Lift Up Your Hearts!

The acoustics in our house are such that the sound from the television is loudest in every room except the one in which the TV resides.  Perhaps that is not literally true, but to those trying to work or sleep while someone else watches television, it certainly seems that way.  Hence our joy when Porter's "thank you award" came from IBM:  a set of wireless headphones.

Fortunately, there was no need to understand in detail the instructions, which contained several gems.

This wireless headphone is worked based on optical-electricity transition.

Well, of course.  What else would it be worked based on?

As dictated, unedited, while Mom, Dad, and Noah were napping.

There was a bear.  And then he started hunting.  Then the bear found a fox.  And the fox started scratching the bear.  And the bear could not beat the fox.  The fox started wildly jumping and kicking and swinging its tail around wildly.

Then a wolf came.  And the wolf started tackling, too.  And the wolf started jumping wildly, too.  And the wolf was scratching the bear, too.  And then some tigers came. Then the tigers started jumping wildly and scratching wildly, too.   And then they began trying to bite at the bear.  And then they started jumping on the bear and kicking the bear.  And they all started jumping up to its head.

Then the bear was being so beaten up, it decided to go away.  And then the tigers and the wolf and the fox started following him.  And then the bear was even more frustrated with them that he climbed a tree, and then they climbed the tree with him.  And then he started trying to fling himself to the sky, and at last he was in space.

Then the tigers, the wolf, and the fox flinged themselves into space with the bear.  Then the bear was even way more frustrated that he flinged himself into Jupiter!  And the tiger, the wolf, and the fox flinged themselves into Jupiter, too.

And then they went back into earth, got a big long wire, and attached it to one end of a pole in the earth, and they dragged it out into space and sparked the bear.  And then they went back to earth, got some metal, and threw it at the bear.  So the bear stayed in space while the tiger, the wolf, and the fox kept springing up and down to have a way to kill the bear.

Then they took a sparkling, killing fire and threw it at the bear.  Then they took some snow and buried it in the bear’s eyes.  Then the bear was so angry that he took a tree, and the tigers, the fox, and the wolf got hold of the tree so the bear couldn’t whack them with the tree, and then they whacked the bear with the tree and then he started flinging them into earth, but then they went into space and started whacking the bear to earth.

And at last they whacked him to the very ground of the earth.  And then they took a spear and threw it exactly in the direction they threw the bear. And then they sended a big, giant monster down to earth to kill the bear for them.  And then they swung the bear to dirt under the ground.  And then they flung him into a ocean.  The sharks killed him, and then they brought him out of the ocean and ate him.

That's what we did this morning.  We arrived at the Pittsburgh Zoo with a crab and left with a jellyfish, but in between Jonathan was a perfect little boy, just the right age to delight in all the exhibits.  He could identify many of the fish as well as the animals, and explained to me—thanks to a Magic Schoolbus book that's currently one of his favorites—that the clownfish can live inside the sea anemone because it's covered with mucus which protects it from the anemone's sting.

Noah, on the other hand, could take or leave the animals.  What fascinated him was everything mechanical:   the big power cords at the entrance, the lights along the walkway, a child-proof outlet cover (which he promptly removed, then replaced when asked), emergency exit doors, a machine that made bubbles, and anything else with buttons, cords, switches, lights, or moving parts.  This is the same child who won't talk, but eloquently asks me several times a day if he can record his voice on my computer.  What he really wants to do is plug the headphone and microphone cords into the computer.  The headset was one of the first things he helped me unpack, and he grinned delightedly when he discovered the plugs, then pointed to the computer, which, incidentally, was still closed up and anonymous-looking.  He quickly found the jacks, and needed only a little guidance to make sure the plugs were going in straight.  (To be truthful, that was my paranoia; he could have done it all on his own, but I was a little nervous.)  One lesson in pink-to-red, black-to-green was sufficient; he's done it correctly ever since.  First thing this morning he came excitedly into my room, big grin on his face, running straight to...Grandma?  No, Grandma's computer.

I accept the challenge from Liz; the subject intrigues me.  What things are always found in your refrigerator?   I'll skip the "normal" (milk, eggs, ketchup) and list ten items that are nearly always in stock but might make our refrigerator unique, at least in combination.

