Lift Up Your Hearts!

Piazzolla: Tangazo
Mozart: Sinfonia concertante in E-flat major, K. 297b
Tchaikovsky: Symphony No. 4 in F minor, op.36

Alondra de la Parra, conductor
Nikolay Blagov, clarinet
Jamie Strefeler, oboe
Diane Bishop, bassoon
Mark Fischer, French horn

Alondra de la Parra.  Thirty years old, and already an exciting conductor.  Watch out for her.  Seek out her performances.

As OPO supporters, we are invited to attend one of the open Friday night rehearsals before a concert, and we chose this one for the compelling reason that it was the only one scheduled for when Porter was able to attend.  What a fortunate Hobson's choice!

Back when Janet was in the Florida Symphony Youth Orchestra, we enjoyed listening to rehearsals because the orchestra would play, the conductor would make some suggestions, and then the orchestra would play again—with obvious improvement.  Orlando Phil rehearsals are not usually fun in that way, because, of course, they are better players.

And then Alondra de la Parra came as guest conductor.  I don’t know how the musicians felt, being treated like youth orchestra students—for Maestra De la Parra stopped them, and worked them, and even at one point had them play to the accompaniment of a loud and disconcerting rim-tap metronome sound from the percussion section.  She made them play chords again and again, until she heard the right balance:  “I need more of the C!”  She ran late, much to the annoyance of the union rep, who checked his watch every minute and a half.

But what a difference the work made!  The before and after contrast was as discernable as it had been with the students, and the next day's performance was even more brilliant.  I have always loved the OPO, but I had no idea they could play like that.  I loathe the “grade inflation” that has led to standing ovations at nearly every concert, but this time I was one of the first on my feet.

De la Parra is fun to watch, too.  With the baton she is as commanding as a four-star general, and yet she dances her directions, playing the orchestra like a beloved instrument, coaxing out the sound.

She gave most of her rehearsal attention to the Tchaikovsky, and it was consequently the most stunning.  But the Mozart was delightful because of the players:  Jamie Strefeler handled the oboe part with skill, Mark Fischer is always good on horn, Nikolay Blagov would make even Heather like the clarinet, and Diane Bishop’s bassoon playing amazes me every time.  (To be completely honest, my favorite part of the Tchaikovsky was some exquisite solo bassoon notes.)

The Piazolla was fun, all the more so because we recognized both the name and the style from a concert in Japan a few years ago.  There we had heard his Libertango played by a talented cellist, who, like other notables such as Diane Bishop and Janet Stücklin-Wightman, graduated from the Eastman School of Music.  She is now teaching at an arts school in Africa.  This completes your It’s a Large World trivia diversion for today.

We capped the evening by enjoying some drinks (okay, it was water) and cookies (oatmeal) at a table by a fountain, while the rest of the crowd struggled to get out of the parking lot.  Twenty minutes later the way was clear; we packed up our belongings and drove home in peace.

The Olde Cup & Saucer, Jamestown Place, Altamonte Springs, Florida

This is for our friend, Nancy:  I'm taking you to tea at The Olde Cup & Saucer.  All you have to do is figure out how to get here from North Carolina.

It's a pity the Olde Cup & Saucer is in a storefront rather than a garden setting, but if you sit with your back to the window and ignore the fact that you can read the menu, you can at least imagine you're sitting in a European café.  Better, because no one's smoking.

The restaurant serves lunch and afternoon tea; we went for the former, and will be back to check out the latter.  There's a good assortment of teas available, though we chose the specials of the day for the cheaper price and free refills.  True, even $1.25 is a lot to pay when we have a store of many excellent teas at home, but hey, I once spent four Swiss francs for a cup of tea in Bern.  (As that cup came with shelter from a storm, as well as a cookie, the price was not too high.)

It was a good Irish Breakfast, served in a lovely cup that brought instantly to mind the above-mentioned friend.  (Porter enjoyed the Arctic Raspberry, iced.)  From the lunch menu, I chose the Classic, with a cup of the soup of the day and two tea sandwiches.  The cheddar cheese and bacon soup was served as hot as I like it, which is rare in restaurants, and I could have happily eaten a large bowl.  For the sandwiches I chose curry chicken salad, and spinach.  They were out of the spinach, so I substituted cucumber.  Both were delicious and creatively presented.  Porter couldn't resist the dish named for our mutual ancestor, Henry II:  shrimp salad, and a side of hearts of palm with Vidalia dressing.  Again, the food was creative and delicious: the shrimp salad included, among other, less-identifiable treats, walnuts and olives.  Quantities were decidedly un-American, a "tea sandwich" being the size of half of what I'd call a sandwich, and thus even smaller than normal restaurant fare.  But it was enough, just right.  Smaller portions lend themselves better to savoring.

