Lift Up Your Hearts!

Is it any wonder Americans are such poor money managers when you look at the behavior of our government? Or should I perhaps say that the other way around?

Only a few short years ago, the State of Florida was enjoying a large budget surplus, because tax revenues went through the roof thanks in part to all the rebuilding necessary after our four-hurricane year. Naturally (but stupidly), everyone clammored to spend the "excess." There were plenty of claimants for the money, but few indeed were the voices of reason, and they did not prevail. It should have been obvious to anyone with any sense at all that boom times don't last, and the years of plenty are when you put away your surplus to help you through the lean years.

Now the rebuilding is complete, and people are being more careful with their money, so Florida is hurting for sales tax revenue. Suddenly we are cutting programs, laying off public prosecutors, and—that whicih inspired this post—threatening to demolish the wonderful Road Ranger system that I wrote so enthusiastically about after I was stranded on the side of the highway, at night, in a non-functional car. If we had invested that surplus when we had it, we could be using it now to go along normally, and avoid the expense of restarted when economic conditions improve. Basic economics, Finance 101, just plain common sense.

Or not so common. God Himself had to teach Joseph this strategy, and then Pharaoh thought the idea so impressive he put Joseph in charge of the whole kingdom. But you'd think we'd have learned something from that story.

It's true that Barack Obama scares me.  He has so much charisma that I'm afraid an Obama presidency would actually succeed in implementing his harmful agenda.  I'm not saying that Hilary Clinton's and John McCain's agenda's aren't harmful—just that I think they're less likely to succeed in bringing them to fruition.

Nonetheless, there's no point in making too much out of his regrettable comment that small-town Americans "cling to guns or religion or antipathy to people who aren’t like them or anti-immigrant sentiment or anti-trade sentiment" because they are bitter about their economic circumstances.  True, the remark is offensive, out of touch, and just plain wrong, and Obama didn't improve the situation with his attempt at recovery.  "I didn’t say it as well as I should have,” he admitted, but “I said something that everybody knows is true.” (More)

I don't agree with John Stackhouse on everything—no surprise to those who know me; I'm not sure I even agree wtih myself on everything—but greatly appreciate the way he can take a controversial subject and shake it out with clarity and common sense.  I have little patience with the whole "postmodernist" idea that there's no such thing as real, absolute truth,  but at best only a useless, mealy-mouthed "true for you" or "true for me."  But equally frustrating are those whose claim to know the truth about something leaves no room for doubt, and what is worse, no room for the possibility that they might, in fact, be wrong.  Stackhouse addresses the latter situation with refreshing rationality in I'm Certain that There Are Two Kinds of Certainty.

As dictated, unedited, while Mom, Dad, and Noah were napping.

There was a bear.  And then he started hunting.  Then the bear found a fox.  And the fox started scratching the bear.  And the bear could not beat the fox.  The fox started wildly jumping and kicking and swinging its tail around wildly. (More)

That's what we did this morning.  We arrived at the Pittsburgh Zoo with a crab and left with a jellyfish, but in between Jonathan was a perfect little boy, just the right age to delight in all the exhibits.  He could identify many of the fish as well as the animals, and explained to me—thanks to a Magic Schoolbus book that's currently one of his favorites—that the clownfish can live inside the sea anemone because it's covered with mucus which protects it from the anemone's sting.

Noah, on the other hand, could take or leave the animals.  What fascinated him was everything mechanical:   the big power cords at the entrance, the lights along the walkway, a child-proof outlet cover (which he promptly removed, then replaced when asked), emergency exit doors, a machine that made bubbles, and anything else with buttons, cords, switches, lights, or moving parts.  This is the same child who won't talk, but eloquently asks me several times a day if he can record his voice on my computer.  What he really wants to do is plug the headphone and microphone cords into the computer.  The headset was one of the first things he helped me unpack, and he grinned delightedly when he discovered the plugs, then pointed to the computer, which, incidentally, was still closed up and anonymous-looking.  He quickly found the jacks, and needed only a little guidance to make sure the plugs were going in straight.  (To be truthful, that was my paranoia; he could have done it all on his own, but I was a little nervous.)  One lesson in pink-to-red, black-to-green was sufficient; he's done it correctly ever since.  First thing this morning he came excitedly into my room, big grin on his face, running straight to...Grandma?  No, Grandma's computer.

John C. Wright is one of the latest entries in my feedreader, and frankly I've forgotten whom to credit and am too busy/lazy to try to figure it out.  But thanks, whoever you are.  John's entries are almost always well-written and interesting, and often give me a fresh perspective on issues.  His latest is too rich for me to give it more than a quick read at this point, but I'm posting it here so I won't lose it, and for the benefit of others.

