Lift Up Your Hearts!

On one of our recent bike rides, we came upon a dead armadillo.  Dead armadillos happen not infrequently in Florida.  They may be faster in crossing a road than turtles, but they will dawdle.  Worse, their startle reaction is to leap straight into the air, dooming them even when a car would otherwise pass harmlessly over them.

This one had apparently managed to crawl from the road to the nearby bicycle trail, but not before the vultures got wind of the event.  Porter was biking a little ahead of me, and I saw them beginning to circle as he approached.  A few had descended upon the poor beast by the time he rode by.  His presence more annoyed than scared them.  When I reached the scene there were at least a dozen blanketing the pavement, and I chose to veer off the trail and leave them to their vicitim.

Vultures are ugly birds, and their behavior was uglier:  fighting, shoving, greedily tearing the little armadillo apart.  By the time we came to that part of the train on our return trip, there was nothing left but a dark spot on the pavement.

And that's the point.  Carrion-eaters may be ugly, dirty things, but they are also God's creatures, and their work is important.  They are the garbage collectors of the natural world, and they, too, deserve the more lofty title of "sanitation engineers."  Maybe even more so, because they don't just cart the bodies off to the landfill; they are the ultimate recyclers.

I'd rather see a sandhill crane, or a woodpecker, or an egret on our rides any day.  But if there's a dead armadillo on the trail...Who you gonna call?

Not long ago, a friend was lamenting to me about how tedious elementary recitals are.  Little piano and violin students plunking and scraping away on the same, boring pieces, making the same mistakes you've heard hundreds of times.  I couldn't disagree more.

She has a different perspective, mind you:  she's a music teacher, so no doubt that makes a difference.

But I love music recitals, elementary and otherwise.

Today we made up for our disappointment with the Tuileries by visiting Leu Gardens. It was delightful to wander amongst the palms, bromiliads, wildflowers, camelias, cacti, roses, and other Florida and non-Florida flora.  Especially the gardenias, which take me right back to my grandmother's garden.

Standing by the lake, watching the fish, a turtle, and a white heron—while watching out for alligators and water moccasins—we heard music.  Violin music.  Suzuki violin music.  Talk about natsukashii!  We had to investigate...at the main house there was a luncheon, for which a single violinist was providing entertainment, and she was working her way around the Suzuki repertoire—books three and four, if I had to guess; it's been a while.

Our first live Suzuki contact was made at Leu Gardens; we happened to be there when a group from the Suzuki Music Institute of Maitland was playing on the grounds.  For me, it was love at first sight (sound).  That great music coming from those tiny kids!

Well, that was the beginning for us of more than ten years of Suzuki music.  There were plenty of frustrating times, but one thing I never tired of was hearing the kids play.  I loved to hear our own children practice, I loved to hear all the students—not just ours—play at the recitals.  True, I no longer attend them, now that we've moved on, but truly, I wish the music we heard today had been a public group concert, so I could have heard once again the tiny kids and the old, familiar pieces.  Even Twinkle!

I've always found Amazon.com's "Better Together" feature to be mildly amusing, since every time they've offered me a "deal" to buy another book with the one I'm interested in, the price has been no deal at all, just the sum of the two individual prices.  So I rarely even bother to look at the offer.

However, while investigating possible toaster ovens (ours recently having self-destructed in a spectacular, fiery death), I came upon this offer which I share with you now.

I'm posting a link to this U.S. News and World Report short article on Japanese schools, hoping it will provoke commentary from one who can speak firsthand, rather than second, about the realities behind this rosy picture. (Not that she doesn't have dozens of much more important things to do.) Anyone else is welcome to comment as well!

Update:  Here are the pictures from Janet of some of her students in Japan, cleaning the school pool.  (See comments.)

