Lift Up Your Hearts!

Our choir anthems for:

August 8, 2013  And the Father Will Dance (Mark Hayes).  Always one of my favorites.  You know how I often remind you that these are videos I found on YouTube, not our own choir?  Well, this one isn't of our church choir, and it isn't the best recording, but it's a special recording for some of us.  Ignore the extraneous frames at the end.  I didn't notice that Windows Movie Maker had added them until it was already uploaded.  For this purpose, GEIBTP^*.  Bonus points if you can guess the identity of the baby.

UPDATE 10/30/19.  It's pretty consistent that the automated conversion of Flash in old posts to iframe excised a chunck of the post wherever there was more than one video.  I can't recover the text, which at least gave the date for when we sang the anthem in the second video (now appearing first), but here's the missing first video, which goes after "guess the identity of the baby."  

Many thanks to our friend RW, who alerted us to this Wall Street Journal article about a wine-tasting bicycle journey through the Wallis in Switzerland.  The timing was perfect, because that's the part of Switzerland we had the privilege of visiting while waiting for Daniel to make his entrance.  Janet wrote some about the trip here, and I hope to post my own memories soon—before I forget more than I already have.  In the meantime you can get some of the flavor of the canton (though, not, alas, the wines) through the article.

I have a correction to make, however.

And the Matterhorn delivers—as long as you don't mind seeing it with the crowds through the clouds.

And this is what Switzerland should say to New Zealand:

In a letter to his son, J.R.R. Tolkien claimed that a visit to the Upper Valais [Wallis in French] and neighboring Lauterbrunnen Valley inspired the Elven outpost of Rivendell in his books.

Having visited both the Wallis and Lauterbrunnen, I can now claim to have been not only to Middle Earth, but to Rivendell itself.  The Shire, however, I expect I'll have to find on a trip to England.

For most of his journey, the author rode what's called an e-bike:  not, as I originally thought, some sort of virtual tour, but a modestly-powered bicycle that "helps me on the climbs yet is easy enough to carry on the train."  That sounds like a brilliant invention for climbs that even Steven Perezluha might find daunting, or maybe even for weary, out-of-shape mothers who would appreciate a little help trying to keep up on family bike trips.

This journey was about wine, and ours was not, but the article captures the feel of the area so well it was pure delight to read.  You might enjoy it, too, for a little glimpse of what we saw this summer.  Of course, the article neglects to mention the mountain pass with frequent, hair-raising switchbacks, driving rain and hail, two carsick kids, and a woman threatening to go into labor.  For that, you'll have to wait for my version.

The Occasional CEO has an interesting take this morning on our obsession with the "original intent" of the Founding Fathers when the Constitution was crafted.  It confirms my long-held belief that the most amazing thing about the Constitution is that it has worked as well as it has for all these years.  Imperfect as it may be, a compromise that no one was happy with, it serves well as an anchor to restrain the human tendency to be "tossed to and fro, and carried about with every wind of doctrine, by the sleight of men, and cunning craftiness."

(I would have written about this even if I couldn't have used Eric Schultz's cool image above, which is originally from uvamagazine.org, but I think it captures the obsession neatly.)

The founders, Wood concludes, succeeded so well in promoting democracy and equality among ordinary people that that’s precisely what they got.  Neither Washington, who led the common man in battle, nor Adams, who represented him in court, had any illusions about human nature, preferring a strong national government (led by a wise elite).  Jefferson, the great champion of the common man, could not have tripped over more than a few common men in all his years in Paris and on his great plantation, so when he finally understood late in life [who] they were and what they were like, he was dumbfounded.  (That's why, when we quote him, we use the early stuff.)

By 1820, the great experiment had spun wildly out of control, far beyond the vision or comfort of its creators.

