Lift Up Your Hearts!

Smoke on the Mountain: An Interpretation of the Ten Commandments by Joy Davidman (The Westminster Press, 1953)

I recently re-read Joy Davidman's book because it seemed logical to include in my C. S. Lewis retrospective. How long ago was my previous reading I can only guess, but it's likely two decades or more.

The first time around, I remember being quite impressed by Davidman's take on the Ten Commandments; this time, less so. It's still a book worth reading, but perhaps two decades further on has made her examples and emphasis seem more dated. Her analysis is still pretty good, however. Basic human nature doesn't change—and neither do the Commandments.

The one thing that bothers me most is certainly very minor in the scheme of the book, but it comes up over and over again. Not in anything directly related to her arguments, but in her assumptions about society: that is, that one of the biggest problems of this world, and a concern of all intelligent people, is overpopulation. I think my children don't understand quite how intense the pressure was in my generation to have no more than two children. I'm very glad that has now eased—but the attitude still rankles when I run into it.

Maugre all that, there were plenty of quotes worth extracting. Remember that Davidman was writing in the early 1950's, and reflect how à propos they still are.

The articulate, the leaders of opinion, the policy makers, all those who set the tone of our society, seem for the most part to be frightened men. (p 18)

Despite her fears of overpopulation, Davidman has a pretty good take on much of what's wrong with family life today.

Everybody today ... will agree that that family life is indispensable to human health and happiness. Yet we find ourselves accepting conditions that make war on the family. The lands behind the Iron Curtain deliberately weaken family ties in their schools, lest loyalty to parents should conflict with devotion to the sacred State. Our own country tries to keep the home fires burning with verbal sentiment about Mom, but meanwhile forces Mom to leave the hearth fire untended while she tends the factory machine. A century ago, American houses were twelve-room affairs designed to hold grandparents, and maiden aunts, and uncles, as well as parents and children; today they are usually cramped little flats and cottages, and we feel lucky to get those. We can hardly do much about honoring Father and Mother if there's no room for them in the inn. (pp 63-64)

I will add that the Iron Curtain may have fallen, but schools are doing no less to weaken family ties, and today they've been joined by a host of other assailants, from governmental policies to music, movies, and television.

Every age has its professional apologists, and ours are working hard to convince us that our worst sins are virtues. A mother forced to take a job needs a crèche [daycare] for her baby, admitted—but that does not justify the false comforters who tell us a crèche is better than a mother. An overcrowded school must pick up its pupils in large handfuls all of an age, and pass them along without paying attention to their individual abilities—yet this hardly warrants the current theory that children ought to be herded in age groups, as if we gave birth to them in litters! The cooped-up small families of cities are likely to develop unhealthy tensions, as we all know—need we, therefore, swallow the fashionable psychological doctrine that it's natural for all sons to hate their fathers? Were it really true that sons and fathers are natural enemies, how could mankind ever have dreamed of such a thing as the Fatherhood of God? (p 65, emphasis mine)

Through such apologies, and our own mental laziness, we are in danger of accepting without question some very queer distortions of human life. Already our generations are being walled off from each other: teenagers flock together deaf to all language but their own, young couples automatically drop their unmarried friends, whole magazines address themselves to age groups such as the seventeens or the young matrons or the "older executive type." Vast numbers of people think it is "natural" to hate your in-laws, "immature" to ask your parents for advice after your marriage, "abnormal" to value the companionship of anyone much older or younger than yourself. (pp 65-66)

Our modern cities have created a society in which children are in the way. They are physically in the way, and therefore we find them in the way emotionally too. There are many who do not want them at all, like the girl who recently told this writer that a civilized woman can "realize her creative impulses through self-expression" without needing anything so dirty as a baby! Even those who do want them are sometimes rather shame-faced about it; pregnancy, once something in which a woman gloried, is now treated as a disfigurement to be concealed as long as possible; and giving suck, the greatest joy and greatest need of both mother and child, is quite out of fashion among us. "I'm not a cow!" some American women will remark scornfully, as if it were preferable to be a fish. (pp 66-67)

Worse yet, perhaps, is the taming process we are forced to put our children through in order to keep them alive at all in city streets and city flats. In their infancy we must curb their play, and force adult cautions and restraints on them too soon; in their adolescence, on the other hand, we must bend all our efforts to keep them children at an age when our ancestors would have recognized them as grown men and women ready to found families. Our objection to child labor is admirable when it prevents the exploitation of babies in sweatshops, but not when it keeps vigorous young men and women frittering away their energies on meaningless school courses and still more meaningless amusements. (p 67)

It is gratifying to know that in our time pregnancy, nursing, and rearing independent children have been enjoying a comeback, but the gains are yet small and the opposition still great.