  

This article on making moral judgments is a good example of the kind of false dilemma that drives me crazy.  It reminds me of those soul-tearing questions sometimes inflicted on schoolchildren—by each other, and even by teachers—such as "If your house were burning and you could only save one parent, which would you choose, your mom or your dad?" I remember teaching my own kids that "I don't answer ridiculous questions" is a perfectly acceptable response.

The dilemma posed in the experiment is this:  "Someone you know has AIDS and plans to infect others, some of whom will die. Your only options are to let it happen or to kill the person. Do you pull the trigger?"  The premise, "your only options are to let it happen or to kill the person" is spurious, since there are always other options.  They could at least have set up a more plausible scenario, such as a sniper shooting steadily into a crowded schoolyard and you having a gun trained on the sniper—do you shoot him?  But even in that case one can shoot to disable, even though there's a chance your shot will end up fatal.

What they discovered about the responses of people with a particular type of brain damage may be important in helping those people and their families, but it's hard to see any general application that can come from false premises.

Just for you, my dear Northerners, I have run around the house changing the clocks, and will get up unconscionably early tomorrow.  Daylight Saving Time makes little sense in our part of the world, and it seems yet more ridiculous to make the change even earlier this year.

But I do recall that it wasn't so bad to have the time change when we lived up north.  So I'll put up with it for your sakes.  But it does show what part of the country really runs the government, doesn't it?

Serious collectors of anything can have serious problems when they die.  We've all heard of the numismatist whose rare coins were piously dropped one by one into the church collection plate by his widow, and the philatelist whose valuable stamps were used for postage; of antiques sold at estate sales for junk-furniture prices; of a genealogist's lifetime's worth of painstaking work tossed as worthless papers.

But geologists might have another problem.  Someone's carefully documented rock collection caused panic in a Florida pawn shop.

For $10,000, Frank Cafaro bought a collection of minerals from a Miami estate and brought it home in 50 pickup truck loads.  Then his troubles began.

"We were in the warehouse and we pulled out this box of rocks....Everything was individually labeled. Amethyst. Topaz. Uranium. The guy I'm working with says, 'What's that last one? Uranium? I think that's illegal.'"

Inside a small, lead-lined container was a glass vial containing about an ounce of yellowcake uranium, which as far as I can determine is completely legal to own.

Pawnshop owners must see nearly everything, but they don't know everything, and I can't blame Cafaro for being cautious.  Still, I think the response was a slight overreaction:

Within an hour, the Gold Mine Pawn was swarming Thursday with nearly three dozen emergency workers, including Geiger-counter-waving members of a hazardous materials team and the Marion County Sheriff's Office Domestic Security Task Force.

I wonder what Cafaro said when he reported his find.  Oh, well; I supposed the HAZMAT team was glad for a little practice excercise.

Or maybe not.  I don't really have time to post this morning (or I'd be working on my Why the Rest Hates the West review), but one of the blogs I check occasionally has a post so fitting to Janet's frustration with the unsmiling Swiss that I had to write.

In both the Marginal Revolution post, Don't smile too much, and the original New York Times' TierneyLab post, Solved:  The Mystery of the Miserable Models, and their attendant comments, are some enlightening observations on why not smiling is associated with higher class, quality, expense, power, and dominance.  Sad commentary as that is, it fits in with two other experiences that have come to mind recently.

When my mother worked as a teacher's aide in an elemenary school, she tried to call attention to the plight of a small child of Asian origin who was being harrassed by the other students.  The teacher would not take her seriously, because in her view the boy must be happy, since he was smiling all the time.  My mother—correctly, I'm sure—interpreted those smiles as cringing deference, masking fear.

I was talking with a British friend, who lives in France, and his observation was that many Europeans view a person who smiles at strangers as either mentally unbalanced or a prostitute!

Having so recently read Meic Pearse's analysis of Western anticulture, I can't help seeing a connection between a meaningless culture of consumption and entertainment, such as pervades Europe, Canada, the United States, and other places with a great "Western" influence, and the loss of smiling, innocent happiness.  (Not to say that this anticulture is common amongst "real people" in any country; but to many, what is rampant in Hollywood, the news media, and academia is perceived as reality, and may indeed be becoming so.)