[T]here was one Founder who would today be fundamentally comfortable and happy with the results of the great American experiment.  Alexander Hamilton, Jefferson’s lifelong enemy, was an immigrant, an opponent of slavery, a proponent of a large standing army, and (like Adams and Washington) had serious doubts about democracy.  He was the only Founding Father who understood finance, banking, capital creation and fundamental economics, the only one who truly comprehended the Industrial Revolution.  He believed America in time would become more urban and industrial, more hierarchical and unequal. ... Hamilton was the true genius of Republic 1.0—and, as sometimes happens, almost none of his coFounders understood what he was doing.

It's well worth reading, and makes me want to read Gordon Wood's Revolutionary Characters, which was the article's inspiration.

It was in 2002, barely a year after it was written, that I first heard of Blessed Be Your Name by Matt and Beth Redman.

(Dir gehört mein Lob, wenn der Segen in Strömen fließt,
du mir mehr als genügend gibst, dir gehört mein Lob.
Und dir gehöert mein Lob, auch wenn ich mich verloren fühl
in der Wüste und ohne Ziel, dir gehört mein Lob.

Jeder Segen, den du schenkst, wird zum Lob für dich,
und selbst wenn ich im Dunkeln steh, Herr, gilt das für mich.

Jesus, dir gehört all mein Lob, dir gehört mein Lob.
Jesus, dir gehört all mein Lob, deinen Namen preise ich, Herr.

Dir gehört mein Lob, wenn die Sonne am Himmel scheint.,
es "das Leben gut mit mir meint", dir gehört mein Lob.
Und dir gehört mein Lob, wenn der Weg auch nicht einfach ist,
sich mein Lobpreis mit Leiden mischt, dir gehört mein Lob.

Jeder Segen, den du schenkst, wird zum Lob für dich,
und selbst wenn ich im Dunkeln steh, Herr, gilt das für mich.

Jesus, dir gehört all mein Lob, dir gehört mein Lob.
Jesus, dir gehört all mein Lob, deinen Namen preise ich, Herr.

Egal, was du mir gibst, egal, was du mir nimmst,
du bist und bleibst mein Gott, nur dir gehört mein Lob.
Egal, was du mir gibst, egal, was du mir nimmst,
du bist und bleibst mein Gott, nur dir gehört mein Lob.

Jesus, dir gehört all mein Lob, dir gehört mein Lob.
Jesus, dir gehört all mein Lob, deinen Namen preise ich, Herr.
Jesus, dir gehört all mein Lob, dir gehört mein Lob.
Jesus, dir gehört all mein Lob, deinen Namen preise ich, Herr.)

What brings all this to a post, besides the fact that I recently had the opportunity to sing the German version at Janet and Stephan's church in Switzerland, was that at choir reheasal Wednesday (9/11/13), I learned the story behind the song.  You can read about it here.  Matt and Beth Redman flew to the U.S. on September 15, 2001 for a sabbatical, and found themselves immersed in the reaction of the country, the churches, and the people to the shock of the terrorist attacks.  They wrote Blessed Be Your Name a few weeks later, after realizing that the church (especially, I would say, the modern church) has far too few songs to sing in times of deep sorrow.

[N]early everywhere we visited, a worrying question began to arise: Where were the songwriters at such a time as this? Where were the musical poets and prophets to help the people of God find a voice in worship at this tragic time? The truth was, in most places we visited (or led worship in), there was a distinct lack of songs appropriate for this time. As songwriters and lead worshipers, we had a few expressions of hope at our [disposal]; but when it came to expressions of pain and lament, we had very little vocabulary to give voice to our heart cries.... The truth is, the Church of God needs her songs of lament just as much as she needs her songs of victory.

Blessed Be Your Name does an effective job of putting that lament in the context of faith and hope.

UPDATE 10/30/19.  As has happened before, something was excised from this post when Flash was converted to iframe.  I'm not sure what, but I know at least that there was a German version of the song embedded above the German words.  Here it is—not what I originally had, but good enough.

Every kid knows how wonderful it is to bounce on the bed.