Let us remind the innumerable Americans who don't seem to know it that begetting and rearing a family are far more real and rewarding than making and spending money. (p 69, emphasis mine)

"Honor thy father and thy mother" is not the only Commandment on which Davidman expounds—it's just the one for which I found the most interesting excerpts. Here's one for "Thou shalt not steal," followed by one each for "Thou shalt not bear false witness," and "Thou shalt not covet."

Our society, in some respects, is a vast confidence game. Even our money sometimes becomes a swindle; no crueler form of theft was ever devised than an inflation, and since the value of paper money depends on that doubtful commodity, faith in the Government, it is hard to see how all present currencies can help inflating. Those who remember the German inflation of the 1920's know what happens, in such cases, to trusting old people living on pensions and savings. (p 105, emphasis mine)

Sadly, even our professional economists seem to have forgotten the horrors of inflation. I only need to look back as far as the 1970's to fear inflation—and we were in a good position then, with salaries that inflated along with the dollar. Inflation is very attractive to governments and other debtors; it rewards spending beyond our means, promotes consumerism, and punishes thrift and contentment. Unfortunately, for governments and those crippled by debt, inflation looks like a promising get-rich-quick scheme. We all know where those lead.

Perhaps what unsettles the modern mind most is its despair of ever knowing truth and the conflicting and untrustworthy and very dusty answers we get in our daily life. There are people who believe that not only are there no truths, but there are not even facts—all is a matter of "subjective values." Whatever the merits of this as a philosophy, its practical use is often as a method of evasion and rationalization. ... The denial that truth exists is a good beginning for habitual lying. And if we start confessing our habitual lies, shall we ever be done? There are the lies of gossip, public and private, which make haters out of us; the lies of advertising and salesmanship, which make money out of us; the lies of politicians, who make power out of us. And the lies of the sort of journalist who manufactures a daily omniscience out of the teletype machine and the Encyclopaedia Britannica! And the lies of a professional patriot who assures us that our cause is so just that it doesn't matter what injustice we commit in its name! Two hundred years ago Dr. Johnson wrote:

"Among the calamities of war may be justly numbered the diminution of the love of truth by the falsehoods which interest dictates and credulity encourages. A peace will equally leave the warrior and the relater of wars destitute of employment; and I know not whether more is to be dreaded from streets filled with soldiers accustomed to plunder or from garrets filled with scribblers accustomed to lie."

The observation still holds good, except that the scribblers no longer live in garrets. The pay is bigger nowadays—but then, so are the lies. (p 111, emphasis mine)

Seeing God face to face is our goal; the pleasures of life, and even life itself, are the means to it. Therefore the milk and honey and corn and wine and soft chairs and fine houses and swift automobiles—all those pleasant things!—exist primarily as a kind of currency of love; a means whereby men can exchange love with one another and thus become capable of the love of God. ... We value such things not only for their pleasantness, but also because we can give them away and give our love with them; or else because, in receiving them, we receive others' love for us as a baby at the breast sucks his mother's love with her milk. (p 122, emphasis mine)

What a delightful view of the giving and receiving of gifts!

People on Facebook and elsewhere have been wishing Florida students "happy first day of school." Leaving aside that I agree with C. S. Lewis that "the putting on of the school clothes was, I well knew, the assumption of a prison uniform," and that I am so glad to be past that part of our lives, I just have to say that August 12—the start date for many here—is a ridiculous day for the school year to commence.

Here in Florida it's not so bad, as all the buildings are air conditioned, and summer isn't the nicest season of the year anyway. But when our kids were in school and the district flirted with starting mid-summer, our kids had to choose between skipping some wonderful summer educational programs elsewhere in the country and skipping the beginning of school. (We chose the latter, but would rather not have had to do that.) Perhaps I shouldn't complain too much about that, however, or someone will suggest that school schedules should be set nationally, and I'm highly in favor of local control of schools. If people are going to wear chains, at least let those chains be of different colors.

Someone pointed out that we make up for starting early by getting out at the end of May, which is true. There's something to be said for that, though I'm not sure why one would cut off days at one end of summer just to sew them back on to the other end. The weather in June is sometimes nicer than in August, but you sure can't count on it. Still, shifting the calendar is at least better than the other thing schools have been doing: shrinking summer vacation and adding vacation days here and there throughout the year. I'm of two minds there. Granted, it's lovely to have days off in the middle of the school year, especially when the weather is nicer.

