Lift Up Your Hearts!

Porter had to get up early this morning for a 7:00 dentist appointment, but that didn't stop him from staying up late last night.  Now his beloved Boston Red Sox have won the World Series twice in his lifetime, which until now few living Red Sox fans could say.  He's been too busy to watch all the games, but he enjoyed a few, especially last night's.

Congratulations to the Red Sox, and to those of our New England relatives who are enjoying this victory!  Condolences to S, the Yankee fan.  (No, not that S -- the other S.  I know the one S is a dedicated Red Sox fan!)  I hope T&B are happy -- I've forgotten where their loyalties lie.

Apologies to those of you who are waiting for the story of last weekend's adventures in Sarasota.  That will come, but in the meantime it's been a while since I posted, and I just came upon the essay I wrote for a genealogy contest with the less-than-inspiring title of this post.

The circumstances were interesting, however.  Because the sponsoring organization was Irish, I thought my story might be of interest to them.  Maybe it was, but not enough to win. However, a blog owner can be her own publisher, and since they didn't want it, I'm sharing it here.  :)

Why My Family History Is Important to Me

A few special people develop an interest in history and family early in life.  I was not one of them.  As a child, I was interested in what was close by:  the present, the near future, our immediate family.  Distant things—the past, the future, relatives I didn’t know—impinged little on the circle of my interest.  Most especially and deliberately I was not interested in my ancestry, who my forebears were and where they came from.

A child’s natural self-centeredness played a large part in my lack of interest.  So, too, did a kind of reverse snobbery.  I did not want to be classed with those who bragged that their ancestors came over on the Mayflower, nor with those who joined the Daughters of the American Revolution.  My parents must have had some of the same attitude, because the subject certainly wasn’t of any interest to them, in spite—or because—of the fact that my mother’s grandmother was herself a member of the DAR.

What opened the world of genealogy to me was my college-age daughter's sudden and intense interest in Irish music and dance.  After an exhilarating music seisiún, she would find it disappointing to have no answer to the oft-asked question, "What part of Ireland are your ancestors from?"  As far as any of us knew, she had no Irish ancestors.

But we really didn't know anything at all, so I began to dig, hoping not for gold, but for green.  Lo and behold, there on my mother's side was Robert Henry, born about 1740, in Ireland!  That's all it said on his tombstone, but at least my daughter could claim one Irish ancestor.  In another branch I found Nathan Smith, from County Tyrone, and though I haven't yet found an origin for my Cunninghams and Daughertys, their names give me hope.

Finding Irish ancestors was the goal, but I became hooked on the process.  For someone who loves puzzles as much as I do, genealogy research is more fun than a cup of tea, a new World of Puzzles magazine, and a free afternoon.  The map of my origins now comprises many countries, and each name, city, and date I add is a treasure.

Age and experience have a way of changing one's perspective.  I still have no interest in joining any of the hereditary societies for which I qualify—sometimes many times over—but at last I realize that genealogy is only Honor thy father and thy mother writ large.  Contrary to what I learned in school, history is not dull!  It is the fascinating story of ideas and their consequences worked out in the lives of human beings.  Our people—our ancestors and descendants, whether by blood, adoption, marriage, or some other deep connection—provide our link to that story.  We stand at the point of Now; it is our family that gives us the past and the future as well.

How many times do I have to be taught that technology, while useful, even delightful at times, is not to be depended on?  I wonder if electronic equipment works better in Switzerland, where trains and trams are so dependable that a three-minute deviation from schedule is a notable occurrence?

Once again, I picked up my PDA to find it had lost everything.  This is the third time that has happened in about a year an a half, and I think it's related to alarms going off repeatedly when I'm not aware of them.  I'd love to shut off the alarms on the handheld device, but I can't do that without removing them from the desktop, which is where I really need them.  But this time surprised me, because last I knew there was still plenty of life in the batteries.

