Lift Up Your Hearts!

Pericles, Prince of Tyre

While there's no substitute for seeing a play live on stage, as it was intended, I'm thankful for the opportunity provided by the BBC and Netflix to work on my 95 by 65 goal #67, Experience all 37 of Shakespeare's plays (attend, watch, and/or read).  Last night we watched their version of Pericles, Prince of Tyre.  Back in 2007 we'd seen a reduced version of the play produced by our local Mad Cow Theatre, but it's safe to say we remembered almost nothing.  Wikipedia provided a synopsis that helped greatly in following the convoluted tale.  Fortunately, the diction and accents were not as difficult as they often are with Shakespeare, because this version included no option for subtitles, which we often find very helpful.

It's not one of the classics, and is suspected of being a collaboration between Shakespeare and a lesser playwright.  Nonetheless, Pericles was one of the most interesting plays we've seen so far, largely because of its unfamiliarity.  There's another reason why it's not studied in high school—or at least not in our high school days:  the play begins with incest, and goes on to attempted rape, prostitution, a hint at lesbianism, kidnapping, attempted murder, and some pretty bawdy lines.  Mild for today, but NSFG (not safe for grandchildren)—except, of course, that much of it would fly over their heads, especially without subtitles.

This year we splurged and purchased annual passes to Disney World—for the first time since we moved to Central Florida over 30 years ago.  Back then, with two very young children (four and not-yet-two), the reason was to free ourselves from the pressure to drive our kids hard in order not to "waste" any of the very expensive day at the park.  What was our excuse this time?  Beats me, but we're enjoying it.  Porter's retirement frees us to visit the parks on our own schedule, and his annual pass provides free parking.  (Mine is a lesser, cheaper version, but what need have we for two parking passes?)  When parking is $20, it's a deterrent to casual visits.

All that to say:  for a year, we can go to Morocco for dinner.  Or China.  Or Norway.  For our first trip, we chose EPCOT's Marrakesh Restaurant, always one of our favorites.  Then we stopped by Japan; we didn't buy anything, but admired a lot.  We didn't buy any funnel cakes, either.  Pictures bring memories of good times but no additional calories.  :)  You can click on the images to enlarge the photos, but please don't drool on your keyboards.

Beef brewat rolls, chicken bastilla, Jasmine salad...and bastilla for dessert

Especially for Vivienne

The Kids from Nowhere:  The Story Behind the Arctic Educational Miracle  by George Guthridge (Alaska Northwest Books, 2006)

Jaime Escalante in Los Angeles, Marva Collins in Chicago, John Taylor Gatto in New York City, and George Guthridge in Gambell, Alaska, on the tip of Saint Lawrence Island, as remote as it gets:  What do they have in common?  A lot, it turns out.  Each saw potential in children the educational system had given up on, each led those students to levels of academic excellence that would be envied anywhere, and each ran up against the most unbelievable opposition from other teachers, administrators, and the system itself.    People who rock institutional boats are not generally well-liked, even if—maybe especially if—their results are outstanding.

In some ways George Guthridge reminds me of Bob Goff:  a bit of a loose cannon, initial trouble finding his way in life, an unconventional thinker with an emphasis on action.

(click the image for an interactive version in Google Maps)

Guthridge, along with his wife and two school-aged daughters, moved to a small, isolated Alaskan Native village on an island near Siberia.  The school in which they were to teach was troubled, threatened with closure, and expected almost nothing of its students.  Teachers rarely lasted more than one year, sometimes less, and tended to give out good grades for any number of non-academic reasons:  not wanting to damage the students' self-esteem, to avoid being beaten up, or simply out of laziness.  The students were as unmotivated and disruptive as in any inner-city school written off by the educational system.

Out of this, despite very hostile colleagues and administrators determined to stop him, Guthridge created and coached teams for the Future Problem Solving competition, leading these children—to whom nearly nothing had been given academically and from whom even less had been expected—to two astonishing national championships.

