #8) is also helping.  But I still have a long, long way to go.  I now have a friend whose working on this whole stress response/reduction thing with me, so maybe that will help.  What I really need to do is give it higher priority.  In a go-go-go society, working on relaxing is hard.

#4  Like More Things  I can now eat very small portions of olives without gagging.  Does that count?  I need to make this less about food and more about other parts of life.

#6  Cast Away Fear  There were a few occasions where I did remember to respond to fear with praise, and it helped.

#7  Talk Less, Listen More  Not much to report here.

#8  Enjoy Spontaneity  I still fret too much about what I could be doing if I weren't trapped in this stupid X situation—but I am making progress.  My GTD post needs an update; the progress I have made thus far in implementing the program has helped me know better both what needs to be done and when I will have a chance to take care of it.  More than once I have been able to say, "I can give my full attention to Y now and enjoy it, because I know W and X are done, and Z can wait till tomorrow."

The resolution I need most is apparently one to remember my other resolutions, so I've added "review resolutions" to my Tickler File.  :)  We'll see if September shows more progress.

This is a short post, because I don't have a lot to say about electricity in Switzerland, but I like their home outlets.  I'd rather the world adopt our 110 volt system, for safety reasons, but if I could I'd change our plugs to the Swiss type.  See how sturdy the prongs are?  No worries about accidentally bending them when you stretch the cord too much, straining to get the vacuum cleaner to reach to the far corner.  Some outlets are combined with light switches, and many are recessed—a neat safety device that makes it impossible for the prongs to be connected to the electricity and touching your fingers at the same time.

Maybe this post should be "readjustments," since I'm now home and experiencing reverse culture shock, but it's still worth talking about transportation.

Basel is a city, albeit one of the nicest cities I know.  It's the third largest in Switzerland, a little smaller in population than Providence, Rhode Island or Tallahassee, Florida, but a lot more dense.  I'm not fond of cities, in general, but if you wanted to design a situation that is perfect for public transit, walking, and biking, you could hardly do better—and Basel made a conscious choice, back in the 1970's, to encourage those modes of transport.

Trams and buses   The best I've ever experienced.  Clean, quiet, frequent, dependable, on time.  You can count on the schedule—for a tram to be late by three minutes is shocking—and at most times, if you miss a tram, there's another coming in just a few minutes.  I love their innovative approach to ticketing, too.  You must have a ticket—which you can buy and punch at the tram stop if you don't have a pass—but don't expect someone to collect it.  You simply hop on the tram or bus, ride it to your destination, and hop off.  (I only wish you could by your ticket on the tram.  It's frustrating to miss your ride because you're still fighting with the ticket machine.)

Do some people ride without buying a ticket?  Sure.  But the penalty, if you're caught, is stiff enough to encourage good behavior.  Rarely—but you never know when—the tram police (in plain clothes, so you get no warning) block all the exits and ask to see everyone's tickets.  If you don't have one, the fine is 80 francs (about $80), and it goes to 100 francs if you don't pay right then and there.  The system works because it is consistently enforced—and not sabotaged by lawsuits, which is what I suspect would happen in this country.

Biking  Trams are great, especially in inclement weather or if you're carrying bulky packages, but they're not as fast as biking from A to B.  Bikers are everywhere, and are accommodated with ramps like the one to the left, and plenty of parking places.  This is one reason backpacks are so popular.  One of my favorite memories is of a nattily-attired man biking along in a business suit, with proper tie—and bright orange backpack.  In the U.S., bikes and backpacks for anything other than recreational purposes are too often associated with children—or losers who have had their drivers licenses revoked.  Switzerland wins this one big time in my book.

(That said, the only way businessmen could reasonably bike to work here in Florida would be if their place of employment provided showers—and in that case, they wouldn't be wearing their suits.)

Bikers are second only to trams and pedestrians when it comes to right-of-way on the road, and drivers are much more aware of their presence than in America.  Still, I wish more of them would wear helmets.  (Kudos to our son-in-law for setting a good example.)

Walking  I walked nearly everywhere I wanted to go in Basel during my visit:  to the grocery store(s), the post office, the train station, the organic farm delivery stop, school, church, the park, and a lot more.  I thought I was getting a lot of exercise tramping all over the city, but a few calculations showed the shocking truth.  Walking distances from home to:

• the corner store:  about 350 feet
• the tram stop:  0.2 miles
• the train station:  0.3 miles
• the big grocery store:  0.5 miles
• the Basel Hilton:  0.5 miles
• Barfüsserplatz: 1.0 miles
• Marktplatz: 1.1 miles
• church: 1.5 miles
• all the way across the Rhine to Claraplatz:  1.7 miles

By contrast, back in Florida, it takes 0.8 miles just to get out of our neighborhood, which is nothing fancy at all, I would say a pretty average middle class neighborhood with comparatively small lots.  We also live in a city, though a small one—the population is a quarter that of Basel.  Walking distances from our house to:

• the bike trail:  0.8 miles
• the playground:  0.8 miles
• Best Buy:  1.3 miles
• the bus stop:  1.4 miles
• the post office:  1.5 miles
• the park:  1.6 miles
• the grocery story:  1.6 miles
• Office Max:  1.7 miles
• the mall:  2.7 miles
• the library:  5.5 miles

Claraplatz seems far away from Janet's home, because it's clear on the other side of the city.  Office Max I consider very close, "just down the street."  Yet they are the same distance.  Blows my mind.  The effect is probably because I go by Office Max more often by car than on foot.

What really makes walking nice in Basel is the traffic lights.  First of all, if there is no light, a pedestrian in any crosswalk has the right of way over anything except a tram.  (That doesn't mean it isn't sometimes necessary to stare down the approaching cars, and it's always important to look before stepping into the intersection, as non-resident drivers do not always know they are expected to stop if they see you at the curb.)  If there is a light, the pedestrian must stop, but the great thing is that the wait is always short.  The cycles are designed to keep pedestrian traffic flowing, unlike the walk lights here, at which a five-minute wait is not unheard of.

Car sharing  By car is not the nicest way to get around Basel—parking is a big problem, for one thing—but there are times when you need one.  For this you can take advantage of a car sharing system, sort of like a short-term rental.  It works quite well, at least if you don't mind driving a stick.

I'd love to import Basel's transit system here, but—as I keep telling European friends who think the only reason the U.S. doesn't have such a system is that we're all a bunch of lazy SUV-lovers—it's not that simple.  What I think could and should be imported is the farsightedness and strength of will that made Basel decide, some 35 years ago, to turn away from the more cars / more and bigger roads transit model, and commit to a cleaner and friendlier path.