I'm certain the world would be a saner and happier place if we all had access to jumping pillows. Not to mention healthier—what a fun form of exercise!

I need to ponder this a lot more.  I think I've just been struck by lightning.

From Jen at Conversion Diary:  "The Mental Neat Freak."

When Joe came home that evening, I was at my wits’ end. I was mentally fatigued to the point that I felt like I was on the brink of a breakdown, and could barely restrain myself from yelling at everyone about everything. When Joe asked what was wrong, I snapped, “I’ve been doing nothing but working ALL DAY. I JUST NEED A BREAK.”

It was kind of awkward when he reminded me, “Didn’t you spend half the afternoon at that nice salon?”

Oh.

I stopped whining immediately, per that law of the universe that states that you’re not allowed to complain about anything for at least six hours after you’ve had an aromatherapy scalp massage. Yet I still felt miserable. No matter how many times I admonished myself to FEEL GRATITUDE NOW, I still walked around in that red-zone state where I desired a break like a drowning man desires oxygen.

...

The big moment occurred when I was trying to explain to my friend why I did not find the salon trip relaxing. “What would you have rather been doing?” she asked.

I knew the answer immediately: “Writing.”

...

[F]inally, after digging my way through piles and piles of words, I hit the core of the issue: “It brings order to my brain. It’s like…there are all these things that happen in my days that make my mind feel — I don’t know how else to describe it — messy. Like I’m surrounded by chaos, but on the inside. And it keeps piling up and piling up, to the point where sometimes I feel like I’m drowning.

...

Just like with physical space, it is possible for your mental space to get “messy.”
Again like with physical space, it is critical to your sense of peace and wellbeing to regularly clean up your mental space.

...

I think the biggest insight, though, was this:

Just because an activity is relaxing doesn’t mean it’s good for helping me regain a sense of internal order.

There's a lot more to the article, so if this resonates at all with you—or if you know someone who seems inexplicably stressed by a life filled with activities that you think should be relaxing—do take the time to read the whole thing.  I suspect this is a major reason why programs such as Mind Organization for Moms and Getting Things Done are so popular:  they recognize the debilitation caused by mental chaos.  What "Mental Neat Freak" adds is recognition of the need to identify and deliberately choose activities that promote clearing of mental clutter, which may or may not be connected to organizational activities.  Jen, for example, has so far discovered the following activities to be very helpful:

Writing
Jogging while listening to music (oddly, it has to be both — one or the other doesn’t do it)
Reading a well-written book

Nearly everyone could be helped by MOM and GTD, but mind-chaos-taming activities are clearly many, varied, and personal.

For three weeks our tiny a cappella choir struggled to learn the parts to the Ralph Vaughan Williams (King's Weston) version of At the Name of Jesus. (You can hear it here, if you click on the MIDI link.  I tried to find a YouTube version, but none features the hymnal harmony.)  It's a great harmony, if difficult, and would have been even better (and perhaps easier) if Porter had been there to provide the tenor.

I was looking forward to singing it at church sometime, but yesterday when I checked out the Episcopal Hymnal (1982) I discovered that it has only the melody!  Tragedy!  Travesty!

Maybe someday we'll sing the real version as an anthem, or in an ensemble ... or whenever we next manage to get the whole family together again.  I want to sing it with all four parts!

My nephew T got his driver's permit recently.  I didn't find that at all surprising—until I read that the percentage of young people becoming licensed drivers has dropped radically since at least 1983.  In that year, 46% of 16-year-old had their licenses; by 2010 that had plummeted to 28%.

Why?  Reasons suggested range from reasonable to ridiculous, from encourging to frightening.  Some of them (in no particular order):

1. Too busy
2. Too expensive
3. Driving interferes with texting
4. Online resources make travel less necessary
5. Preference for public transit/biking/walking
6. Changes in licensing requirements

#1 I haven't figured out yet.  Most DMV lines are long, but not that long.