Oh, well—I had a backup and only lost a couple of pieces of data.  It would be helpful if I knew which data I'd lost, but I'll manage.  At least this time I was home and could restore the data quickly—the first time I was on vacation and could do nothing till my return.  That's when I learned to keep key information on paper when I travel!

Our nifty electronic devices are still too useful for me to give them up altogether, but it's good to be reminded now and then of the importance of backups and of Plans B.  Of more concern is our similar dependence on fallible sources of heat, light, water, food, transportation, and other basic necessities, but that's another issue and much harder to resolve.

After much internal debate, Porter decided to invest in an air card, a device that plugs into his computer and allows him to connect to the Internet from anywhere.  Well, make that anywhere with Cingular—oops, I mean the New AT&T—cellular service.  Unfortunately, that excludes some important locations, like Granby, Connecticut.  But it does include a great many places.  I tried it out on the way home from the airport a few days ago, and only lost service once on the 45-minute ride, and that for no more than a second.  The speed is not as fast as our normal broadband connection, but it's really not bad, especially if you use the accelerator option, which reduces the quality (and thus the downloading time) of images.

I foresee several uses of this new device in addition to the obvious business benefits that were the excuse for its purchase.  The one that is emblazoned in large letters at the present time, however, is that the major lightning strike of about an hour ago, which took out our cable connection, has not left us without Internet and phone service.  Ironically, I only two days ago I filled out a survey stating that Bright House's cable service has been very reliable and its customer service fine.  I still don't fault the cable service—a lightning strike is bound to wreak havoc.  But Bright House customer service can offer us help no sooner than next Tuesday!  That really is unaccepable.  If they were only offering cable TV service, that would be one thing, but when people are depending on you for Internet and phone service—especially phone service!—you need to be more attentive to repairs.

So I'm very grateful for our backup.  Thanks to the air card, we not only have Internet access, but were able to connect to CallVantage and have our phone calls forwarded to Porter's cell phone.

With this coming on top of my own computer being in the shop—status currently unknown—I'm once again feeling a little nervous about our dependence on technology.  There should always be a Plan B—and probably C, D, and E as well.

Now listen, you who say, "Today or tomorrow we will go to this or that city, spend a year there, carry on business and make money." Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes. Instead, you ought to say, "If it is the Lord's will, we will live and do this or that." (James 4:13-15)

But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane,
In proving foresight may be vain;
The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men
Gang aft agley,
An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain,
For promis'd joy!
(Robert Burns, To A Mouse, On Turning Her Up In Her Nest With The Plough)

I had plans for this week.

They did not include dealing with a computer that refuses to awaken from sleep. My alarm clock went of at 5:15 this morning, and I was up and about within seconds. Not so my computer.

Last night there was no hint of problem, not the slightest suggestion that something was not entirely well. I put the machine into sleep mode, as I often do if time is short in the morning. When I awoke and stumbled into my office, I pressed a key, as usual, to bring up the computer, then left the room for a few minutes. When I returned, the first thing I noticed was that the whirring noise of the fan was still loud, as it is when the machine is just waking, or booting. The second thing was that there was no display. I played with turning the display on and off, receiving only a brief "no signal" message before it went blank again, then turned the compujter off. To do that I had to hold the power button in several seconds, which is never a good sign. Turning the machine on again resulted in the same scenario. The hard drive light comes on for a while, but there are no associated, familiar sounds of disk access, and soon all I'm left with is a power light that blinks on and off, as it does while asleep. Only it won't wake up. There was a time when I could tell what my machine was saying to me by looking at its lights, but back then I had dozens to work with, not just one. This one seems to be saying no more than "On Strike."

So I turned to my Gateway manual. Maintaining and Troubleshooting Your PC. That sounds promising. Problem: The computer will not start up. Probably cause: The computer isnot connected to an AC outlet. Wow. That was helpful.

It didn't get any better after that. I found the System Restoration CD's, which might be useful at some point, but the manual cheerfully refers me to the on-screen information for instructions.