More than just another testimony to the high capacity of children for excellence when they are respected and inspired, and to the criminality of a system that thwarts that excellence, The Kids from Nowhere is valuable for the thought processes by which Guthridge and the students learned to solve their problems.

Not until I was on sabbatical, working on a doctorate, did I start to understand what the kids and I had done ... the welding together of two ladders of learning.  We married Western culture's syllogistic, abstract, linear thinking to the holistic, nonlinear, realistic reasoning of indigenous culture.  The result is a communicator who addresses the world in a new way.

For that reason, and more, I highly recommend this book to any educators, but especially to homeschoolers, many of whom already have a desire to meld different ways of thinking and to look at the world in new ways.

This book was a Christmas gift back in 2013, and I picked it up recently primarily to make progress on 95 by 65 Goal #63 (Read 26 existing but as yet unread books from my bookshelves).  I couldn't put it down.  Part of my reasoning behind Goal #63 was to read books and then declutter them.  But too often after I read them I don't want to get rid of them!  This can't just go into the library book sale pile, though I'd be happy to pass it on to a good home—say to a homeschooling daughter?

Oddly enough, I have only three more quotes to add.  I wasn't initially planning to review this book, just to read it and check it off of my list....  That's okay, though.  You should read the whole story.

"[What can you do to] turn common ideas into original ones?" ... With a flourish I open the box and lift the funnel in triumph. ...  "You funnel down the ideas," I say, holding the thing before them like a chalice. ... "Make them smaller.  General ideas are almost never original ideas," I tell them.  "That's because almost everyone knows general information. ... To have any hope of having original ideas, you have to be very precise. ... In writing, it's the little things that are important, not the general ideas.  The same is true for Problem Solving.  You funnel down the general to the specific."

So many faculty fear disappointing students that each kid ends up with several Certificates of Achievement.  There seems to be little room for anything except success in contemporary education, as if no one fails in the real world.  The trashcan outside the gym ends up with most of the certificates.

When Bruce and I review what are supposed to be rough drafts, I am stunned at how much the kids understand about genetic engineering....  The depth of their learning is almost comical, were it not so impressive.  Because Bruce and I have made no distinction between the simple and the complex the kids don't either.  They accept as second nature concepts that other kids might groan over. [emphasis mine]

At least at the time of publication, all the royalties from The Kids from Nowhere were being donated to build a school in the Himalayas.

We went to Disney Springs (formerly Downtown Disney, formerly Disney Village) a couple of months ago to pick up our new passes, and I was most thrilled by the parking garage!  That's not meant to disparage the rest of the site, but I was happy to find some place in America that has adopted this Swiss custom.  (Okay, I don't know if the system is Swiss or not, but Switzerland is where I first saw this useful technology.)

It's a smart parking garage.  Sensors know which spaces are open and which are not, and lighted signs direct drivers to the open spaces.  It sure beats driving up and down all the rows!

I enjoy most episodes of the TV show, NCIS, but one I watched recently left me more than usually disturbed.  To strip the show of all the redeeming and mitigating features, not to mention the whole rest of the complex episode, what happened was that a man used a hidden camera to videotape a couple of women in an undressed state, and put the videos online.  Wrong.  Immoral.  Creepy.  And it's true that one difference between now and BI (Before the Internet) is that such pictures never go away.  It's bad.  I don't deny it.  I don't want to think about how I might react if someone did that to one of our daughters or granddaughters—or grandsons, for that matter.

But still, I think the show is a good example of the overreaction I'm seeing all too often these days.  We've gone from ignoring and minimizing the problem of some forms of misbehavior to giving them unwonted significance.  As C. S. Lewis once said, in pondering the existence of devils, "There are two equal and opposite errors into which our race can fall about the devils. One is to disbelieve in their existence. The other is to believe, and to feel an excessive and unhealthy interest in them."  In the NCIS episode, the event causes one of the women to commit suicide and the other to exult in the murder of the man she believes to have ruined her life forever.  And our NCIS heroes reinforce the belief that the cameraman has done irreparable, irredeemable, unforgiveable damage.