But nothing beats the traditional long, idyllic stretch of the summer, where the days are free for reading, exploring, playing pick-up games with the neighbors, or just stretching out on the ground (or up in the treehouse) and watching the sky. The summer mindset doesn't come quickly. I noticed with our own children that a week's vacation from school wasn't nearly enough, because the beginning of the week was filled with what we called detoxification—as the children re-learned to order their own days—and the end with anticipation of the return to school. Summer was long enough for freedom to take hold in our hearts. I suspect teachers feel much the same way: after each return to school, it takes students time to settle back in, and as an anticipated vacation approaches, their focus is broken. Time is wasted when durations are too short.

All that aside: Be you student, teacher, or parent, if you've chosen (or had chosen for you) the life of being tied to the School Year—I do wish you the best: a happy first day of school and all the rest of them as well.

I can hardly regret having escaped the appalling waste of time and spirit which would have been involved in reading the war news or taking more than an artificial and formal part in conversations about the war. To read without military knowledge or good maps accounts of fighting which were distorted before they reached the Divisional general and further distorted before they left him and then "written up" out of all recognition by journalists, to strive to master what will be contradicted the next day, to read and hope intensely on shaky evidence, is surely an ill use of the mind. Even in peacetime I think those are very wrong who say that schoolboys should be encouraged to read the newspapers. Nearly all that a boy reads there in his teens will be known before he is twenty to have been false in emphasis and interpretation, if not in fact as well, and most of it will have lost all importance. Most of what he remembers he will therefore have to unlearn; and he will probably have acquired an incurable taste for vulgarity and sensationalism and the fatal habit of fluttering from paragraph to paragraph to learn how an actress had been divorced in California, a train derailed in France, and quadruplets born in New Zealand. — C. S. Lewis, in Surprised by Joy

Written more than sixty years ago, even more applicable today.

Decisive: How to Make Better Choices in Life and Work by Chip Heath and Dan Heath (Crown Business, 2013)

This book was on my son-in-law's Amazon wish list. Since in my own life I have chronic difficulties with decision-making, I thought I'd read it myself. Often I can do this while the book is in my hands awaiting a trip to Switzerland, but that doesn't work for Kindle books. However, our local library came through.

It was not quite what I had hoped. Having read other books by the Heath Brothers, I was prepared for this book to be primarily about business.  But even when they deal with personal issues they are more weighty ("Should I break up with my boyfriend?") than help for someone who has trouble deciding what to order at a restaurant.

And yet the book was still very interesting, especially the real-life examples, and it has given me ideas to ponder. Decisive is not long (253 pages, plus some notes at the end) and not hard going. The quotations below are almost random, chosen for the interest they piqued, not as any kind of meaningful summary of the ideas presented. Emphasis in bold is my own.

David Lee Roth was the lead singer for the Van Halen band. Their concerts were massive productions involving complex set-ups. Roth knew that even a small mess-up could put the safety of the band at risk. They could control their own technicians, but what about all the work done by local stagehands at the venues before they arrived?

Rumors circulated wildly about Van Halen's backstage antics. ... Van Halen seemed committed to a level of decadence that was almost artistic. ... Sometimes, though, the band's actions seemed less like playful mayhem and more like egomania. The most egregious rumor about the band was that its contract rider demanded a bowl of M&Ms backstage—with all the brown ones removed. There were tales of Roth walking backstage, spotting a single brown M&M, and freaking out, trashing the dressing room.

This rumor was true. The brown-free bowl of M&Ms became the perfect, appalling symbol of rock-star diva behavior. Here was a band making absurd demands simply because it could.

Get ready to reverse your perception.

The band's "M&M clause" was written into its contract to serve a very specific purpose. It was called Article 126, and it read as follows: "There will be no brown M&M's in the backstage area, upon pain of forfeiture of the show, with full compensation,." The article was buried in the middle of countless technical specifications.

When Roth would arrive at a new venue, he'd immediately walk backstage and glance at the M&M bowl. If he saw a brown M&M, he'd demand a line check of the entire production. "Guaranteed you're going to arrive at a technical error," he said. "They didn't read the contract.... Sometimes it would threaten to just destroy the whole show."

In other words, David Lee Roth was no diva; he was an operations master. He needed a way to assess quickly whether the stagehands at each venue were paying attention—whether they'd read every word of the contract and taken it seriously. (pp 26-28)

Or maybe he was still an obnoxious diva—but a very savvy one.

The question a college-bound senior should be asking ... is not "What's the highest-ranking college I can convince to take me?" Rather, it should be "What do I want out of life, and what are the best options to get me there?" Those two questions are in no way synonymous, and once families start thinking about the latter one, they often find that they have many more good options than they ever thought possible. (p 40)

Ay, there's the rub. How many people don't have a clue what they want out of life until the approaching end of college forces them to think about it?