The Olde Cup & Saucer also sells a modest selection of loose teas; my only disappointment was discovering that what they call Russian Caravan is noticeably smoky, unlike the other teas I've had under that name.  Ah, well—we know people who pass through the Basel train station now and then....

Although I generally prefer to have people come to our house to share meals, sometimes folks would rather meet at a restaurant.  I'm confident enough in my cooking not to let this bother me (much), but heretofore I've not had a suggestion to make when asked, "Where would you like to meet?"  Now I can't wait for the next opportunity.

When will I learn not to trust product labels?  I tasted these delightful cocoa almonds at the Daleys' and didn't resist when our local Publix had them on a buy one, get one free sale.  They were just as good as I had remembered, and Porter agrees with my assessment.

The problem?  Hidden away at the bottom of the ingredient list—which otherwise is agreeably small, for a snack food—is that hateful word, "Sucralose."

Now, I'm not opposed to artificial sweeteners for those who want to use them.  Xylitol, for example, is an important part of my dental care, and I don't want any well-intentioned busybodies trying to ban it.

But I'm also in favor of full disclosure when it comes to food products, and hiding artificial sweetener behind small print is cheating.  One ought to be able to assume that a product is sweetened naturally unless otherwise clearly informed.  They could at least have used the same upper case letters that boldly inform me that this product "CONTAINS ALMONDS."  Really?  A product named "Cocoa Roast Almonds" contains almonds?  What is the world coming to?

How did you celebrate St. Patrick's Day?  We braved the crowds and streets awash in green beer to see Freud's Last Session at our favorite Mad Cow Theatre.  Once again I must be grateful to my husband who drags me to such things when I'd rather stay at home because my revision of Phoebe's Quilt is bumping up against its April deadline with an unthinkable^* amount of work still remaining.

There are perhaps a thousand wrong ways to craft a play about a hypothetical meeting between Sigmund Freud and C. S. Lewis, but playwright Mark St. Germain achieved the impossible:  a show that is intellectually honest, fair, and respectful of both the character and the viewpoints of each man.  Similar respect, fairness, and honesty shone through the performances of Steven Lane (Lewis) and Terry Wells (Freud) under the direction of Mad Cow's Rick Stanley.  As it turns out, St. Germain's inspiration was Harvard professor Dr. Armand Nicholi's The Question of God, so if I'd only remembered my own blog post from six years ago, I wouldn't have been so surprised at the excellence.

After the performance we had a chance to ask questions of the director and the actors, and if there was one overwhelming impression I took home from the audience's response was their appreciation, tinged with astonishment, of an example of two people with strong, heartfelt, and opposing ideas engaging in discourse that is both substantive and respectful.  In truth, I was a bit shaken to realize that ordinary civility has become a thing at which to marvel.

You can see excerpts from the play at the official New York site.  I have to say that I liked the work of Lane and Wells better, though it's not fair to judge based on small clips.

Oh, and what does this have to do with St. Patrick's Day?  Well, C. S. Lewis was born in Ireland.  Not that St. Patrick himself was....

I mentioned Speculoos à Tartiner before, when in January this unusual Christmas gift caused both U.S. Customs and the TSA concern on my return from Switzerland.  Now that Porter and I have been in the same city long enough to broach the jar, I find it deserves a post of its own.

The giving and receiving of this liquid gold at Christmastime should become a tradition on the order of stockings hung by the chimney with care.

Speculoos à Tartiner looks and spreads like peanut butter, and tastes like a Biscoff cookie.  Thus far we have only sampled it on bread—plus a small, furtive spoonful this morning in the interest of journalistic accuracy.  For the future I'm thinking pancake, waffle, and ice cream topping, fruit dip, frosting for a creamy vanilla cake, and a new twist on cinnamon rolls.  What would you suggest?

It was with much trepidation that I looked at the nutritional data on the label, but it's quite comparable to peanut butter, being higher in sugar, but with fewer calories and less fat.

I'm curious to find out if any of my readers can obtain Speculoos à Tartiner at a local store.  Wegmans, for example, is my court of last resort when it comes to unusual foods—what a pity the nearest store is 800 miles distant.  But there's always the Internet, where you can buy this confection under the name "Biscoff Spread":  $12.95 plus $5 shipping (continental U.S.) will get you two jars.  One could easily replace the marshmallow chicks in an Easter basket.