I suppose the next step is a reorganization of my office—which is sadly needed, though it wasn't highest on my priority list for the week—in hopes of finding the Boot Disk I'm pretty sure I made when I installed Norton SystemWorks. The only reason I say "pretty sure" instead of being certain is that I've installed Norton so many times on so many machines, they all run together in my mind, and at the moment all I can find are 3.5 inch floppy disk boot CD's, which I know is wrong because this machine doesn't have a floppy drive. So now I have to figure out where the "safe place" is that I decided to store it.

Then maybe I'll take the cover off the computer and see if anything looks as if it has worked loose. That would be a nice, easy fix.

Somewhere along the line I'll probably give my favorite Lime Daley Support Tech a call, not so much because I expect him to be able to do anything long distance, but in hopes he'll have some good ideas.

I believe my important files are reasonably well backed up, though I know I'm behind on mail backups. Ironically, I held the external backup drive in my hand last night, but decided it was too late to start a backup at that point. Never put off till tomorrow.... One thing I know: If and when I get out of this mess, I should go out and buy another backup drive, because one of the reasons I've been doing partial rather than compete backups is that one 500G drive is not adequate for backing up four machines.

But this post is ample evidence that I'd rather whine about problems then work on them, so I think the first thing I'll do is bury my head in the sand for a while. Eat breakfast. Work on problems of a different nature, such as the need to take the car to the mechanic because the rear A/C no longer works....

Man proposes; God disposes.

Readily acknowledging that God's plans for me this week are by definition better than mine, I nonetheless hope they include a rapid and complete recovery from this mess. As catastrophes go, even severe computer problems are not very high on the list, even for someone who depends on a computer as much as I do. It's always good to pause to be thankful for all that is going right. And I'm grateful for the laptop. Event though the bulk of my work is on the main machine, I'd be panicking a lot more if I didn't have this to keep me in touch with the world and some of my most critical data.

Hmmm, perhaps this is a warning to step up my hurricane preparations....

It's not my story, and it's not my photograph, but it's my grandson!  (Click on the picture for a larger view.)

A true father-son moment.  Could their faces be any more radiant?

As one who habitually indulges in catastrophism, I appreciated this essay by John Stackhouse on why people don't get back to us right away when we communicate.  I'm not usually upset when people don't answer e-mails immediately, because if everyone answered e-mails immediately, we'd get sucked into in a destructive vortex.  However, I confess to what might be an inordinate desire for blog comments; my hope for many of my posts is that they will be discussion-starters, and with any of them it's nice to know that someone is at least reading my offerings.  What's more, there are certain blogs I check frequently, looking for information, commentary, and discussion, and it's hard not to be disappointed when nothing new is forthcoming. (I'm not just referring to my own family's blogs, though of course they are the most important and most eagerly sought-after.)

My resigned sigh of "Everyone is too busy actually living life to write about it" is much more accurate than my joking, "Nobody loves me."    Perhaps the most useful response, however, is to remember the times I'm slow at responding to e-mails, or fail to make a comment on a post I like, or to acknowledge a comment on my own blog—as well as the days I allow to pass without providing a new post for my own readers.  In my own case I know there are good reasons for my lack of communication.  Okay, so some of the reasons aren't really all that good—but none is malicious.

Assuming the best rather than the worst sounds like a far happier and healthier approach to all of life.

I need Porter.

I'm not in this case referring to the fact that he has a good job and my employable skills are a quarter century out of date.

Nor to the fact that when I say I'd be lost without him, I mean that literally.  Oh, I can navigate pretty well and even find my car in the parking lot if I put my mind to it.  The trouble is, my mind is usually elsewhere entirely.

Nor because it's wonderful to have someone around who can work on the roof without getting all faint-hearted and weak-kneed.

I'm not even talking about emotional support; the security of knowing someone cares if I'm late coming home; arms to comfort and a shoulder to cry on; tender words of respect and encouragement; a friendly presence in the house, and on the other side of the bed.