A study of graphic designers demonstrates the value of multitracking. The designers, tasked with making a banner ad for a Web magazine, were randomly assigned to use one of two creative processes. Half of them were instructed to design one ad at a time, receiving feedback after each new design. Each designer started with a single ad and revised it five times based on rounds of feedback, yielding a total of six ads. The other half of the designers were instructed to use a "simultaneous" process, so that each one started with three ads and received feedback on all three. Then, in successive rounds, the set was whittled down with further feedback to two ads and then one final ad.

All of the designers ultimately created the same number of ads (six) and received the same quantity of feedback (five ad critiques). The only difference was the process: simultaneous versus one at a time.

As it turned out, process mattered a great deal: The simultaneous designers' ads were judged superior by the magazine's editors and by independent ad execs, and they earned higher click-through rates on a real-world test of the banners on the Web site. Why?

The study's authors, trying to explain the better performance of the simultaneous designers, said, "Since [simultaneous] participants received feedback on multiple ideas simultaneously, they were more likely to read and analyze critique statements side-by-side. Direct comparison perhaps helped them better understand key design principles and led to more principles choices for subsequent prototypes."

In other words, the simultaneous designers, by multitraking, were learning something useful about the shape of the problem. They were able to triangulate among the features of their three initial ads—combining their good elements and omitting the bad. (pp 53-54)

Plus, as it turned out, the simultaneous designers were happier about the feedback they received, and felt more confident in their abilities as a result of the experience. Not being 100% invested in a single design made them more likely to see criticism as a useful informative tool rather than as a personal attack.

When life offers us a "this or that" choice, we should have the gall to ask whether the right answer might be "both." (p 65)

Or neither. Binary decisions (either/or, "Should I quit my job?" "Should I marry Oliver?") rarely lead to the best decisions. Adding just one or two more options to the list forces you to widen your view and get better insight.

Imagine a new restaurant has just opened near you. It serves your favorite kind of food, so you're excited and hopeful. you search the restaurant's reviews online, and the results show a handful of good reviews (four out of five stars) and a handful of poor ones (two stars). Which reviews would you read?

Almost certainly, you'd read more of the positive reviews. You really want this restaurant to be great. A recent meta-analysis of the psychology literature illustrated how dramatic this effect is. ... The researchers concluded that we are more than twice as likely to favor confirming information than disconfirming information. (So, scientifically speaking, you'd probably read twice as many four-star reviews as two-star reviews.) (p 95)

I admit to struggling with what they call "confirmation bias," but this is totally different from my own approach to online reviews. I do start off with a product that has mostly positive reviews, as if the sample size is large enough, that's probably a good indicator of general quality. But what I concentrate on reading are the negative reviews, because I want to know why people didn't like a product. Often it's irrelevant to the product itself (late arrival, damage in transit, reviewer's ex-wife liked it therefore it must be bad). Sometimes the negative is about something that doesn't apply to me ("not enough romance in this book"). Sometimes they're genuinely helpful. Then I read the middle-of-the-road reviews, as I figure they're more likely to see both the positives and the negatives. Finally, I'll check out a few of the five-star reviews, just to be sure someone else thinks the item is what I hope it is.

Rather than jump headfirst ... dip a toe in.

Think about a student, Steve, who has decided to go to pharmacy school. What makes him think that's a good option? Well, he spent months toying with other possibilities—medical school and even law school—and he eventually decided pharmacy was the best fit. He's always enjoyed chemistry, after all, and he likes the idea of working in health care. He feels like the lifestyle of a pharmacist, with its semireasonable hours and good pay, would suit him well.

But this is pretty thin evidence for such an important decision! Steve is contemplating a minimum time commitment of two years for graduate school, not to mention tens of thousands of dollars in tuition and forgone income. He's placing a huge bet on paltry information. [An obvious move] would be to work in a pharmacy for a few weeks. He'd be smart to work for free, if need be, to get the job.

Surely this concept—testing a profession before entering it—sounds obvious. Yet every year hordes of students enroll in graduate schools without ever having run an experiment like that: law students who've never spent a day in a law office and med students who've never spent time in a hospital or clinic. Imagine going to school for three or four years so you can start a career that never suited you! This is a truly terrible decision process, in the same league as an impromptu drunken marriage in Vegas. (pp 137-138)

Phil Tetlock, a professor of psychology and management at the University of Pennsylvania ... resolved to design a study that would, for the first time, hold experts' feet to the fire. He recruited 284 experts, people who made their living by "commenting or offering advice on political or economic trends." Almost all of them had a graduate degree and over half had a PhD. Their opinions were eagerly sought: 61% of them had been interviewed by the media.