What's wrong with this scenario?  When people have been violated, when terrible things have happened to them, it's good and right to acknowledge the wrongfulness of the action, to allow them to grieve as much as they need to, and to take action to prevent similar incidents.  But are we doing the victims any favors by encouraging them to believe they are ruined forever?  That they can never escape what has happened to them?  I'm going out on a dangerous limb here, because I've never had an offense that great to recover from—and my track record for forgiving much lesser offenses isn't all that good anyway.  But aren't we in danger of perpetuating the crimes, giving eternal power to the victimizers and plunging the victims into helplessness and hopelessness?  Condemning them to a life trying to avoid "triggers" the way someone with severe food allergies must live in fear of what that innocent-looking appetizer might have come in contact with?

I think we can do better.

The trigger for this post?  Just two days after the NCIS show, I read this Salon article by a former college professor.  ("I believed in trigger warnings when I taught a course on sex and film. Then they drove me out of the academy.")  WARNING:  The article is definitely not grandchild-safe.  The author was teaching about "the evolution of the representation of sex throughout American Cinema."  You'd think that alone would be warning enough that students would be seeing disturbing images and discussing topics that would make them uncomfortable.  I should imagine that anyone signing up for such a class would know what he was getting into.  "My classes were about race, gender, and sexuality. These are inherently uncomfortable topics that force students to think critically about their privilege and their place in the hierarchy of this world."

You couldn't pay me enough to take such a course. I have full sympathy with the students who complained about some of the scenes they were expected to watch.  What astounds me is the students' (often conflicting) demands to control the content of the class.  I didn't take many liberal arts classes in college, so I can't say for sure that it didn't happen then, but I'm almost certain the professors would have responded, "You aren't strong enough to handle my class?  Then don't take it."  I can only hope this nonsense hasn't infected the physical sciences.  (Professor, your statement that 7t x 2 = 14t reminds me of my fourth grade teacher, who used to swat my hand for not knowing the times tables.  You need to warn me when you are going to use arithmetic, so I can skip class.  And you can't penalize me for not knowing what you taught in my absence.)

A couple of weeks later, graduate students at the University of Kansas demanded that a professor be fired, because they were offended when she uttered the word, "nigger," even in the almost-abjectly humble context that it was hard for her to know how to talk about race relations because, being white, she had not experienced racism herself.  "It’s not like I see ‘Nigger’ spray painted on walls…”  One complaining student wrote, "I was incredibly shocked that the word was spoken, regardless of the context. ... I turned to the classmate sitting next to me and asked if this was really happening.  Before I left the classroom, I was in tears."

She was in tears.  She was unbelievably shocked at the mere utterance of a word, in a context of support and attempted understanding.  On a college campus where I guarantee other offensive words are flung around frequently, casually, and often with intent to offend.  And she is a graduate student, not a second grader.  How can one get to the graduate school level and still be so fragile?

Life is hard.  For people who have had to deal all their lives with discrimination and racism, with poverty, abuse, illness, handicaps, or other challenges, life is much harder.  By what kind of cruel, twisted logic does society encourage someone facing such difficulties to think of herself as weak? 

This letter to the Free-Range Kids blog shows a more helpful attitude.  (It's probably also not grandchild-safe, depending on the grandchild.)  As a child, the man was repeatedly, sexually groped by his barber, and only much later realized what had been going on.  In the letter he takes pains not to justify the barber's actions, but neither will he dignify them by assuming they ruined his life.  "Try as I may, I cannot summon outrage at the pathetic man who assaulted me. Nor can I conclude that I am any worse for the wear. ... I enjoy a normal life including a healthy-though-unremarkable sex life."

Things happen to us.  Good things.  Bad things.  Sometimes horrible things.  They are all part of the material that makes us who we are, and I'm convinced that how we handle them is more important than the events themselves.  What can we do to empower those who have been through terrible times to be overcomers rather than perpetual victims?