#2 I understand as a reason to put off buying a car, but not a reason for not getting a license.  A 16-year-old should be happy enough using the family car, and an older, "boomerang kid" still living at home should welcome the opportunity to assist the parents who are still supporting him.  Owning a car isn't a prerequisite for acquiring a license!

#3 Okay, once I got over the ridiculousness of being so addicted to your phone that you refuse to drive because most states don't allow texting while driving, I acknowledge that being able to do something else while travelling is one of the great advantages of public transit.  My father was a book lover with not a lot of spare time; taking the train to work was like being handed an extra hour to read.

#4 Very true.  Since I hate to shop, I really appreciate being able to do much of it online.  And watching movies at home is much nicer than getting my feet sticky in a movie theater.  But even here in Switzerland, which has the best public transit I've seen anywhere, most people find they have need for a car—if not actually owning one, at least subscribing to a car-sharing service.

#5 The best reason of all.  I'm thrilled that it's becoming "cool" to use public transit.  I've said for a long time that public transit, along with walking and biking for transport (as opposed to exercise or sport), will never make it in the U.S. until it shakes its image of being just for the poor and for drunks who have had their driver's licenses taken way.  But see my comment on #4.

#6  There needs to be more said about this than I've heard so far.  Getting a license used to be straightforward and relatively easy, even when it became more restrictive than it was for our parents:  "This is my daughter.  She can drive; give her a license." "Okay, ma'am; here it is."  Many states have become increasingly restrictive when it comes to licensing young people, with more rules than I've been able to keep track of, rules that take away much of the immediate incentive for learning to drive.  If they can't drive themselves home after a football game (too late at night) and can't provide transportation for their friends (passenger limits), who can blame many young people for finding the whole process too much hassle to bother with, since they can get fully licensed with ease in just a few more years?

"There's a segment of this generation missing opportunities to learn under the safeguards that [graduated licensing] provides," said Peter Kissinger, the president of the AAA Foundation for Traffic safety.

All I can say to that is that they brought it on themselves by in effect telling young people they are irresponsible idiots.  Who can blame those who decide to chuck the whole system?

While I've been here for Daniel's birth, I've had the privilege of joining the family for their noontime and evening family times.  They begin with a general picking up of toys, followed by the meal.  Family devotions, based on those in the Episcopal Book of Common Prayer, come immediately after lunch, and again in the evening after bedtime preparations and some play time (if the former haven't taken too long).

Two of the most amazing parts of the procedure are individual prayers with the children—Joseph spontaneously started praying for Daniel as he is prayed for by the adults—and singing time.  The latter has been a growth opportunity for me despite all my choir training, because it's done a cappella.  Normally I don't find singing the alto line of hymns to be difficult, but singing without accompaniment is much more of a challenge.  Nonetheless, it's been awesome.  Even our three-part harmony is lovely, and it was really great when Porter was here to add the tenor part to our soprano, alto, and bass.  The kids don't sing with us—yet—but are taking it all in.  Joseph has memorized several of the hymns and can occasionally be heard singing parts of them as he goes about his daily activities.  (We have another grandson who sings or whistles a lot, too.  Recently he was overheard moving seamlessly between Funniculi, Funnicula and Christ the Lord Is Risen Today.)

With all due respect to Sunday School/Children's Church, Vacation Bible School, and the many and varied children's music programs available, I think this integrated family prayer and singing time is an unbeatable foundation for a strong spiritual and musical education.

Not to mention a whole lot of fun.

I've been writing a lot about Joseph, and recently Daniel has taken center stage, so before I write more about either of her brothers, it's time Vivienne had a post of her own.  She is 18 1/2 months old, as Joseph was when I was here for her birth, so it's interesting to observe the similarities and differences, as well of course as their interactions.