Not even love.

I love him for all of these, but what I really need Porter for his efforts to pull me out of my ruts.  In a grumpier mood I call these distractions.

Inspired by my daughter's mother-in-law (there must be a better way to say that), I'm making a list of things I want to do before I die.  This is an interesting exercise, though like most forms of exercise better started at an earlier age. But while writing the list is a new idea, I've had an unwritten, mental list for years that tends to consume my life.  "Workaholic" is not a term usually used to describe someone whose last paycheck was 27 years ago, but it's not inappropriate.  When you're over 50 and the list of what you want to do before you die keeps getting longer, a feeling of urgency is justified.

Recently, Porter attended a class that kept him out of town for two weeks.  Certainly I missed him!  But the time was not without advantages.  Figuring eight hours for sleep, and another for meals, phone calls, and miscellaneous, that left me with a 15-hour work day!

I cut my meals down to two a day, which turned out to be remarkably easy.  People talk about skipping breakfast and/or lunch, but I've never been able to do that without significant sacrifice.  I'm always hungry for breakfast and lunch.  But with no one to cook for, I learned that skipping dinner is a piece of cake.  (Figuratively speaking, of course.)  By eating a late lunch I discovered the remarkable liberation of finishing the final meal of the day and still having seven or eight hours before bedtime—what's normally considered a full work day.

Except for church on Sunday, the only time I left home was as part of my exercise routine.  It being summertime, most of my away-from-home commitments were curtailed, and best of all I did absolutely no shopping.

Fifteen hours a day of work.  I completed two major projects, made significant progress on several others, and developed and established some important personal habits.  Yet I had more energy than usual at the end of the day, not less.  It was utter bliss.

It was also a fool's paradise.  It only worked because everything else worked.  Porter's salary continued to be paid, no appliances broke down, I stayed healthy, there were no family crises to deal with, no hurricanes came our way; there were none of the events—happy or sad—in which being alone is really hard.  I'm deeply grateful.

Even in the absence of problems, however, it's not a sustainable lifestyle.  One cannot just write; one must take time out to live life and thus have something to write about.  Creating photo albums is not possible without the events that make up the photos.  (Though, frankly, my backlog is of sufficient size to take me well into old age, I fear.)  Most of all, the point of most of my projects is to share with or benefit other people in some way, so cutting myself off from those very people to work on the projects makes only short-term, occasional sense.  (Not that I was cut off during those two weeks, being blessed with e-mail, inexpensive phone service, and friends and family who make a point of keeping in contact.  Porter calls at least once, often twice a day when he is on the road, God bless him!  That's why I can spend two weeks alone without being in the least lonely.)

Enter Porter.  As far as I can tell, his primary love language is Quality Time.  He loves to do things, he loves to do things together, and he particularly loves doing things that involve going somewhere away from home.  All of which Interrupts My Work.

It also makes my work worthwhile, so I recognize it as a gift and a blessing.  There's a reason God designed us to require other people in our lives.  It doesn't have to be a husband; in fact, we really need many kinds and sorts of people.  But a spouse is definitely an asset in this context.

Which brings me to the other point of this post:  The Concert Surprise.  We're regular patrons of the Orlando Philharmonic Orchestra, but we didn't sign up for their Sounds of Summer series this year because of our irregular schedule.  When he discovered that we would actually be home for one recently, Porter wanted to go.

Sounds Of Summer II
Italia “La Più Bella”
Thursday, July 5, 2007 7:00 PM
Created by Daniel Flick

This musical feast is sure to satisfy the tastes of all Italian Music Lovers. Works of the classic Italian masters, Corelli, Tartini, Vivaldi, and Boccherini, are accompanied by Italian folk music favorites ranging in flavor from “la Sole alla Luna” or as we say in English, from “the Sun to The Moon.” These works are brought to life on traditional Italian instruments including Mandolin, Accordion, Classical Guitar, String Quartet and Soprano.