Why the Rest Hates the West:  Understanding the Roots of Global Rage, by Meic Pearse (Intervarsity Press, Downers Grove, Illinois, 2004)

This is not a book review; not yet.  I long to write about Meic Pearse's book, but it deserves a detailed and extensive review which I cannot at the moment accomplish.  Rather than wait entirely until I can put in the requisite time and effort, however, I'm posting this placeholder, because this is an incredibly valuable book!  Its somewhat unfortunate title calls to mind the hand-wringing post-9/11 whine, "Why do they hate us?" but Why the Rest Hates the West is a serious, insightful analysis of the chasm between modern Western culture—more precisely, "anti-culture"—and the rest of the world that no one with more than a few years left on this earth can afford to ignore.

Find the book!  Read it!  Then come back here and tell me what you think.

And I'll put Li'l Writer Guy to work on the review.

Not the same one as these people, certainly.

Thinking it was from someone else, I followed Erica's link in her comment on Heather and Jon's blog, which eventually led me to this supposedly funny story about the differences between the way men and women prepare dinner.  I realize it's intended to be hyperbolic, but there's enough seriousness in the post and responses to make me believe there's another world out there that has nothing to do with anyone I know.

First of all, who brought this man up that he is surprised to learn that it's rude to ask someone to make you (and some friends) dinner (big faux pas), then call her up an hour before mealtime to tell her you've eaten a big lunch and aren't hungry, so she needn't bother cooking (enormously huge faux pas)?  C'mon—there can't really be anyone so clueless on the planet, can there?

Secondly, the characterization of a man's approach to a meal might have been credible 50 years ago, though even for that time I have my doubts.  In any case, many of the men I know are good cooks who frequently exercise their talents, and the rest can do so in a pinch.  Sure, we all—male and female—have been known to "just grab something" when feeding only ourselves.  But for guests?

Nor is his picture of a woman preparing a meal much more reasonable, though at least it helps him grasp the idea that planning and work are involved.  But no one I know, of any sex, prepares meals that way—even allowng for the hyperbole—except for very special occasions.

Not being able to respond on the blogs I encountered while discovering this other planet, I resort to venting on my own forum.  Do YOU know people like this?

Still, I give him lots of credit for realizing he was a boor, and wanting to do better.  We need more people like that on our planet.

Yesterday's visit to the art museum set me thinking.  The featured exhibit was quilts from the Gee's Bend community, set alongside and accorded the same respect as works in the museum's exhibit of modern abstract art.  Analysts found many similarities between the creations of an isolated, impoverished community and those of the high-brow professional artists.

Folk art, and folk music, grow out of the real lives of ordinary, untrained people.  That the experts, the professionals, can find much of value and sophistication in these genres reveals a foundational truth:  not that the work of untrained amateurs is as good as that of those who have studied hard and practiced long, but that there are no ordinary people.  Each person, being made in the image of God, has within him both the divine creativity and the access to reality that make art important.

Hence my inspiration, and hope, that blogging—despite the often-justified critism by professional writers and journalists—may be the literary equivalent of folk art.  The quilts of Gee's Bend were made to keep families warm, and only later discovered to be worthy of hanging on a museum wall.

Terrorism? War? Disease? Crime? Not being able to communicate? For the places I'm likely to go, the biggest danger is none of these, but in being an Ugly American. An Ugly, Ignorant American.

Consider, for example, the experience of a friend, who recently returned from East Africa.

He was hiking, with a group of fellow tourists, under the direction of a native guide, and overheard the following conversation between the guide and an American elementary school teacher.

Teacher: What religion are you? Do you worship spirits? Ancestors?

Guide: I'm a Roman Catholic.

Teacher: Oh. Do you celebrate Christmas?