Or you could schedule your own trip to Europe.  True, that is somewhat pricier, but also infinitely more rewarding.  And in all likelihood it will earn you personal attention from Customs and the TSA upon your return.

How to Be a High School Superstar:  A Revolutionary Plan to Get into College by Standing Out (Without Burning Out), by Cal Newport (Broadway Books, New York, 2010)

If I could recommend two books to help a 12-15 year old student prepare for college, it would be Alex and Brett Harris's Do Hard Things and this one.  Some of the political and religious views expressed in the former set my teeth on edge, but it's well worth the effort to get past that reaction, because Brett and Alex write well, and what they are saying is incredibly important, not just for teens who share their beliefs, but for everyone, of any age.

How to Be a High School Superstar is altogether different in focus, but I can boil the best of both books down to this:  Life doesn’t begin when you graduate from high school. or college, or grad school.  You can do hard things, good things, amazing things, now.  Or, rather, in a little while from now, if you are willing to put forth some effort in the right direction.

The good news from Newport is that the first step in the process is to stop putting so much effort in the wrong directions.  The standard college-bound rat race that overfills schedules with extra-curricular activities and turns a grade of A- into a tragedy?  Forget it.  Far from being a requirement for getting into your top-choice school, this will actually hinder your chances.  The admissions departments of the best schools are awash in applications from students with 4.0 GPAs and bristling with sports, clubs, and volunteer activities.  So how does a student stand out?

By becoming an interesting person.

Face it:  It’s hard to develop a personality when you spend most of your time surrounded by people your own age, doing mostly the same things in the same places.  It is interaction with the diversity and unpredictability of real life that sculpts and polishes us.  So the first step on the path to high school superstardom is to clear large swaths of free time in your schedule.  Get rid of those elective classes you think you ought to take but in which you have no interest, and quit those clubs you joined simply to impress some college admissions officer.  Drop out of the race for the valedictorian’s laurels—it’s true that being first in your class gives a significant edge with the colleges, but there are plenty of other ways to catch their eye where the competition is less fierce.  Being willing to accept a B+ instead of an A can trade a minuscule diminution of learning for a significant increase in free time.

I know, I know.  You’re envisioning sleeping till noon, endless video games, hanging out at the mall, or getting into trouble.  The devil finds work for idle hands to do.

Not a bit of it.  There’s a point to carving out all this free time, and that’s what the rest of the book is about.  Newport never mentions homeschooling, much less unschooling, but his strategy for becoming a person interesting enough to impress the toughest colleges is remarkably similar to the unschooling lifestyle.  It still requires effort—but effort that is different, less stressful, and more interesting.   It’s also, Newport insists, within everyone’s reach:  it doesn’t take a genius to do impressive work.  It does, however, require thinking outside of the standard high school operating procedures.

Neither Do Hard Things nor How to Be a High School Superstar has all the answers, but each presents a vision for encouraging ordinary students to become extraordinary human beings.

Don't leave middle school without them.

Ender's Shadow, by Orson Scott Card (Tor, New York, 1999)

Having read Ender's Game and Speaker for the Dead while visiting one son-in-law's library for the birth of a grandchild, it seems only fair to read Ender's Shadow while visiting the other son-in-law's library for the birth of the next grandchild.

Although I liked Ender's Game a lot, I was disappointed by the sequel and thus did not pursue the series any further.  But Ender's Shadow is Ender's Game as seen from the point of view of Bean, one of my favorite characters, and was recommended to me, so when I found it on the bookshelves here I couldn't resist.

It's good.  Maybe better than the original.  Not great, but fun to read and hard to put down for anything less than a grandchild.

Bad Science:  Quacks, Hacks, and Big Pharma Flacks, by Ben Goldacre (Faber and Faber, New York, 2010)

Bad Science was hard to read.  Not because the material is difficult (it's not), nor because I disagree with the author's positions (though sometimes I do), but because it is 258 pages of sneer.  Since Goldacre repeatedly states that he is bending over backwards to give his adversaries as much credit as possible, perhaps the sneer is unintentional, but it is no less an impediment.

Furthermore, casual statements like the one in which he implies that belief in a benevolent God is equivalent to believing in "flaky spiritual 'energy' that only alternative therapists can truly harness" unnecessarily alienates a large part of his potential audience. He continues this theme in the chapter on AIDS, where he dismisses those who point out that the single most effective method of preventing AIDS transmission is to avoid sex outside of marriage and the use of illegal drugs, calling them as irrational as those who offer AIDS sufferers beetroot and garlic instead of antiretroviral drugs.  He mocks Christian development agencies, implying that providing medical care, clean water, and the means to grow food and earn an income just isn't worthwhile if you don't also provide access to birth control and abortion.  Such statements do not give me confidence in the rationality of his approach to the other issues in the book.