It sounded interesting, but had I been alone I would not have attended.  Too many other projects would have taken higher priority.  But I went, because anything done with Porter automatically acquires very high priority along with considerably increased interest.

Yes, it was an enjoyable concert.  But the part that was the most fun was opening up the program to discover that one of the two above-mentioned Sopranos was our friend, Ashley Locheed!  We've been enjoying Ashley's performances since she was a freshman in college, but lately her career path has taken her into venues we don't usually frequent and hours at which we'd rather be asleep, so this was a treat.

It pays to get out of the house every once in a while.

It's not news to most of my readers that I loathe shopping.

If I know exactly what I want and can head directly to the store and immediately zero in on the item, purchase it without hassle, and be pleased with it when I get home, then I don't mind so much and the experience is even somewhat satisfying. You know how many times this happens over the course of a lifetime.

Shopping at amazon.com isn't so bad, because (1) I can take all the time I want to make up my mind without making multiple trips to the store, (2) no sales clerk ever hassles me, and most of all (3) I'm buying books. I'd rather buy a book in a local store where I can actually hold it in my hands and get to know it better first. A bookstore is one of the very few shops where I can enjoy browsing, and maybe coming upon something good I didn't know about before I walked in. But the sad truth is that bookstores rarely have what I'm looking to purchase, and what good does it do for the clerk to cheerily assure me he'd be happy to order the book for me? I can do that myself—and usually do.

Shopping at Whole Foods can be a treat, too. I think that's about it, though.

Basically, I find most stores to be creepy. The constant assault on my senses from all the attempts to get customers to buy, buy, buy—not to mention the almost ubiquitous piped-in music, often at objectionably high volumes—makes me want to get the job done and out as fast as possible. Sometimes the sheer volume of choice—and, let's face it, the sheer volume of junk—makes my skin crawl. I know; I'm weird. Most people seem to enjoy the experience.

My wardrobe (or lack thereof) is sufficient evidence of how much I like to go shopping for clothes. Furniture? Our house is generally furnished in Generous Relative Hand-me-down Style—not because we can't afford anything else, but because anything else would require actual shopping.

Appliances? That's my current nemesis. I'm the kind of person who would rather make toast in the oven than replace the toaster oven that finally gave out after many years of good service. I lived for three years without a mixer rather than shop for a new one; the only reason I have one now is that Janet and Porter took matters into their own hands and bought me one for Christmas. Really, mixing things by hand—even egg whites—is much easier than shopping.

Our refrigerator was bought used for our tenants when we rented out the house while we were in Boston. It's been making funny noises for years. The stove and the freezer are working fine, but I'm steeling myself for the day they must be replaced, because they're each 30 years old, and would be considerably harder than a mixer to live without. The dishwasher doesn't owe us anything, because it's about 20 years old, but it hasn't cleaned very well since we returned from Boston.  Must be the tenants' fault.

So we've been looking at appliances. I really wouldn't mind shopping if I could find something I liked! But all the reviews are at best mixed, and often negative. Large appliances are now expected to last five or at most ten years, not thirty. Toaster ovens of all sorts have a disconcerting tendency to burst into flames at random times, even when not in use.

We paid $26 to join the online version of Consumer Reports, but so far have been disappointed. The dishwashers they reviewed are mostly not the ones I find available, and in any case their results are skewed by giving an unreasonably high priority to how quiet the machine runs. Quiet is good, but nowhere near as important as effective, efficient, and convenient. Their toaster oven reviews weren't much help, either—again, they mostly tested models I don't find in the stores.