This is possibly the best use ever of cute pet photos:

When Belgian police asked witnesses not to tweet officers' movements during raids targeting terrorism suspects across the country's capital, the Internet reacted in perhaps the only way it knows how: with cats.

Belgians ... seized the #BrusselsLockdown hashtag to post jovial photos of feline friends on Sunday.

While ostensibly frivolous, the viral meme's effect was threefold. It enforced the Twitter radio silence, buried any tweets that might harm the operations, and eased some of the tension in what has become an anxious city.

The video in the article is short and worth watching.

Lullaby by Steph Shaw

Here's a shoutout to our very talented cousin-in-law.  (If there's a word for "son-in-law's cousin" I don't know it.)  Steph Shaw is a singer-songwriter and the mother of three adorable girls.  "Lullaby" was written with the first, recorded with the second, and released with the third.

Naptime.  It's what you make of it.

Enjoy!  And don't forget to check out Steph's Facebook page.

Did you ever imagine that a story about a carjacking could make you smile?  Especially one where the car was stolen with a child inside?  Read this story from Free-Range Kids.

When the thieves realized they had stolen an eight-year-old boy along with the car, they asked him where he wanted to get out, and he answered with the name of his elementary school—which is where his mother had been taking him when she stopped to do a quick errand.  The thieves obliged.

My favorite line of the story is Lenore Skenazy's:

So the real moral of the story is this: Kids need better training. When carjacked and asked, “Where would you like to go?” they should be ready to reply, “GameStop,” or perhaps, “McDonald’s.” This unprepared kid was involved in a real life Grand Theft Auto and didn’t even get to even miss first period.

My Dear French Brothers and Sisters,

Fourteen years ago we stood where you stand today.  While no two experiences, much less cultures, are alike, I will venture to make a prediction:  In the midst of the horror you will experience something wonderful:  You will be a united country, with opposing factions coming together in their humanity; you will find yourselves giving and receiving unusual kindnesses; and people from all over the world will express their sympathy and support.  Strangers will reach out to strangers, as you have done with #portesouvertes.  You will be a little more friendly on the Métro, and more patient on the highways.  You will stand a little taller, work a little harder, and be a lot more grateful for the people in your lives.  You will be yourselves, only better.

Hang onto that.

If you follow in our footsteps, one day you will realize the glimpse of heaven has gone.  You will catch yourself cursing the driver who cuts you off.  In your impatience you will scream at your kids.  Facing someone who disagrees with you, you will once again see a fool or a devil instead of a human being.

Don't let go of the only good gift the terrorists have left behind.

Make no mistake:  You are, indeed, at war.  War is being made against you, and you have three choices:  You can ignore it, you can shrink into isolationism, or you can stand up to your foes.  History has shown that the first two options never work for long.  The third is costly on many fronts and doesn't always work, either, but it is where hope and honor reside.

How can we stand against such an enemy?

I admire M. Hollande's determination to act with “all the necessary [lawful] means, and on all terrains, inside and outside, in coordination with our allies.”  Timidity would only strengthen such a foe, to everyone's loss.

That is what the government can do:  the military actions, the large-scale policy decisions, the intelligence gathering and analysis.  But what is the role of a citizen?  What can everyone do to defeat the terrorists?  Here's what I think:

• When we continue to live our ordinary lives and do our ordinary work without giving in to our fears, we are fighting terrorism.  Fear is the enemy's most powerful and effective weapon.
• When we refuse to let our anger turn us against the innocent, we are fighting terrorism.  Injustice, especially toward the powerless and the hopeless, fertilizes the terrorists' recruiting ground.
• When we make an effort to become friends with those of other nations, cultures, and beliefs, we are fighting terrorism.  A faceless, dehumanized enemy is so much easier to kill.
• When we acknowledge, study, appreciate, and build up the good that is unique to our own heritage, while recognizing the same in others, we are fighting terrorism.  Our enemies would like to see every culture and belief that is not its own erased from history.  If we will not honor and protect our own cultures, history, and ancestors, who will?
• When we resist the hatred that rises within our own selves, we are fighting terrorism.  If we become like our enemies, we have handed them the victory.
• When we allow our unbearable pain to be the soil from which grow acts of kindness, attention to the needs of others, expressions of love and appreciation, and attitudes of patience and mercy, we are fighting terrorism.  Bringing good out of our sorrow removes a potent instrument of torture from the enemy's hands.
• When we can hold on to both the wisdom of the serpent and the harmlessness of the dove, we can fight terrorism.  Keeping the balance puts the battle on our terms, not theirs.

Know that as an American I speak as much to my own country as to yours.  We have not set the best example in grappling with our common enemy.  Work together with us and all who seek justice, freedom, and peace to find the right path.

Vive la France!

I've known the tune of La Marseillaise for as long as I can remember, along with the first two lines.

Not till two days ago did I pay attention to the rest of the French national anthem.  Here's the first, most commonly sung verse (from Wikipedia).

I'm sure the French don't usually ponder the meaning of the words any more than we think of war instead of fireworks when we sing about "the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air."  But two days ago, ferocious men—I'd rather not dignify a terrorist with the honorable title of soldier—did come right into their arms to cut the throats of their innocent loved ones.

Who prays for Europe?  Europe has it all, right?  Europe is the motherland of Western Culture, and, in many ways, of the Church.  Europe is First World, wealthy, mostly democratic.  We once belonged to a church that sponsored a missionary family in France, but as valuable as was the work they were doing, they still had to endure from others not only jokes but also serious questions about why they were wasting time and money in Western Europe instead of some place more needy.  Missionaries, humanitarian aid, and prayers should be focussed on Darkest Africa and Remotest Asia, right?

Wrong.

No place, era, or person is beyond the need of fervent, effectual prayer.  Hubris thinks that which stands tall cannot be toppled; complacence is blind to enemies without and decay within;  envy forgets the lesson of Richard Cory.

Europe is facing a grave economic crisis in the financial insolvency and insupportable policies of Greece (with other countries not far behind).  This is no less of a potential catastrophe than it was before it was swept from the headlines by the waves of desperate refugees flooding Europe from their terrorist-ravaged homes-that-are-no-longer-home in the Middle East.

European leaders, the Church in Europe, and all European citizens need the the wisdom of the serpent as well as the harmlessness of the dove.  They need open hearts to welcome, comfort, and support those who have lost so much.  They need open eyes to discern those who would use the humanitarian crisis as an opportunity to infect European countries with the ideals and weapons of terrorism.  They need wisdom to receive a foreign culture without losing their own unique identities.

In short, they need our prayers.

I'm glad Veterans Day didn't suffer long from the Monday holiday craze and retains the connection with "the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month."  History is also worth remembering.

It must often be so...when things are in danger: some one has to give them up, lose them, so that others may keep them. (J.R.R. Tolkien, The Return of the King)

 Thank you, all veterans and current members of our armed forces.

Almighty God, we commend to your gracious care and keeping all the men and women of our armed forces at home and abroad. Defend them day by day with your heavenly grace; strengthen them in their trials and temptations; give them courage to face the perils which beset them; and grant them a sense of your abiding presence wherever they may be; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.  (Book of Common Prayer, American Episcopal Church, 1979)

I've neglected to keep track of our choir anthems lately, but here are some for the most recent weeks:

  A Prayer for Peace (Henry Baker/Karissa Dennis, Shawnee Press, 35030316)  With cello.

Kum Ba Yah (John Rutter, Hinshaw Music, HMC2435) (No YouTube; the link takes you to the anthem on J.W. Pepper).

This is simple but not just your father's campfire song (or yours); this is Rutter.  According to the notes in our bulletin,

When composer John Rutter heard the news that his close friend Nelson Mandela had died, he couldn't speak and walked to the piano and created the arrangement of Kum Ba Yah.