And finally, if one is hoping to be a proponent of the rational, the scholarly, and the credentialed, it seems foolish to pepper your book with expletives.  They make the writing unpleasant to read, and seem as inappropriate in this setting as showing up with tattered jeans and multiple body piercings for a job interview at a bank.

So it's time to dust off my very own proverb:  The wise man recognizes truth in the words of his enemies.  Goldacre is inconsistent, I'll admit—excoriating the press for publishing frightening reports without backing them up with well-documented, respected, scientific research, for example, while casually and without documentation blaming Dr. Benjamin Spock for tens of thousands of avoidable deaths through his recommendation that babies sleep on their stomachs.  But mixed in with the chaff there are some very good points, and helpful hints for navigating the mess of contradictory news reports, especially in the field of medicine and health, that leave us throwing our hands up in despair of ever learning the truth.

If I had a T-shirt slogan for this whole book, it would be: "I think you'll find it's a bit more complicated than that."

Amen.  That's what he says, and what I'd say to him.  :)  Having worked in a research lab that published, in respected medical journals, the kinds of academic, peer-reviewed papers Goldacre holds up as a gold standard, I know that the system isn't quite as reliable and free of politics and prejudice as he would like us to believe.  It may be the best we have, and pretty good at that, but it has enough of the smell of a "good ol' boy" network to give me sympathy for those who take their findings directly to the media.

The chapter on the Placebo Effect is probably itself worth reading the book.  Why are injections more effective than pills?  Why does the color of the pill matter?  Why does the packaging matter?  How does the Placebo Effect help explain the greater effectiveness of name-brand drugs over generics of the same composition?

Useful, too, is the chapter on statistics and the reporting of data:  Why do drug companies like to compare the effectiveness of a new product to a placebo, when a much more useful comparison is with the effectiveness of the best production already in use?  How are figures from discredited studies or bad mathematics like a bad urban legend?  How can a report that there was "almost no change in patterns of [student] drug use, drinking or smoking since 2000" end up reported in the London Times as "Cocaine floods the playground:  Use of the addictive drug by children doubles in a year"?  (Much of the answer to the last lies in a misuse of statistics, but an immediately understandable factor is rounding error:  1.9 is not twice 1.4, but the one was rounded up and the other down.)

The story of a nurse jailed for the supposed murder of several of her patients is a fascinating example of the deadliness of statistics (and poor sampling technique) in the hands of a prosecutor who doesn't understand them.

Goldacre takes on a lot of sacred cows, from homeopathy to the pharmaceutical industry to the MMR vaccine scare.  Even I can recognize that for all his studies and statistics, he has misunderstood and oversimplified much.  But Bad Science is still a valuable book to read whether it changes your mind on anything or not.  It will make you more aware of what might, or might not, be behind the health information you learn from your doctor, your newspaper, the Internet, or your best friend.  A healthy skepticism is the servant of truth.

If you can get past the sneering and the profanity, you'll find Bad Science worth checking out.

What You Think Is What You Get:  An Introductory Textbook for the Study of the Alexander Technique, by Donald L. Weed (Third Edition, ITM Publications, Bristol, UK, 2004)

I wish I understood this book well enough to review it.  The Wikipedia article on Alexander Technique is currently flagged, “This article may be confusing or unclear to readers.”  Much the same could be said for the book, though I have to say that having read the book makes the article, if not clear, at least familiar.

What You Think Is What You Get is a keeper; it’s just not for beginners, despite the word “introductory” in the title.  I would not have read very far if I had not already seen the Alexander Technique in action.  However, not only do I know how much it helped Janet with her overuse injuries, but I’ve observed several classes and even had a few short lessons myself.  Janet’s Alexander Technique teacher studied under Donald Weed, and her classes are nothing less than remarkable.  Who would have thought that a gentle touch and the suggestion that the student relax a certain shoulder muscle would suddenly make his singing voice deeper and richer?  Or that an almost imperceptible postural change would make a pianist’s music come alive?  Or that being asked, “Do you really need to contract that arm muscle to help you walk across the room?” would visibly improve my walking as well as relieve arm pain I’ve had for years?

There’s no question that the Alexander Technique can have an amazing effect; the problem is hanging onto the changes, and being able to initiate them outside of class.  Hence my desire for the book.  But it’s not a how-to manual, at least not in any form I can fathom.