Eventually we did get a new toaster oven, because Porter dragged me out of the house one day, determined that I should have one as a birthday present. I finally convinced myself that if someone had just given me a toaster oven, I would have found it fine and used it gratefully, so I stopped worrying so much and just picked one. I would gladly have spent more money to get what I wanted, but since I found nothing good, we chose a Euro-Pro at Best Buy that cost us, after a 12% discount and a $5 coupon, about $28. That's only $2 more than the Consumer Reports membership. And guess what? It makes toast! And otherwise seems to perform like a reasonable toaster oven. We did take the precaution of adding a switch to the cord, however, so it's easy to disconnect the appliance from the power. Reading the instruction manual, I was glad to discover that the manufacturer had recognized and addressed the issue of spontaneous toaster oven combustion: It is clearly stated, in several places, that one must always unplug the appliance after each use! So if your toaster oven burns up, it's not because of faulty manufacturing—apparently the machines are designed that way.

...when you take a shower with the water set all the way to "cold" and it's still too warm by the time you've finished washing your hair.

First a confession:  We have recently gone over to the Dark Side.  That is, we joined Netflix.

Despite our firm convictions that television and movies on the whole are an assault on the mind and spirit, as well as a waste of time, we are not total Luddites and appreciate that the video medium has its good purposes.  One of which might occasionally be simply relaxing with one's family.  :)

That last purpose was getting harder and harder to accomplish, since our local video stores have moved to concentrating on the latest movies, "kiddie shows," and video games.  It's next to impossible to find good mysteries, old movies, or anything educational.  Enter Netflix.  I'm all for supporting local businesses (or even mega-businesses with a local presence), but if they won't stock anything worth renting, I'll seek out a business that does.

Which brings me to the subject of this post.  At one point—it must be a few years ago now—we discovered the TV show, Numb3rs.  I was immediately entranced and could have become {gasp} hooked on a weekly TV show, except that its 10 p.m. slot meant not getting to sleep until after 11, and no show is worth that on a regular basis.

But then we joined Netflix.  Now we have seen the entire first season of Numb3rs, and a third of the second, spread out over about three months.  I probably should wait till I've caught up with today before writing, but I won't, because right now my review is positive, and I'm always afraid the show will degenerate as so many have done.  For the same reason, I've so far avoided websites that discuss the show.  I hope I'm wrong—but the few episodes we've seen of the current season don't make me too optimistic.  Nonetheless—

(First, a very quick synopsis for those who aren't familiar with the show.  Charlie and Don Eppes are brothers.  Don is an FBI agent; Charlie is a math genius, former child prodigy, now math professor at the fictional Cal Sci—clearly modeled after Cal Tech, whose consultants help out with the show's mathematics.  Each episode of Numb3rs features Charlie and some of his Cal Sci buddies using mathematics to help the FBI solve crimes.)

I love this show! For a number of reasons, the first of which is that, unlike almost every television show I've happened upon in the last oh-so-many years, it is relatively inoffensive.  Amazingly so.  I can't turn on network television for  10 minutes without being utterly repulsed, it seems.  Considering the show is about Los Angeles, criminals, and the FBI, one could call the language unrealistic.  This is a good thing.  If I wanted to hear that kind of language, I could return to vounteering at the local high school.  As it is, I wasn't bothered, though there are still some phrases I'd rather not hear my grandchildren repeating.  It's not a show suitable for them for other reasons, anyway.

Although their are occasional sexual crimes on the show, they are dealt with reasonably.  As far as the main characters go, sexual references are there, but few and far between.  One character is revealed as having lived with someone (outside of marriage) in the past, and another briefly mentions a sexual experience, but other than that we are spared those details (so far).  In the last episode (of the first season), the FBI catches a criminal in bed with his girlfriend, but even that wasn't too bad.  This may not sound restrained, but let me assure those of you who haven't peeped in on the recent TV/movie scene, this is a major step in the right direction for Hollywood!

If a show is about crime, there will be violence, but this, too, is understated.  (The pilot is the worst of what we've seen so far, and it's still better than most crime shows.)

That's what the show is not, and I go into all that detail first because there are those reading here who would really enjoy Numb3rs who don't like unpleasant surprises.

But what makes Numb3rs such a good show?  After all, if all you want to do is avoid bad language, sexual references, and violence, you don't have to watch any show at all.