I wonder if second children, who are born with a sibling, are more predisposed to compassion and an awareness of the needs of others.  I remember noting that characteristic in Noah, and Vivienne has it in spades.  She's physically very affectionate, too, asking to "snuggle," and freely doling out hugs.  One of the first things she and Joseph do in the morning is to give each other good morning hugs.  Unless Joseph is already eating, or otherwise engaged in intense concentration, that is.  The funny thing is, I remember him as being much more reserved, and less demonstrative in his affection; it seems to me as if he has learned a lot from his younger sister.

And she, of course, is learning a lot from him.  She does not have the same fascination with letters and numbers that he did at 18 months, but knows more about them than most her age, if only in the same way a fish knows about water.  She can already count to five in three languages (Swiss German, English, and French), because we always count the toys as they are being put away.

Vivienne, in one sense, is all girl.  She's a dancer, always moving, especially if there's music or even rhythmic speech to be heard.  She has a petite frame, despite having been born both longer and heavier than Joseph, and has blonde hair with soft curls.  I've mentioned her tender heart; if she notices Joseph needs something, she'll often get it for him, and while she'll scream bloody murder if he takes a toy from her, frequently after getting it back she'll voluntarily hand it to him.  She's adorably cute in her little dresses, and I'm convinced she knows it:  she has a look that can bend adults to her will, and will probably enslave more than a few boys in her teen years.  Joseph has a few favorite pieces of clothing he will wear until forced to change, even to the extent of wearing long sleeves and long pants on hot summer days; Vivienne sometimes finds the day too short to wear just one outfit.  Plus, she loves shoes.  There's a rack of shoes outside the door to the apartment, and a favorite activity is to sit on the steps and try out other people's footwear.  Our Swiss National Day celebration included a bounce house, which Joseph could not get enough of—but Vivienne preferred to investigate the assortment of shoes left on the outside.

But this is no "girly girl."  She'll be an ezer warrior for sure.  She's tender—her cheek is rarely without a tear from some physical or emotional wound—but at the same time tough as nails.  When she wants to get somewhere, she runs rather than walks, reminding me of her cousin Joy.  (On the other hand, if an adult wants her to get somewhere, she must stroll and stop to examine every flower, bug, and pebble.)  She's eager to keep up with her big brother, whether running, climbing, or flinging herself off the slide into the ball pit at the nearby shopping center.  She has a real temper and a scream that would wake the dead, leading me to suspect that her Irish ancestry (on both sides, though somewhat distant) has contributed more than the slight reddish tinge to her blonde hair.  But she recovers quickly and is quick to sign, "sorry."  She's much like her mother at that age:  her hair is fine and with all the activity won't stay combed for more than a minute, which contributes to a ragamuffin, gamine look—as do the skinned knees and an affinity for dirt and water.

Ah, water.  Called "mo-mo," for no reason discernable in either English or German, it's a Vivienne magnet.  Water is her beverage of choice at all meals, and many times in between.  She'll drink from a cup, directly from the faucet, and from any vessel that passes through her hands while she helps me wash dishes, which is one of her favorite activities.  In a book, in a video, through the bus window—if Waldo were water, Vivienne would spot him before anyone else.  If there's a puddle, she's in it.  Larger bodies of water are even better, especially if there are stones around; as far as Vivienne is concerned, the purpose of pebbles is to be thrown into any available water.

But water is not her only love.  She's crazy about airplanes of any sort, especially the jets that fly overhead multiple times a day, to and from the nearby military airfield.  When they were considering this apartment, Joseph was eight months old, and Janet saw the airfield as a plus, thinking it would be great fun for a little boy to grow up watching the jets.  And he does enjoy them, but not nearly as much as Vivienne does:  she must run to the window whenever she hears their (extremely loud) sound.  She's also the more enthusiastic about watching the new construction going on next door:  the diggers, the bulldozer, the front loader all doing their (very loud) work all day, every day but Sundays and holidays.  (Did I mention enough times that it is loud here, and do you remember that we have a newborn in the house?  Oddly enough, none of it seems to bother Daniel, though he was intelligent enough to be born on Mariä Himmelfahrt, so his first day was uncharacteristically quiet for him in this Catholic canton.)