Nonetheless, I’m making progress.  One idea that Weed stresses repeatedly is the importance of experimentation, observation, and evaluation, and that, on top of my experiences with Janet’s teacher, has let me to a much greater awareness of what my body is doing, and how my mind can affect my muscles.  I can relieve some of my neck and shoulder tension merely be remembering the teacher’s admonition, “There are seven bones in your neck; don’t move as if they were fused.”  I used to think it required heavy massage to get a tight muscle to relax; now I can sometimes achieve the same effect with a mere touch—more a reminder—and some mental effort.

The question of what muscles are really needed to perform an action turns out to be one of the more significant ideas:  many of our muscles were designed in pairs, so that contraction of one pulls an arm (say) one way, and contraction of the opposing muscle pulls it back the other way.  All too often—and I see this in myself—we are actually firing both muscles at once, so that in order to move in one direction we must work twice as hard, first to overcome the opposing muscle and then to achieve the intended motion.  Even when we’re standing still we often engage muscles that are totally unnecessary.  I would hope that all this extra work would at least burn more calories, but apparently the more significant effect is to make us stiff, restrict our motion, and inhibit a ready and reasonable response to the environment.

My greatest take-aways from What You Think Is What You Get:  Increased awareness of how my body is working, knowledge that the conscious mind can correct unconscious habits, and a willingness to experiment and to attempt to improve situations that I thought were merely “the way things are.”

The Lord of the Rings:  The Fellowship of the Ring (2001, PG-13)

Rarely do we spare the time, effort, and expense to watch a movie in the theater, but back in 2001 we ventured into the cold of a Massachusetts winter, in my eagerness to see what the filmmakers had made of one of my all-time favorite books (and Porter's eagerness to see New Zealand, one of his all-time favorite countries, the setting for the film).

I was prepared to be disappointed, as I've yet to find a movie more appealing than the book on which it is based.  I was not prepared to be bored.  I don't bore easily, but this film succeeded:  I couldn't wait for the three hours to be over.

Nine years later I decided it was time to give the film another chance.  Whether I like it or not, this version has entered the popular consciousness, and for most people, The Lord of the Rings IS the movie.  Having recently re-read the book, I ordered the first of the trilogy from Netflix, determined to watch with a more open mind.

This time I was able to see a few elements in the movie's favor.  The artists are better visualizers than I am:  I'm usually eager to get on with the story and don't spend the time necessary to get a good picture of the scene, no matter how well described; for the same reason, I don't bother, when reading silently, to figure out the pronunciation of difficult words and names.  In this sense, the movie made the setting more real to me, and from my (more careful) recent reading of the book I think they did a fair job.  I know they tried to be true to the story.

I've also begun to give movie-makers more slack when it comes to faithfulness to the book.  I've come to realize that the movie medium simply is not good at producing the kind of depth and completeness that a book can, and very often events must be telescoped or otherwise changed to tell the story on film.  For this reason I was willing to put up with at least some of the many deleted and altered scenes.

On the other hand, it's not right to change the very nature of the characters.  The most grievous offense I noted in 2001 was what the movie did to the character of Aragorn, and his relationship with Arwen.  The second viewing only strengthened that conviction.  Frankly, the movie’s Aragorn is a wimp, with none of the power, strength of character, and knowledge of his heritage and destiny so clearly portrayed in the book.  And Arwen, though in the book she is both ancient and wise, is not a warrior, and does not rescue Frodo and bring him to Rivendell, peculiar and unnecessary additions made in the movie.

Goodness is extraordinarily difficult to show on film.  I have yet, for example, to see a movie that portrays Jesus as anyone one might care to listen to, let alone follow or die for.  In fact, he mostly seems to be played a lot like Aragorn.  The Fellowship of the Ring’s effort results in making the characters appear more stoned than spiritual.  If the expression can be forgiven when talking about hobbits and elves, the characters don’t seem human enough:  they are so other-worldly as to be unreal.

So I was disappointed, but why was I bored?  I find The Lord of the Rings so exciting and compelling that I’ve lost track of the number of times I’ve read the book.  Each time I pick it up, I find something new, inspiring, or simply delightful.  Why was the movie boring?  Primarily because it was 90% battles and chase scenes.  Substitute cars for horses, and guns or light sabers for swords, and it is the same as hundreds of other movies and television shows.  Oftentimes I felt caught in the middle of the kind of video game I don’t even like watching.