1. Dairy kefir, flavored and plain.  The flavored variety is delicious to drink and both are great on cereal.  Unflavored, it's the closest I've been able to find to the European-style yoghurt we enjoyed on our muesli in Switzerland.  Like drinkable yoghurt, but with a variety of health-supporting probiotic cultures.


2. Blenheim Old #3 (red cap) Ginger Ale.  We were introduced to this treasure by Porter's parents, who lived in South Carolina.  We stock up at South of the Border when our travels take us that way, and keep a bottle or two in the fridge to challenge cocky teenaged boys and for making the great Lime Daley drink.


3. Boyajian citrus oils.  We learned about these when we lived just down the street from the Boyajian store.  Now I have to order online, but it's worth it.  Pure oils (not extracts) from lemon, lime, orange, and tangerine fruits.  There's a small bottle of grapefruit in my refrigerator, but they don't sell that anymore.  :(  Absolutely wonderful for adding citrus flavor to almost anything:  orange chicken, lemon pie, hot cocoa, and our family favorite drinks, Bay Punch and the above-mentioned Lime Daleys.


4. Soy sauce, Kikkoman  low sodium.  Essential to many of our favorite dishes.


5. Japanese mayonnaise (Kewpie).  Essential for okonomiyaki and extra special anywhere else you would use mayonnaise.


6. Sal's Sassy Sauce.  From our days in Rochester, New York. Rochester wings beat Buffalo wings any day, and Sal's sauce makes Rochester wings.  (Smitty's fans would argue.)  The secret ingredient in our macaroni salad.


7. Cherchie's Champagne Mustard. This delight is from my home town, though I didn't know about it till a friend gave us our first jar.  Great on ham sandwiches; it goes especially well with Swiss cheese.  The hands-down best condiment for our traditional Christmastime Hickory Farms Beef Stick.


8. Green Thai curry paste.  Can't make The Frog Commissary Cookbook's Siamese Chicken Curry with Broccoli and Peanuts without it.  One of my dad's enduring gifts to his children (and grandchildren, and now great-grandchildren) was a love of that and other Frog dishes.


9. Real maple syrup.  No Aunt Jemima in this household.  Preferably Grade B. 

Thanks, Liz, that was amusing to think about. Anyone else care to chime in? There's nothing magic about the number nine—that's just what I was able to think of without working too hard.

Last year when we went to Switzerland we tried several new Swiss dishes, but somehow missed raclette.  To make up for it, this trip we ate raclette four times, and lest you think we tired of it, we were inspired to purchase our own raclette set.

I call it our Swiss souvenir, though in point of fact I bought it from Amazon.com, in order to get one that didn't need a power and plug converter, and to save carrying it home.  Although this is a Swiss appliance (manufactured, alas, in China), it appears to have been super-sized for the American market:  the little pans are perhaps twice the size I was expecting.

Friday night we had our first raclette party, and though there are some modifications I would make next time, it went well.  I found raclette cheese at Whole Foods, but it was French raclette cheese, which may explain why it was softer and not quite as flavorful as that which we ate in Switzerland.  No matter; we spiced it up with the raclette spice and seasoned sea salt that did make the journey from Basel to Florida in my suitcase.

The cool thing about raclette is that, like fondue, it is a community cooking experience.  There's a bit of preparation involved, but the actual cooking is done by the guests as you all converse companionably around the dinner table.  Each person places a slice of cheese in his little pan and sets it under the grill to heat.  When the cheese is melted and bubbly, he  scrapes it out onto small, boiled potatoes (okay, so that part of the cooking is done in advance), seasons the mixture, and then digs in.  Accompaniments are traditionally pickled onions and cornichons.  (We substituted baby dills for the latter.)  One of our Swiss hosts cooked bulgoki on the top part of the grill, which was delicious.  I wasn't that ambitious, but did use the top of the grill to cook marinated green beans and mushrooms.

Dessert, of course, was Swiss chocolate.

Happy Palm Sunday, one and all!  The choir sang for two services today, so we had double the fun.  Those of you who live up north are really missing a treat—real, whole palm branches, and all the better if you whacked yours off one of the palms in your backyard last night, as we did.  :)  We started the service outdoors, and then the whole congregation processed around the church singing All Glory, Laud and Honor (Episcopal Hymnal chorus/verse version), led by the rector with his guitar, and through some miracle and a little help from modern technology we were actually together and in the same key as the piano and organ when we entered the church.