Well, for one thing, it's not just about crime; it's about family.  Charlie, Don, and their dad live together in a pleasant home.  (Don and Charlie's mother died of cancer before the first episode, which provides some poignant moments. )  Actually, Don has his own apartment, but spends a lot of time back home.  They eat together, talk together, and play games together.  (Are you beginning to see a little resemblance here to my own family?)  The father is kindly, intelligent, and wise—characteristics not often associated with fathers by today's writers.  The brothers have their issues and occasional squabbles, but they clearly love, respect, and care for one another.

But most of all, I love Numb3rs because I can relate to it.  I watch the interactions amongst the various Cal Sci professors and students and want to shout, "I know these people!"  One of the reasons I find television shows and movies boring for the most part is that they are so totally unreal, and don't intersect my world in any way.  Numb3rs is different.

When Charlie tries to explain to Don that he can't just make his brain work on anything he wants to, that he must work on the problem that his brain is pursuing at the moment, I know exactly what he means.  I'm no math genius, and I know that discipline can be bridle and bit to the mind, but I also know how much more effective and efficient I am when I can give my brain its head, so to speak, and let it run with whatever is inspiring it at the moment of inspiration and for however long the course lasts.

When he groans at interruptions I know the frustration of having to start a whole line of thinking again because it has been broken, and of losing the tenuous idea altogether.  I don't identify with his doing math while listening to blaring rock music on his headphones—but he's younger than me.  :)

I love to hear the conversations between Charlie and his friend Larry, the physicist, because they sound like people I know, and sometimes even conversations I have had.  I even get some of the jokes.  They talk about things that matter in my world.

In other words, for all its obviously fictional qualities, I find Numb3rs believable—real people, real families, real work.  That's more than I can say about the rest of Hollywood's output, even (or especially) so-called realistic drama and "reality" shows.

Not that television shows matter, really.  There are better things to do with the time.  But the human nature is such that one cannot help delighting in the feeling that someone, somewhere, understands.  Even if only a little, and even if it is a made-up TV show.

Not that it's without some common Hollywood faults.  The female main characters are all drop-dead gorgeous as well as supremely competent, and the men aren't so bad, either.  Not much reality there.  Worse, the writers, producers, directors, and actors can't seem to shake basic Hollywood assumptions any more than a fish can shake his aquatic environment.  It's easy to catch the standard liberal digs thrown in, such as the U. S. government training terrorists in Colombia, and the stupidty of the Department of Homeland Security.  Worse, although as I said the sexual subplots are (or have been so far) mimimal, there is a basic assumption that any romantic relationship naturally leads to sex and moving in together, sans marriage, of course.  It seems Hollywood finds esoteric mathematicians easier to understand than those they refer to as "red state people."

You learn a lot from the extra features on the DVD about the attitudes of the actors and directors, not all of it good.  I was pleased to learn one thing about David Krumholtz, who portrays Charlie, however:  As a young student he had to take Algebra I three times, having failed twice.  But he became interested in the math his character was doing, and attended lectures and classes to try to understand it better.  At first they needed a "hand double"—someone else to write the equations on the board—but after a while he could do his own writing.

This review has sat around for over a month waiting to be better organized, so I'm calling blogger's privilege and just publishing it as it is.  Bottom line:  Numb3rs is a crime show, with themes that I would not want to have to explain to a young person.  But with that caveat, I highly recommend it.  Especially on DVD, with commercials removed.  it's amazing how much better a story flows when it's not constantly interrupted.

UPDATE April 3, 2008  We've just finished Season Two.  I still enjoy the shows, although the season ender was weird as well as offensive and if Season 3 is consistently like that we may not make it through them all.  The show is definitely formulaic, but I like the formula, so that's not the problem.  I actually prefered it when they stuck to the math and didn't delve so much into the characters' private lives.  Well, some of that was okay—I particularly like the warm-and-fuzzy family scenes—but Hollywood's basic assumptions regarding sexual behavior ruins the romantic-interest angle for me.  Numb3rs has definitly upped the ante on the sex-violence-bad language, though it is still better than most.  Sad that they can't leave one show that's adult without being offensive!