My tolerance for fights and chases is extremely low:  I’m always thinking, “Can we get this over with and go on to the real action, please?”  And, no, I don’t mean romance and the “chick flick” kind of action, which I find at least as dull.  Conversations, reflections, revelations, mysteries, character development, growth and discovery—that’s what makes a story interesting for me.  The Fellowship of the Ring has it all aplenty, but the movie does not.  Therein lies the problem.

But hey, the scenery was great.

Would I recommend the movie to anyone?  I don't know.  If it leads people to read The Lord of the Rings who otherwise would not, that would be a good thing.  In my opinion it's one of the greatest books written in recent history—maybe even ever, but I'm not qualified to make that sweeping a judgement.  Another reason to promote the film may be that it tells a much better story than most films now available, and therefore deserves credit by default.

I'm not convincing myself.  So much of what is great about the book is simply not there in the movie at all.  There's a deep, strong, spiritual dimension to the book—wrestling with issues of good, evil, temptation, free will, responsibility, duty, friendship, honor, faithfulness, love, joy—that the movie lacks.  Is there any point in getting a mere surface—and therefore false—view of the story?

I'd love to hear from those of you who enjoy the movie version.  What do you like?  What makes it a good movie for you?  Do you see the spiritual qualities that I find absent in the film?  If you've also read the book, how would you compare the two versions?

Confessions and Reflections of a Traveler, by Brett R. McLean (Iona Press, Vancouver, 200)

If you can't judge a book by its cover, you can't judge it by random samples, either.

Both of our book-loving girls married book-loving men, so a visit to the grandchildren often leads to picking up random books, which might be found anywhere in the house.  This particular book was on the bathroom reading shelf, and I found myself picking it up several times a day.  In this manner I read many small samplings of the book, taken randomly from the middle.

McLean and a college companion decided one summer to travel across the United States on half a shoestring.  Since this is what Porter did some 20 years earlier, I thought the book might be a good gift for some upcoming occasion.  To be certain, I decided to borrow the book and begin at the beginning.

Whoa.  Nothing I had read in the bathroom had prepared me for what the book was really about:  philosophy.  That's not McLean's fault; he says so up front.  But I'd never read the front, nor, amazingly, encountered any of his dissertation on the history of philosophy, for which the travelogue is merely a series of examples.

I'm not sure this deserves to be called a review, since I was borrowing a borrowed book and reading on a very tight deadline.  I ready very quickly over the philosophy, and I'm sure that if I'd had time to be interested in the history of philosophy, I'd have gotten more out of it.  But as a book about travelling across America—and therefore appropriate as the gift I was looking for—Confessions and Reflections of a Traveler fails.

What still amazes me is that I missed the main point of the book in all my bathroom reading.  My eyes must have unconsciously selected the parts I'd find most interesting, which in the main was the travel stories.

There was one exception:  One time I found myself in the middle of the story of a plane crash, in which the survivors found themselves on an island.  Still thinking I was reading the story of McLean's journey, I became more and more confused as details emerged.  I didn't remember news of that particular crash, but even though I'm not always up on current events, surely I couldn't have avoided hearing about this bizarre story as it unfolded.

Reading the entire book made the puzzle clear:  McLean uses not only his own experiences to explain various philosophies in action, but also two examples from pop culture:  The Lord of the Rings, and an American television show called Lost.  The latter was the source of the plane crash adventure.

I'm not above using stories, fiction or non-fiction, to help me understand and explain life.  In many ways that's the best part of reading.  But for some reason it really annoyed me in this book.  Less so the examples from Lost, since I knew nothing at all about the show, but I kept disagreeing with what McLean said about Tolkien's work, and that short-circuited whatever point he was trying to make.

Philosophy, like history, is not something the completely ignorant (like me) can grasp without a fair amount of effort.  I'm finally beginning to make headway in history; when I get around to putting the same effort into philosophy^*, it might be good to revisit this book.

The Vintage Bradbury: Ray Bradbury's Own Selection of His Best Stories, by Ray Bradbury (Vintage, 1990) (original copyright 1965)

I picked this book out from my son-in-law's collection because my nephews had recently read Something Wicked This Way Comes for their book club, and I realized I hadn't read any Bradbury in a long time.

Now I'm probably done for another five years or so.  Some of the stories were enjoyable, but most I found too weird and depressing for me.  Tales of bizarre "healers" whose treatment of choice turns out to be rape, and of children plotting to kill their parents—not to mention babies murdering their mothers!—are not worth spending precious reading time on.  I'm very sensitive to the content of what I read and watch—One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s nest troubled me for years—and find it better not to give my mind too many dark ideas upon which to brood.