The rest of the service was good, though not quite what I would have liked.  I prefer Palm Sunday to be Palm Sunday, but often, as it was today, it is celebrated as Palm/Passion Sunday, because so many people don't attend the midweek Holy Week services.  Doing that, you pass from the Triumphal Entry to the Resurrection without having passed through the Last Supper, Gesthemene, and the Crucifixion, which is a rather significant omission.  So we give Palm Sunday short shrift as a concession to the reality of modern living.  Sigh.  But it was good, anyway, and although the framework was the same in both services, they were different enough to keep the second from feeling like a repeat:  one was Rite I, the other Rite II, and there were even two different sermons.

I hope your experiences today were as good! 

One of the strangest and most difficult aspects of interacting with other people is discovering those areas which you consider to be so basic, so foundational, so obvious that you don't even think about them—until you run up against someone for whom they are not basic, and maybe not even important.

For me one of those givens is that you don't take food from a common dish and then put it back, and if your hands touch something on a common plate you take it, even if you didn't mean to.  Thus I find it particularly unnerving to watch at church potlucks, or <shudder> restaurant buffet bars, as folks violate those maxims repeatedly and egregiously, with no consideration for those behind them in line.  I'm not speaking particularly of children here; the adults are just as likely, sometimes more so, to be the offenders.

This raises two questions:  Is this really a matter of fundamental hygiene and common courtesy, or merely a particular, culture-specific custom?  I do hope not the latter, or I may have to stop eating away from home.

and

What are the habits that seem perfectly normal and natural to me, yet cause in others the stomach-turning reaction I experienced this morning?

Since—ta da!—we expect our fourth grandchild in October , and since choosing a baby's name has an aura of sacrament in the Daley household, and since others have already begun making positive suggestions, I hereby offer an article on baby names not to use.

Ancestry.com's Bad Baby Names on the Brain features the book, Bad Baby Names: The Worst True Names Parents Saddled Their Kids With—And Now You Can Too!  I don't know if the article is open to the public or requires a subscription; in case of the latter, I present just a few of the 2,000 or so names, culled from census data, that I would rather not use when speaking of our newest grandchild:  Title Page, Magenta Flamingo, Ghoul Nipple, Mann Pigg, Mary A. Belcher, Deuteronomy Temple, Hell Grimes, Lucifer Carmendo, Sandwich Green, Mayo Head, Tuna Fish, Fanny Pack, Major Nutt, Warren Peace.  Some people have no imagination; names like Octavio and Quintin clearly indicate birth order (though the one present-day Octavio I know is an only child; go figure), but the authors also found, as first names, "every number from one to twenty, by tens to a hundred, and thousand, million, billion, and infinity."  I know our Puritan ancestors were fond of naming their children after virtues (Love, Prudence, Patience, Charity, Endurance), and sometimes after circumstances associated with their lives (Fear, Wrestling), but who would name a child Lust, Wrath, Greed, Avarice, Envy, Sloth, Wrath, or Pride?

Take a moment and be thankful for your parents' wisdom.  Even if you've always hated your name, you now know it could have been much, much worse. 

I've known the Agony of Defeat often enough when it comes to the sport of e-mail balancing, but today I glory in a victory:  My Inbox is empty.

That's rare enough, but not enough to merit a blog post.  Although it seems to balloon to over 100 e-mails with unconscionable ease, and sad to say even 300 if I blink, I can usually whack it down to manageable size, even briefly zero, with a little sustained effort.  And some cheating.

You see, I have this other folder called Awaiting Action, a kind of alter ego for my Inbox.  When I’m hacking through the e-mail overgrowth and come to an item I can’t deal with immediately, I move it into Awaiting Action.  This keeps me from becoming discouraged and giving up, which is a good thing, but organizationally it’s the equivalent of clearing house clutter before company comes by throwing things higgledy-piggledy into a box and stuffing the box into a closet.