Friend: (Inarticulate noises, recognized by his father as the signs he is trying hard to stifle both laughter and rage.)

Guide (bemused, but polite): Yes, I celebrate Christmas.

Teacher: Oh. You don't celebrate Kwanzaa?

Friend: (Indications that rage is winning out over laughter. His father attempts to lead him away from the scene. Too little, too late.)

Guide (confused, but still polite): What's Kwanzaa?

Teacher (incredulous): It's an African holiday!

Friend: (In a mixture of incredulity and embarrassment that he bears the same nationality as the Teacher, erupts with a heated exposition of the history of Kwanzaa.)

I'm not sure which is more disconcerting: The ignorance of this person; that she is a teacher, and has doubtless passed her ignorance on to many innocent young children; or that telling this story has revealed other people who don't know that Kwanzaa is not of African origin, but was invented in 1966 by an American who wanted "to give a Black alternative to the existing holiday [Christmas] and give Blacks an opportunity to celebrate themselves and history, rather than simply imitate the practice of the dominant society."

I do feel sorry for Lake Brantley High School's band. When our kids played in it, many of the members secretly (or not so secretly) wanted the football team to lose so they wouldn't extend the marching season by making the playoffs. (An understandable side effect of the unreasonable rule requiring students to play in the marching band if they wanted to be part of the concert band.)

Still, even the hardest-hearted (that would have been me, had I known) must have felt a thrill when Brantley became the first Seminole County football team to play in a State Championship game, which was held at Miami's Dolphin Stadium last night.

They lost the game to the powerhouse Miami Northwestern team. But they won more than they lost, according to Orlando Sentinel columnist Mike Bianchi. Some excerpts from today's column:

Lake Brantley High didn't win the Class 6A state championship Saturday night, but it accomplished something even more admirable. None of the Patriots' players was arrested or paid off this past week.

Miami Northwestern's star running back was arrested last week on a felony charge of lewd and lascivious battery.... Any questions about whether [he] would be allowed to play against Lake Brantley on Saturday night were quickly answered when he was introduced before the game and received an ovation 10 times louder than any other player on the team.

If you wonder where college and professional athletes get their sense of privilege and pretension, look no further than the state's powerhouse high-school football programs. [Miami Northwestern isn't the only Florida high school football team with documented ethics violations.] Brantley's coaches and administrators obviously didn't get the memo: If you want to win the state championship, leave your conscience at home.

Get this: Lake Brantley actually has something called a "citizenship policy" that precludes athletes from participating in games not only for breaking major rules but for simple conduct violations. There have been instances when Patriots athletes have missed games for unexcused tardiness. "If one of our kids had been arrested, he wouldn't be playing in the state championship game," Lake Brantley Coach George Clayton said.

Lake Brantley may not have won the state championship Saturday night, but it did something even better in my book. The Patriots put the class back in Class 6A.

The Seminole Indians never surrendered to the U. S. Government; perhaps they knew that time and patience would be the keys to eventual success. Florida's Seminole Tribe has conquered the Hard Rock Empire. As far as I know, no blood was shed in the acquisition, but nearly a billion dollars changed hands.

(For those who care, I use the politically incorrect term, "Indians," because that's what the local Seminole folks said they preferred.)

The sad part of the story is that I remember when many of the Seminole leaders argued that they didn't want to become involved with casinos because that would be immoral. I can't really blame the Indians for taking advantage of any legal means to lift up their people, but it's sad.

I also fear for them, not only because sudden wealth often leads to disaster, but also because I doubt there is any situation in which large amounts of money can be made that does not attract the attentions of organized crime.

In the meantime, it is sweet revenge on the descendants of their conquerors—as if tobacco weren't enough.

I'm not holding a grudge, and have recently fallen in love with Japan and her people, but history, remembrance, and memorials are important, so it is sad to note that FDR's date which will live in infamy is mostly ignored.

Yet Ed Hayes came through, as did BC and Mallard.