On the other hand, nobody writes like Ray Bradbury.  I wish he had put his imagination and incredible descriptive skills to a more uplifting purpose; he’s a genius, without doubt.  His stories are about as close to poetry as prose can get—at least not without falling into the outlandish world of James Joyce.

And family is family.  Ray Bradbury is my sixth cousin twice removed. 

Inconstant Moon, by Larry Niven (Orbit, 1991; original copyright 1973)

One of the advantages of having our son-in-law's book collection at hand is that I can indulge in my passion from a previous stage in life:  science fiction.  The disadvantage is that I'm beginning to suspect that my tastes have changed.

I thought I remembered liking the works of Larry Niven, and maybe I did.  But now, this collection of stories was one-for-seven for me.  The last, Death by Ecstasy, is an interesting mystery, but most of the tales are dated, with an embarrassing 1960s flavor—not surprising, since that is when they were written.  There's just too much of the holier-than-thou, making a point that the characters are of different races (racial tensions were a big problem in the 60s), and 'way too much emphasis on how in the (enlightened) future, the one-husband, one-wife, faithfully-married-with-children kind of sexual practice, so reviled by the sexual revolutionaries of the time, will be such a rare variation as to be almost unmentionable.  This might have been daring, titilating writing 45 years ago, but today it gets old fast.

On the other hand, I enjoy observing the ways in which the old science fiction writers mis-called both scientific and social changes.  As they say, anyone can predict the invention of the automobile, but it takes a genius to anticipate the traffic jam.  In a world of interstellar travel, enormous lifespans, and pleasure-stimulating brain implants, the computers are still huge, and ashtrays common in every home, hotel, and office.

Into the Silent Land:  A Guide to the Christian Practice of Contemplation , by Martin Laird  (Oxford University Press, 2006)

The physical benefits of meditative techniques are well established, and I’d like to be able to take advantage of them.  What has hindered me is that many—though not all—of the studies have focused on Transcendental Meditation (TM), the Eastern religious aspects of which have led me to keep meditation in general at arm’s length since I first learned of it some 40 years ago.  It will not do to gain a physical benefit at a spiritual loss—I can’t help thinking of The Magician’s Nephew, in which Digory was tempted to steal an apple that would have cured his dying mother, but if he had done so, both he and his mother would have later “looked back and said it would have been better to die in that illness.”

Yet Digory, having passed the test, was eventually given another apple, one that healed his mother in the right way.

Despite all the attention given to TM during my formative years, it turns out that Christian meditation is an ancient and respected practice.  Many of the techniques turn out to be similar, though not identical and of course the focus and intent are quite different.

You don’t hear much about Christian contemplative practice today, at least not outside of the more liturgical traditions—and not much in them, either.  Our cranked-up, frenetic, yammering world is not comfortable with either external or internal silence.

Nor does it help that those who have written about meditation are generally describing the indescribable, which makes them incomprehensible, as far as I’m concerned.  I plowed about halfway through Thomas Dubay’s Fire Within:  St. Teresa of Avila, St. John of the Cross, and the Gospel on Prayer before giving it up as being 'way too far over my head.

Into the Silent Land covers much of the same material in a shorter and simpler form, but it still leaves my head spinning—and this was my second reading.  So I cannot, at this point, give it an accurate evaluation.  I will say it’s worth a third attempt at some point.  For now, I’ve found a few ideas that I can hang onto and begin to put into practice, which may help illuminate a re-rereading.

Spiritual and physical benefits remain to be seen, but even what little I’ve been able to glean thus far has been of some help with no fewer than three of my New Year’s Resolutions:  Learn to Relax, Pay Attention, and Cast Away Fear.  (See  the Progress section of New Year’s Resolution #11.)

Side note:  Do you, like me, assume contemplatives must generally be introverted people?  Perhaps it's true; those who choose to be monks would be those who are comfortable with silence and solitude—not that all contemplatives are monks.  But having read recently that introverts have more activity constantly going on in their brains—more internal dialogue,  measurable in neurological studies—I suspect that we are drawn to meditation because we need it more.  We need techniques and much practice to be able to still the chattering mind and achieve inner silence.

Thinking in Pictures:  And Other Reports from My Life with Autism, by Temple Grandin (Vintage, 2006) (Expanded from the original 1995 version)

I’ve already written about Temple Grandin, the movie, which was the inspiration for getting this book from the library.  It’s well worth reading, and the only reason I’m sending back unread the two other books of hers I picked up at the same time is that I realized I must put the brakes on my reading for a while.  At the very least I need to substitute books I won’t be tempted to review. 