Love Does:  Discover a Secretly Incredible Life in an Ordinary World  by Bob Goff (Thomas Nelson, 2012)

I learned of Bob Goff through reading A Million Miles in a Thousand Years by Donald Miller.  To me, the story of how Goff and his family became friends with heads of state from around the world was by far the best part of the book.  But I never followed up, never looked further into the man and what he might be doing.

It was Janet who tossed his name back in my direction.  She distills the best of Love Does in her post at Blue Ocean Families, so be sure to read it.

I could say that Bob Goff is the anti-me, both good and bad.  He epitomizes extroversion and spontaneity.  He cares little for details and less for the kind of theology that involves studying.  He is a loose cannon—at first I wondered why all those non-profit organizations turned down his offer of the services of his law firm, gratis, but now I think I know why they wanted someone more predictable, if also more expensive and less creative.

However, I am inclined to believe that the Bob Goff who shows up in this book is an exaggeration of his character for dramatic effect:  Surely no one can succeed as a lawyer, not to mention as the head of a non-profit organization, without caring more for structure, organization, and planning than the man portrayed here.

Take your ten-year-old daughter on a spur-of-the-moment trip to London, without the least idea of what you're going to do, not even where you're going to stay?  Okay, I can see that.  They speak English (of a sort) there, he's an experienced traveller, and he has enough money to fund last-minute air fares and hotel stays.

Take your ten-your-old son climbing Half Dome in a blizzard, on purpose?  As one with personal connections to the expert and experienced climbers who perished on Mt. Hood in 2006 due to unexpected bad weather, this strikes me as less adventuresome than plain stupid, even if it turned out to be a great experience for them both.

I have to believe that Goff was much more prepared for both adventures than he lets on.

There's no doubt, however, that a good deal of that preparation was provided by a lifetime of sponanteous action.  Bob Goff lived the "just do it" slogan long before it became a Nike ad, and his life is a testimony to the incredible things that can arise from that attitude.  As Janet's article states, what he has done is so amazing that it's hard to imagine him as a role model for us ordinary mortals.  But he certainly can be an inspiration.

To that end, I do not necessarily recommend reading Love Does.  At least not first.  Instead, go to Goff's website.  You'll get a good introduction there, and his informal style works better in a speech or on a blog than in a book.

It was in the fifteenth chapter that I learned why the style of Love Does bothers me so.

Don is a friend of mine.  He's written a bunch of books. ... Don actually played a big part in this book.  He would review what I wrote and tell me to keep working on it or take it out of the book.  Sometimes he'd tell me to start over entirely or tell me what to do to make it better.

That's right; the above-mentioned Don Miller, whose style rubbed me the wrong way in A Million Miles in a Thousand Years, was the primary influence on how Goff wrote his book.

Here's an example of his fingernails-on-the-blackboard style, which I acknowledge some will enjoy.  Just not me, if it's in a book or other formal publication.

In the Bible there's a guy named Timothy who gets a letter from another guy named Paul.

What also sets my teeth on edge is the number of times I've groaned, "Didn't anybody read this book before publishing it?"  I don't blame Goff so much—it's hard to find the errors in one's own writing.  But where were the proofreaders and editors here?  Where was Don Miller?  How, for example, could they publish "laundry mat" instead of "laundromat," "cast" instead of "caste," "track homes" instead of "tract homes," and "chalks" instead of "chocks" (the last from his website)?

I'm nitpicking, you say, and you're right.  Neither the style nor the errors negate the value of what Bob Goff has to say.  Nevertheless, there's a reason even the most brilliant job-seeker is advised to dress appropriately for his employment interview, and the most innocent (as well as the most guilty) defendant to ditch the nose ring and cover the tats for a court appearance.  Even Bill Gates has assistants to keep his personality quirks from reducing his effectiveness.

Okay, I'm done with the complaints.  Bob Goff is amazing, and inspiring.  I just need to find my own path to being secretly incredible.