Like that box in the closet, it’s out of sight, out of mind, easy to ignore until the next clean up spree when one opens the closet door to deposit yet another box.  Yet it’s not really out of mind; I don’t know about you, but such boxes—real and virtual—haunt my subconscious, the nagging discomfort of things “left undone which we ought to have done.”

This weekend I was inspired—perhaps by Porter, whose e-mail deluge makes mine look like a drippy faucet—to open the closet door.  My Awaiting Action box contained items that had been waiting since 2005.  It had sprouted several subfolders, as if organization could substitute for action, and the contents of each had grown apace.  I picked up my best Ponce de Leon machete and plunged in.

The subfolders are now gone.  The contents of Awaiting Action now fill a mere half page on my screen.  I hope to do better still, but at a more gradual pace, since the remaining e-mails involve projects, some of considerable magnitude, that are not suited to machete-style work.  “Good enough is better than perfect,” and indeed some of the projects are of too low a priority to merit much effort right now.  Nonetheless, I’m determined not to let this box grow beyond a page—no scroll bars allowed.

In the process I reorganized and simplified my e-mail folders, taking better advantage of Thunderbird’s expanded tagging and filtering options.  I like it!  More than that, I hope the new system will help me stay on top of my e-mail at last.  Posting about it is part of the effort, too, providing Accountability, as they say in the 12-step biz.  Feel free to come back and ask me how I’m doing as the days, weeks, and months pass.

Now about that closet….

I had hoped to bring you video of tonight's launch of the space shuttle Endeavour.  Night launches are rare and beautiful.  However, although Endeavour had a successful launch, my view was completely obscured by a generally-overcast sky.  So my best view was the same as yours:  that provided by the television cameras.  Only I'll bet none of you were actually up at this hour watching.  I wouldn't have awakened just to see it on TV, but any launch is worth seeing, and even the chance of a night launch is worth arising for.

It was almost worth getting up to see another phenomenon:  twilight at 2 a.m.  The clouds were low and reflected back so much city light that I could have been excused for thinking I'd wandered into the Land of the Midnight Sun...were it not for the 62-degree temperature.

As Janet has mentioned (in her comment on My Lenten Disciplines), nothing sends me to sleep faster than staring at the television set:  broadcast show, DVD movie, or even a Teaching Company lecture that I'm particularly interested in seeing, it matters not.  There's something about the experience that triggers the sleep reflex in me.  Oddly, it's a particularly pleasant sleep, too—perhaps it hearkens back to childhood days of drifting off to the incomprehensible yet comforting sound of adult voices.  Thus I couldn't help noticing when two consecutive comics (Baldo and Hi and Lois) in my morning routine hit that nerve.

For those of you who don't read Heather and Jon's blog, I can't resist posting this view of life through the eyes of a four-year-old living in a geek house in this new century:

We happened to get two pictures in the mail, and Jonathan was holding them and looking at them. Then he piped up, "How do you get pictures to look like this?" Like what? This is a 21st century boy—he meant how do they get on paper.

It's another one of those things I lived without just fine, thank you, though now I wonder why I waited so long.  Blame an outdated sense of the cost of webcams; I never imagined I could buy one for under $100, much less under $30.  But thanks to Stephan, Janet, and Best Buy, I'm all set.

It has been great to be able to see Janet when I talk with her, as well as for her to be able to initiate phone calls.  Now I'm having double the fun (or five times as much, depending on how you calculate it) because another of my favorite families has joined the video Skype crowd.  I'm sure the excitement will wear off after a while, but for now I'm enjoying lots of smiles, hugs, I-love-yous, what's-happening-now, and best of all those dear faces and voices.  I love to get those quick little text messages that say things like "Hi! I finished my math and am now going to do writing," with plenty of music note and hugging teddy bear emoticons.

And this morning?  This morning I was the delighted one-person, long-distance audience for a cello concert!

Now here's something we don't see every day.  In fact, this is the first time.  I looked out the front window, saw a flock of ibis (or ibises if you prefer) standing around on our street!

  

Then they started marching.

Our neighbor, who is reroofing his house, made a sudden noise, and they flew off.

(As usual, click on the preview pictures for a larger view, and click on the links to see the videos.) 