Thinking in Pictures would have convinced me, if Grandin’s own commentary on the DVD had not, that the movie is an accurate, if not perfect, portrayal of her life.  It’s fascinating to read about autism from the inside out, as it were, and also interesting to note her opinion that for all the advances we have made in understanding autism and Asperger’s syndrome, as a child in the 1950’s she had a few advantages over today’s children.  School classrooms were well-ordered and quiet; the noise and chaos often seen classrooms now would have been impossible for her to handle.  Parents, teachers, and other adults worked hard to instill good manners and polite behavior into children; these are difficult but essential skills for autistic children to learn, but they are sadly neglected today.  Finally, there were no video games then, which encourage solitary activity; she was forced to interact directly with other children through board games, outdoor play, and other normal, 1950’s-era activities.

Of even more interest to me is her theory that whatever causes autism spectrum disorders, it is closely linked to brilliant, creative thinking.  Too much of whatever it is deprives a person of the ability to function in this world, but a little bit makes for the kind of folks we cannot do without.  Not only are our potential Einsteins being shunted into special education classes instead of the gifted classes where they belong, but if genetic testing someday allows us to screen for risk of autism, we may never see another Bill Gates.

On the sensory sensitivities of someone with autism spectrum disorder:

Washing my hair and dressing to go to church were two things I hated as a child….  [S]hampooing actually hurt my scalp….  Scratchy petticoats were like sandpaper scraping away at raw nerve endings.

I can relate to that!

When I was a child, I was expected to sit through formal Sunday dinners and behave.  Most of the time I did.  Rudeness was not tolerated and I was taught to say please and thank you.  Normal family activities provided structured opportunities to learn social skills.  Sit-down meals and activities such as playing cards and board games like Chinese checkers taught turn-taking and patience. …Today many children lack this structure.  Video games and time on the computer are spent solo.  Many of my favorite childhood activities required participation with another child.  … Even the normal children today are growing up with more social problems.  Later on they do not know how to behave at work.

I can drive because the operation of the car, steering and braking, has become a fully automatic skill.  Research has shown that when a motor skill is first being learned, one has to consciously think about it.  When the skill becomes fully learned, the frontal cortex is no longer activated and only the motor parts of the brain are turned on.  I learned to drive on ranch roads in Arizona and I did not drive on the freeway or in heavy traffic for a full year.  This avoided the multitasking issue because when I finally started driving in traffic, my frontal cortex was able to devote all its processor space to watching traffic.  I recommend that people on the [autism] spectrum who are learning to drive spend up to a year driving on easy roads until steering, braking, and other car operations can be done without conscious thought.

That might have saved me the debilitating car-phobia I had for many years.  It took me much longer than most people to reach the “automatic” point, and until then, every second behind the wheel was torture.

In an ideal world the scientist should find a method to prevent the most severe forms of autism but allow the milder forms to survive.  After all, the really social people did not invent the first stone spear.  It was probably invented by an Aspie who chipped away at rocks while the other people socialized around the campfire.  Without autism traits we might still be living in caves.

It is likely that genius is an abnormality.  If the genes that cause autism and other disorders such as manic-depression were eliminated, the world might be left to boring conformists with few creative ideas.

Three things that occur more frequently in people with high mathematical ability than in the population at large are left-handedness, allergies, and nearsightedness.  Both learning disability in mathematics and math talent are associated with left-handedness.  Young children who show very high ability in verbal reasoning and mathematics are twice as likely to have allergies as the rest of the population.  Students with extremely high ability are also more likely to be nearsighted. The old stereotype of a little genius with thick glasses may be true.

During my career, I have met many brilliant visual thinkers working in the maintenance departments of meat plants.  Some of these people are great designers and invent all kinds of innovative equipment, but they were disillusioned and frustrated at school.  Our educational system weeds these people out of the system instead of turning them into world-class scientists.

On her vocation in the livestock industry:

I do not believe that my profession is morally wrong.  Slaughtering is not wrong, but I do feel very strongly about treating animals humanely and with respect.  I’ve devoted my life to reforming and improving the livestock industry.  Still, it’s a sobering experience to have designed one of the world’s most efficient killing machines.  Most people don’t realize that the slaughter plant is much gentler than nature.  Animals in the wild die from starvation, predators, or exposure.  If I had a choice, I would rather go through a slaughter system than have my guts ripped out by coyotes or lions while I was still conscious.  Unfortunately, most people never observe the natural cycle of birth and death.