And when the Laws of England Are Flat, and the Devil Turns on You? 

Fans of A Man for All Seasons may recognize the title; if not, there's a YouTube link to refresh your memory.  If you're told "this video is no longer available," try again; it worked the first time for me, and not the second, but the next time I had no trouble.

One of the reasons this post resonated with me is that this is the second time I've run into the idea that Classical Liberalism is nearly the opposite of what we call Liberalism today.  (The first was in a Teaching Company course on Western Civilization.)  That and the fact that it reminded me of this line from Dorothy Sayers' Gaudy Night:  "The first thing a principle does, if it really is a principle, is to kill someone."

Isamu Fukui doesn't make lemonade out of life's lemons, he makes the whole lemonade factory.  As a fifteen year old high school student, he vented his frustrations by secretly writing a novel about a dystopia in which the world is run like a school.  Unbeknownst to him, his father found out, and instead of sending his son to a psychiatrist (I'm extrapolating here), sent the manuscript to a publisher.  Three years later, Fukui is still in high school with a critically acclaimed, published novel and a contract for two more.

Write a book for yourself alone, so you can say just what you want, let someone else promote it, and have the publishers come begging you for more.  Works for me!  And a far better use of teen ambition than working for gender-blind college dorm rooms.

Thanks to Jon who directed me to the GeeK Dad article on Fukui's book, Truancy. 

My morning routine often includes the SAT Question of the Day; the mental exercise is not only fun (at least when your future doesn't ride on it), but also, I'm assuming, good for my brain.  But I've begun to worry about the system, because it's too easy.

Mind you, I didn't find the Scholastic Aptitude Test easy when I took it in high school; I did quite well but not close to a perfect score (which was 1600 back then).  What's more, I would expect to do better now, since I've had some 40 more years of experience since then.  So I'm not really complaining that the questions are rarely challenging for me; what I find concerning is that they don't seem to be much of a challenge, period.  The number of respondents who get the question right is almost always more than half, and often quite a bit more for the Verbal questions.  People don't do as well on the Math questions, but still far better than I would expect for an exam that's supposed to be challenging our brightest high school students.  I realize those who undertake the daily question are a self-selected population, which may explain their success.

Nonetheless, the level of difficulty still surprises me.  I recall the SAT being interesting and even somewhat fun, but not a cakewalk by any means.  It's true that I studied quite a bit more math after taking the test in 10th grade, but so far I've not seen a question requiring higher math—often they can be done with common sense and/or grinding through the multiple-choice responses

So, my questions:  Has the SAT really become that much easier over the years?  Is the Question of the Day deliberately taken from the easier parts of the test?  Is the idea that our faculties decrease once we get out of school just a myth?  Contrary to popular belief, is motherhood actually a challenging and stimulating profession that keeps the mind agile?  I rather like those last two ideas.

Not a proper post today, but I must keep my readers checking in.  :)  A post on Random Observations led me to this Boston Herald essay by Michael Graham: Campus "Activism" Redefined.  As one commenter remarked, it's too late to be an April Fool joke.  Not content with co-ed dorms on college campuses, the latest push is for gender-blind dorm rooms. Whoopee!

To be fair, I think they're actually talking about letting you choose your own roommate regardless of sex, rather than yet another big shock when a freshman meets his or her roommate for the first time.  Still, it remains a stupid idea. (More)

Our newly-found Smith Genealogy manuscript, which I mentioned in a previous post, is proving a treasure not only of facts but of stories.  Here's one about my great-great-great grandmother, Margery Irwin, who was the author's grandmother.

Grandmother was born east of the mountains we think, in Lancaster County, Pa.  She was brought west of the mountains when five years old, packed in a wallet on a pack saddle.  Grandmother on one side and her sister on the other and a bottle of milk and skillet with them. 

My teacher readers have permission to roll their eyes now, but I've finally figured out the reason for those stupid vocabulary exercises we did in school—look up the word, define the word (don't just copy the dictionary), use the word in a sentence ("XXX is a vocabulary word" doesn't count), test on Friday.  I dutifully complied, but don't believe I learned any new word that way.  I'm very good at remembering something long enough to pass a test, but what increases my vocabulary is reading, hearing, and using new words in context.