I think God's hope and plan for us is pretty simple to figure out.  For those who resonate with formulas, here it is:  add your whole life, your loves, your passions, and your interests together with what God said He wants us to be about, and that's your answer.  If you want to know the answer to the bigger question—what's God's plan for the whole world?—buckle up, it's us.

Being secretly incredible goes against the trend that says to do anything incredible you have to buy furniture and a laptop, start an organization, have a mission statement and labor endlessly over a statement of faith.  Secretly incredible people just do things. ... [T]he task would probably be even nobler if we didn't talk about it and just did it instead.  It's not about being secretive or mysterious or exclusive.  it's about doing capers without any capes.

Sometimes my clients have to be deposed, which means they are the ones asked questions by the other guys' lawyers.  It can feel intimidating with a big room full of lawyers all staring at you.  So when my clients are being deposed, I tell them all the same thing each time:  sit in the chair and answer the questions, but do it with your hands palms up the whole time.  I tell them to literally have the backs of their hands on their knees and their palms toward the bottom of the table.

I'm very serious about this. ... When their palms are up, they have an easier time being calm, honest, and accurate.  And this is important, because it's harder for them to get defensive.  When people get angry or defensive they tend to make mistakes.

If you're like me, I'd ask myself at the end of a book called Love Does—so what do I do?  It can be a tough question to answer, honestly, but it can also be an easy one.  Let me tell you want I do when I don't know what to do to move my dreams down the road.  I usually just try to figure out what the next step is and then do that. ... What's your next step?  I don't know for sure, because for everyone it's different, but I bet it involves choosing something that already lights you up.  Something you already think is beautiful or lasting and meaningful.  Pick something you aren't just able to do; instead, pick something you feel like you were made to do and then do lots of that.

On the face of it, July - September was a slow quarter for my 95 by 65 project.  I completely only three goals in the three-month period:

• #57 Finish chronological Bible reading plan
• #37 Share at least 20 meals with others (home or restaurant, but not counting multi-day visits more than once or shared meals already in place)
• #94 Rocket boost photo work (40 hours of work in segments of 1 or more hours, over approximately 2 weeks)

To complete my goals by age 65, I need to average slightly over three goals per month, not per quarter.

Maybe I'm being overly optimistic, but I'm still not worried.  Not by the numbers, anyway, because I know I'm making progress on many goals that by their nature take a long time to complete.

I do, however, continue to be ever-cognizant of the preciousness of time.  When I look at the imposing quantity of time necessary for some of my projects, and watch the calendar on my phone tick over another day with such relentless frequency, it's hard to shake a minor but persistent panic.  I'm keep in mind the following quote from George MacDonald, but have yet to succeed in working it out in my daily life:

He that believes shall not make haste.  There is plenty of time.  You must not imagine that the result depends on you, or me.  The question is, are you having a hand in the work God is doing?  It shows no faith in God to make frantic efforts or lamentations.  God will do his work in his time in his way.  Our responsibility is merely to stand ready and available and to go where he sends us and do what comes our way.

Another problem is that crossing goals off my list doesn't necessarily cross them out of my daily life.  Completing my "try new restaurants" goal doesn't mean we stop going out to eat, and finishing one Bible reading plan merely means beginning another.  Recently I completed Goal #65 Achieve 40,000 DuoLingo points.  Yet that completion won't gain me any time, at least I hope not, because I'm finding the DuoLingo lessons both enjoyable and valuable and plan to continue the work.  I can't let that suffer the fate of #16 Practice deliberate relaxation twice a day for a month, which did me so much good I intended to keep up the practice after meeting the goal, but....  I do intend to restart it, I do.

I have always disliked the "bucket list" idea.  I'm not sure why; perhaps my deep-seated anxiety about time as a limited resource rebels at the name—as yet another, mocking, reminder.  The 95 by 65 list serves me well as a way to achieve the concentrated attention of a bucket list with a more immediate and optimistic focus.

Onward!