Here is another difference between Joseph and Vivienne:  At this age, his wooden number puzzle was one of the great joys of Joseph's life.  Vivienne also likes the puzzle, and can easily put the pieces in the right places, but the + and x pieces, which to Joseph were "addition" and "multiplication," are both airplanes to Vivienne.

Vivienne adores going out, whether to help in the garden, or to run errands, or simply to play on the swingset.  Oh, how she loves to swing!  She has been able to hold on well to regular swings from a young age, and has a much longer attention span for swinging than most adults, who often alleviate their boredom by counting the pushes.  (Joseph makes that a challenge by requesting the count be in French, or by 5's, or as he did recently for me, by 51's.  He's patient with my struggles, but if he asks for 51's in French, I'm giving up.)

She also loves balls, can throw pretty decently, and kick really well for her age.  Not to mention carry them around in her mouth like a mama cat with her kittens.

The biggest change in Vivienne in the four weeks I've been here is an absolute explosion in language.  Both English and German, but more noticeable (at least to me) in English, probably because it's been the dominant tongue in use since I came (though not exclusive by any means).  The meaning is clear enough for those in the know, though there's not a lot yet that would be understandable to outsiders—except for "Nei!  Nei!  Nei!" which with a shake of the head and a stamp of the foot may be the most universally recognizable utterance.  "Nei" has been around for a long time, but recently she has added "no" for my sake; even at her age she is sensitive to who speaks what language.  It is an exciting privilege to be present at this point in her development.

As it is to watch all of our grandchildren blossom, each in his or her own, individual, marvellous way.

Vivienne's post is overdue, but it's long, and getting written in bits and snatches.  So today I'll record a Joseph story before I forget it.

Early this morning, Joseph awoke and went into the bathroom to get dressed.  He seemed to be spending an inordinate amount of time in there, so I peeked in (the door was open) to discover him sitting naked, counting the holes in the laundry hamper.  In French.  I backed out and left him alone, though I made a point of listening.  He counted 115 with no trouble, which was impressive, given how squirrelly French counting gets past 69.

But this hamper might have been designed just for Joseph, because the air vents are not just holes, but shaped into circles, triangles, and rectangles.  After the first enumeration, Joseph began again, this time counting the triangles....

There's never a dull moment around here; it's time to write them up that's scarce.

The Evolution of Diaper Laundering
(both sides of the Atlantic)

First baby

• Washed separately
• Special baby detergent
• Presoak
• Hot water
• Special cycle
• Extra rinse

Second baby

• Washed separately
• Regular detergent
• Hot water
• Regular cycle

Third baby

• Thrown in with the rest of the laundry

Except for the obvious connection between his middle name and his maternal grandfather, Daniel Porter Stücklin was not named for anyone in particular.  But out of a surfeit of genealogical curiosity, I looked up Daniel Porter (with Porter as a surname, not a middle name) in my genealogical database.

It turns out I have five Daniel Porters recorded, though none born later than 1750.  Of these, two are direct ancestors.

Dr. Daniel Porter, who came to Connecticut before 1644 and was one of the founders of Farmington.  He is Daniel Porter Stücklin's 10th great-grandfather on my side.

Daniel Porter, born January 1726, the son of John Porter and Esther Deane, and the great-great grandson of immigrant ancestors John Porter and Anna White.  He also lived in Connecticut, and is Daniel Porter Stücklin's 6th great-grandfather on Porter's side.

Soon I'll have his birth story to link to—Janet's been working hard on writing it in brief gaps between working hard on keeping him fed, clean, and happy—but for now, here's the short version.  (I hope to write my own story, but with two other kids needing to be kept fed, clean, and happy, Stephan and I don't have much time, either.  You'd think that with a 1:1 adult/child ratio things would be easier than they are, but they aren't.)