Having subscribed (thanks to my father) for many years to A.Word.A.Day, and recently extended my random vocabulary fun to Free Rice (thanks to my brother), I realized that the point of vocabulary work is not to learn new words!  The purpose is to increase one's awareness of new words.  Perhaps slower, more careful readers do not have this problem, but I devour books, and any word I don't know is glossed over, its general meaning derived from context and the word itself forgotten.  However, if my awareness of the word has been raised through seeing or hearing it before, even if I don't know the meaning it will begin to pop out of the page at me, and gradually become incorporated into my working vocabulary.

So for me, and I suspect many others, vocabulary lessons are useless outside of the context of an environment rich in words, but given that context they are a useful tool after all.  I wonder, however, if they are of any use at all to children who will not go on to encounter the words in real life.  Another example of the rich getting richer and the poor poorer, I suppose.

Thanks to the Prodical Kiwi(s) Blog for alerting me to this video of a talk by Sir Ken Robinson on nurturing (or not nurturing) creativity.  It wasn't as informative as I had hoped, but it hits some high points and is at least amusing.  Not everyone can take the time to read John Taylor Gatto's phone book sized The Underground History of American Education.  My apologies to all my teacher readers (who no doubt wish they had more freedom to nurture creativity) and epecially the university professors.  :)  I really like the story of dancer and choreographer Gillian Lynne.

The other day we were told, by one whose buisness it is to predict these things, that no matter who wins the upcoming presidential election, our taxes are going up.  He may be right.  If they're serious about stimulating the American economy, raising American taxes seems a foolish approach, but the public keeps demanding more services, and there's always a bill for services rendered.

So I got to thinking, at lunchtime, as I munched on my barbecue potato chips, about Switzerland.  They have some wonderful potato chips there, somewhat like our barbecue variety, but better—though that impression may have been due to Favorable Emotional Circumstances.  One day I made a hasty stop at the grocery store and grabbed some food for a train trip, only to discover, too late, that I had paid over $5 for a medium-sized bag of chips!

The bag I was munching from was more than half again as large, and priced at $2.50.  I actually paid half that; I generally don't by chips unless they're on sale.  It occured to me that a price tag of $7.50 would be a significant deterrent; I would probably still buy them for very special occasions, but casual purchasing would defintely be out.  Thus it would be in my best interest, health-wise, if the potato chip manufacturers decided to triple their prices.  But they wouldn't do it.  Without illegal collusion in the industry, competition would force the price back down immediately.

Unless the government stepped in.  Imagine a $5/bag tax on potato chips; applied to all, no one manufacturer could undercut the market, and suddenly Americans just might start reducing their consumption.  I only pick on potato chips because they are my own weakness, but let's not stop there:  corn chips, soda, candy, cookies, Happy Meals—all those top of the food pyramid, artificial ingredient, and preservative heavy "foods" that make up so much of our modern diet and have nutritionists and health professionals wringing their hands.

Sin taxes have their problems, I know.  The last thing I want to do is create yet another opportunity for organized crime to fluorish.  (Pssst!  Wanna buy an Oreo?) But it would be my favorite kind of tax:  likely to provide significant income for the government, yet completely avoidable simply by eating as we know we should. 

I hesitated (briefly) to post this, for fear the person concerned might, if she ever came this way, think I was making fun of her.  That's not it at all; she has, I'm sure, an important and respected job and I know she does it well.  But perspective is everything.  Having changed plenty of diapers in my day, not to mention my grandchildren's more recently, this auto-response to my e-mail struck my funny bone:

I will be out of the office beginning March 25th.  I will return to the office on April 3.  I will not have access to email or voicemail.  If your question pertains to diaper raw material, market or premarket requests, please contact K---.  If your question pertains to Wipes, please contact B---.

Somehow I think neither K--- nor B--- want to hear my diaper and wipe questions: Is it wet or dirty? Are we out of clean covers again? and Where do I put this?

As with much of my life, my genealogcial work goes in spurts; I love to get deeply into a project and run with it until the demands of life pull me, reluctantly, away—or until I get heartily sick of it and must set it aside for a while.  Genealogical research is not all success and great discovery; documentation and data entry are mostly tedious gruntwork, and mining for new data produces much more gangue than ore.  I'm now at a stage where what's needed most is organization and the above-mentioned gruntwork, so naturally I'm finding other projects more attractive.

Thus it is amusing as well as delightful to find myself showered last week with more new data than I can do justice to in a month.  Perhaps it's a case of casting one's bread upon the waters, for it began when, as part of my e-mail backlog reduction project, I organized and cleaned up my data on the descendants of Louisa Curtiss and Benjamin Wells for someone who had requested it.  (That was one of the e-mails from 2005!)  In the process I happened upon a piece of information that led to a major breakthrough in my Rice line, about which I will write later. (More)