I am on an Andrew Pudewa kick.  I first discovered his Institute for Excellence in Writing through an online forum for early childhood education, and—as usual—once I'd heard of him, his name started coming to my attention in other ways.  A friend of ours is the principal of a private Christian school which emphasizes academic excellence as well as a solid Christian worldview, and she and her teachers waxed so enthusiastic about his program for teaching writing that she even sent me a sample videotape of one of his lectures.  It didn't take me long to get hooked.  For the first three minutes, I found Pudewa's voice to be annoying; after that I was so intrigued by what he was saying and how he was presenting it that it didn't matter.

Now I'm not averse to spending money on educational materials for our grandkids, but they're not yet old enough for the writing materials, which are a bit pricey to buy on speculation, especially since there might well be a subsequent edition or two by the time they would be used.  Fortunately for my curiosity, one of our favorite homeschooling families was impressed enough to try it out, and I'm looking forward to hearing about their experiences.

Some of Pudewa's other materials are financially more accessible, and since I couldn't interest anyone else in his poetry memorization program, I bought it for myself!  I think I'm going to enjoy it.  It came with a bonus DVD of his lecture entitled Nurturing Competent Communicators, which I highly recommend.  As a writing teacher, he has been appalled by the lack of writing ability very much evident today, and has come to the conclusion that you can't get out of a mind something that's not there in the first place.  Today's children (and those from a generation or two before, as well) simply have not had sufficient input of good language vocabulary, structure, and style; this hinders not only their ability to write, but also their ability to think.  Rather than spend much time berating the negative influences on language (peers, media, lack of reading, stress and fast pace of life), Pudewa suggest two positive solutions.

Read good books (especially poetry) aloud.  This is still critical well after children are competent readers.  One can read aloud books at a much higher level of sophistication than a child can (or will) read for himself.  Moreover, even very good readers will often mispronounce words they've only encountered in print, and will often read so quickly as to get the meaning of the words while missing their music; hearing them read aloud corrects both these errors.  A cosy family situation is best for such reading, but Pudewa acknowledges the time crunch many families suffer and the value of books on tape.  He also suggests enlisting grandparents in the project, suggesting we create heirloom recordings of our own.  Reading aloud is more critical to language development, says Pudewa, than much of what we give higher precedence.  I'm grateful that Porter knew this instinctively and for many years ended each meal by reading aloud to us.  He even began with poetry—and no, it wasn't just a way of getting out of helping with the dishes, though I must say it did make doing the dishes much more interesting.

Memorize poetry and other examples of good language.  Memorization itself promotes brain growth, and memorization of good language provides the brain with a stock of good language patterns.  Pudewa tells a story close to my own heart for reasons most of you will recognize.  As a Suzuki violin teacher, he had lived in Japan for three years, studying under Shinichi Suzuki himself.  Naturally he wanted to learn the language, and had reached the point where he could communicate reasonably well, and yet was frustrated by knowing that he wasn't really getting things right.  Drawing on his Suzuki training, he devised a plan:  He asked his sensei to record himself reading a Japanese children's book version of Jack and the Beanstalk.  This Pudewa practiced and practiced, phrase upon phrase, until he had it completely memorized.  As a result, his ability to speak Japanese took a significant leap forward; through a simple children's story he had given his brain many of the patterns and cadences of the Japanese language.  Plus he became a great hit with the little Japanese children he met.  He would have loved the HIPPO Family Clubs!  No wonder my dad was so smart:  when he was young, he walked a lot, and when he walked, he memorized poems.

At the same time that I purchased the poetry program, I couldn't resist getting a couple of CDs containing his lecture, The Profound Effects of Music on Life.  I'm anxious to hear my favorite musician's take on this lecture (if she ever has time to listen to it).  I know he has greatly oversimplified things for his lay audience, but much of what he says rings true to my ears and I'd love to have an expert's opinion.

And I wonder why everthing takes me so long!  It was to clean my office that I set out to do, but I couldn't just put the CDs on the shelf, I had to enter them into my library software, and I had to rip them to mp3s so I could listen to them when I go out walking.  In the process of ripping I discovered that one was a DVD, and since I couldn't rip it I listened to it then and there.  And that inspired me to install another piece of software that I was going to install "sometime," and then of course I couldn't stop but had to write about it all.  Now I'm done and can finally put the materials away.  But there's still the rest of the room to work on, and where did the day go???