As I mentioned earlier, it's the basic Hollywood worldview that provides most of the offense.  The last show of the second season found nothing unreasonable about dream-visitation of the living by the dead, but the presence of a Bible in someone's home noteworthy and suspicious, and a character's statement that he and his girlfriend did not believe in having sex without marriage to be so peculiar as to make him into the chief suspect.

Larry the physicist is still my favorite character, though, and it's almost worth watching just for him.  On to Season Three! 

UPDATE May 27, 2008  Season Three is done, and I'm more than a little frustrated that Season 4 is not yet available.  The last episode of Season Three had some interesting twists but even more holes and logical inconsistencies that would be fun to discuss—if I could find the one other person in the world who has watched up to the end of Season Three but none of Season Four.  I won't talk about them here for fear of doing to someone else what Netflix did to me:  Whoever wrote the synopsis for the Season Four DVDs included a serious spoiler for the previous season.  Not cool.

All that aside, what I wrote in the April 3 update still holds.  The Hollywood worldview continues to intrude.  The sex-language-violence is to the point where I can tolerate it for the sake of the whole story, but can no longer recommend the series without serious caveats.  I'd say it's about to the level of the early James Bond movies.  But the basic premise of the show is still delightful, most of the stories are interesting, and there's a decent amount of character development that makes the whole team—not just Larry anymore—likeable.

On the whole Season Three was better than the last episode of Season Two.  It's a shame the writers think they have to do something bizarre in the season-ender.

I hope this Weather Underground data is inaccurate!  Are there any readers from the Downingtown, Pennsylvania area who can confirm or deny this reading?

One of our nephews is a Boy Scout.

My father was for many years a Boy Scout leader, so when I joined the Girl Scouts I was mightily disappointed that we did so little of the camping, hiking, mountain climbing, knot-tying, fire-building, and survival skills work he did with his boys.  Thanks to some amazing (and somewhat rebellious) leaders and dedicated parents, we still had a good time, but the national program left me less than impressed.

From what little I know of it, I'm even less impressed with today's program.  It's politically correct, oriented towards modern society, relevant to today's girls—and therefore boring as all get out.  At least to me.  (They still make great cookies, though, and Boy Scout popcorn doesn't even come close.)

For all I know, the Boy Scout program has changed, too.  But my heart is encouraged by knowing one troop that is still in the business of helping boys grow into men.  And even more so to see the video-game, text-message, iPod, virtual reality generation rising to physical, organizational, and social challenges.  I applaud the leaders who provide necessary support and guidance while giving the Scouts much of the responsibility for running the troop.

They leave this week for Philmont, the apex of Boy Scout adventuring.  What they are doing "on the way" exhausts me just thinking of it, including hiking up and down the Grand Canyon's Bright Angel Trail.  During their two weeks at Philmont the boys themselves chose the most rigorous program available to them, which includes over 80 miles of hiking and lots of camping and other intensive activities.

Sounds like the best conditioning short of joining the Marines—and without getting shot at.

We were exhausted after our return from Switzerland, and our trip was a lot shorter and easier than Janet's will be, so I'm sure she'll appreciate your prayers.  She has four flights, ground transportation between two airports in New York, long wait times, and about 24 hours of travel—if all goes well—to look forward to.  Good thing she's younger than we are.  :)

It sure will be good to see her!

Last year's small garden yielded only half a dozen tomatoes, some chives, and a good supply of basil, largely because it got no water during a critical dry spell when we were attending to a much more important affair:  Noah's birth.

This year we were late in planting, but have already eaten better with promise of more to come.

Basil, chives, hot pepper, and cilantro 

Tomatos and marigolds 

Peppers—obviously not the sweet green peppers the label said they were!  Any ideas?  They're not hot, but do have a noticeable bite.

Bougainvilla