Daniel Porter Stücklin
Born at home in Emmen, Switzerland
Thursday, August 15, 2013 at 2:48 a.m.
Length: 53cm (21in)
Weight: 4300g (9lbs 8oz)

Happy Grandma!

We are now at Due Date Plus Five.  The intense activity aimed at fitting as much as we could in while Dad-o was still with us has passed, and life has setting into—well, not normal, since there's always the "labor could start at any moment" anticipation.  Perhaps I should say "mundane," though that, too, is a poor word to use with grandchildren around.

For example, who would have thought I'd ever leave my laptop computer alone with a three-year-old?  I don't, for long—but I do.  The apartment is small, and it's easy to make a quick check and to keep an ear out for trouble.  Still, Joseph sometimes surprises me.

He and Vivienne have two interests in my computer:  writing e-mails, and watching the PowerPoint shows I have created for our grandkids.  Though Vivienne would like to control the mouse, I have put Joseph in charge of running the ppt shows, and they can both watch for quite a long time.  When they are done, Joseph exits out of the show (via a button that is part of the show), then out of the show menu (another special button), then X's out of PowerPoint itself.  (I've been running them from within PowerPoint, but am thinking of setting them up differently so he can be even more independent.)  Next, he "puts the computer to sleep" by holding the Fn key and typing F4, waiting till the disk and network lights go off, then carefully (from the middle) closes the lid.  Then he puts the mouse to sleep (turns it off) and lays it gently on its "bed" on top of the computer.  Today he added another step:  the computer was in my bedroom instead of out in the living room, and he noticed that the power cord was plugged into the wall but not into the computer—so he proceded to rectify the situation.  I was torn between reminding him that he was not to do anything to the computer without asking me first, and wanting to see what he would do.  The latter won, and indeed, he plugged the computer in as quickly and as smoothly as I do.

When Vivienne sees me at the computer, she runs over and says, "e-mail Dad-o."  ("E-mail" isn't so clear, but she's consistent with it, so I know what she means.)  I open up a composition window and she sits on my lap and types.  "E" she says as she types, and I respond, "L."  "L" she says, then types another letter, again saying "E."  I respond with the correct character, and so we continue until one of us decides she's done.  Then I hover the mouse pointer over the "Send" button, and she clicks the mouse button.

Both Vivienne and Joseph had written to Dad-o early this morning, but wanted to do it again.  I explained that it wasn't even time to get up yet where Dad-o is, and so he hadn't received their first e-mails yet.  Vivienne accepted this, but Joseph immediately replied, "E-mail Aunt Heather!"  So he did.  He usually types out the recipient's name, then "touch types" apparently random strings of letters:  he places his fingers in approximately the correct typing position, then rapidly wiggles his fingers, all with an intense look of concentration.  When he goes over the end of a line, he backspaces enough so that his letters fit into the window, then types Enter, and begins another line.  When done, he will sometimes type his name, though not always.  Until today, I would then send the mail in much the same way I do for Vivienne.  But today I had left him typing to go into the kitchen for something, telling him to call me when he was ready to send the e-mail.  When I checked back a few minutes later, the composition window was gone.  I thought perhaps it was hidden behind another window, but it wasn't.  Then I checked the Sent folder....

I believe the main secret to Joseph's surprising activities is keen observation and a great memory.  He had seen me plug and unplug the computer; he had seen me click on the Send button.  I find myself trying not to be too obvious when I type in my password.

mqwwwwqasdzxcdccccccccccccbaaaaaaaayqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqaqaaaaaaaaaaaa

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

dxaaaaaaaaaaaaaa,,m,,,,,,maaaaaaaaaaaa5321`ssssssssssssssssss

qaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaeeeeeeeeeeeeez

As you can see, Vivienne woke up from her nap and wanted to type, and now Joseph is waiting for his turn.  So I'll save my Vivienne notes for another post, and get on with life!