They were asked to make predictions in their area of expertise. ... As predictions go, these were pretty basic—nothing more strenuous than multiple-choice and fill-in-the-blank questions. Tetlock was trying to create such clear questions that experts would have nowhere to hide if they were wrong. ...

How'd the experts do? They underperformed, to say the least. Even the best forecasters did worse than what Tetlock calls a "crude extrapolation algorithm," a simple computation that takes the base rates and assumes that the trends from the past few years will continue (e.g., predicting that an economy that has grown at an average of 2.8% over the past three years will continue to grow at 2.8%). ...

Surveying these scores across regions, time periods, and outcome variables ... it is impossible to find any domain in which humans clearly outperformed crude extrapolation algorithms. ...

Sadly, pundits aren't the only experts who have prognostication problems. Previous research has shown that psychologists, doctors, engineers, lawyers, and car mechanics are also poor at making predictions. ...

Does this mean that expertise is worthless? No. ... [In another experiment], when students proclaimed themselves 100% certain that something would happen, they were wrong 45% of the time. When the experts were completely certain, they were wrong "only" 23% of the time. ... What the data shows is the base rates are better than expert predictions, which are better than novice predictions. (pp 140-143)

The strange words appeared anew every day, printed in capital letters in the corner of the blackboard, right underneath a warning to the cleaning crew to "Please save." The university students who attended the class were mystified by the words, which appeared to be in a foreign language: SARICIK. RAJECKI. KADIRGA. NANSOMA. ZAJONC.

On some days, only one of the words appeared; on other days, there would be two or three. “Zajonc,” in particular, seemed to appear a lot more than the others. The professor never acknowledged the words. Students were mystified; one later said of the words, "They haunt my dreams."

After the words had been appearing on the blackboard for nine straight weeks, the students received a survey with a list of 14 foreign words on it, and 5 of the 14 words were the ones from the blackboard. They were asked to assess how much they liked each word. ... The most-liked words were the ones the students had seen the most. Familiarity doesn't breed contempt, then, but more like contentment.

For decades, psychologists have been studying this phenomenon, called the "mere exposure" principle, which says that people develop a preference for things that are more familiar (i.e., merely being exposed to something makes us view it more positively). ...

What's more troubling is that the mere-exposure principle also extends to our perception of truth. ... When the participants [in another study] were exposed to a particular statement three times during the experiment, rather than once, they rated it as more truthful. Repetition sparked trust. This is a sobering thought about our decisions in society and in organizations. All of us ... will naturally absorb a lot of institutional "truth," and chances are that much of it is well proven and trustworthy, but some of it will only feel true because it is familiar. As a result, when we make decisions, we might think we're choosing based on evidence, but sometimes that evidence may be ZAJONC—nonsense ideas we've come to like because we've seen them so much. (pp 163-165)

It's possible that the Mere Exposure Principle may be the most important take-away from this book. Certainly it deserves its own blog post. Or two. Two that have been floating around in my brain for years; perhaps seeing this succinct statement in print will spur me to bring one or both to birth.

Short-term emotion [sometimes makes us] erratic and too quick to act. ... More commonly [it] has the opposite effect, making us slow and timid, reluctant to take action. We see too much complexity and it stymies us. We worry about what we must sacrifice to try something new. We distrust the unfamiliar. Together, these feelings make individuals and organizations biased toward the status quo. (pp 172-173)

Yep, that's my gift, and my curse. Some people jump at any new idea with full enthusiasm, and only later discover the drawbacks. My mind immediately goes to what could go wrong, and I disappoint people by my slow, sober response—even if I become excited after careful consideration, the damage has been done. But both approaches are important.

Perhaps the most powerful question for resolving personal decisions is "What would I tell my best friend to do in this situation?" (p 174)

Jim Collins, the author of Good to Great, suggests that we create a "stop-doing list." What sparked the idea was a challenge from one of his advisers to consider what he would do if he received two life-changing phone calls. In the first call, he'd learn that he'd inherited $20 million, no strings attached. The second call would inform him that, due to a rare and incurable disease, he had only 10 years left to live. The adviser asked Collins, "What would you do differently, and, in particular, what would you stop doing?" (pp 187-188)

That, too, deserves its own blog post.

There's [a] technique that is useful in guarding against the unknown. It's surprisingly simple, in fact: Just assume that you're being overconfident and give yourself a healthy margin of error. (p 208)

Simple, sure, but we're surprisingly poor at taking that advice. Richard Killmer, Janet's oboe professor in college, is famous for his playing, his teaching, and who knows what else—but what I remember most is his habit of always being early. When driving from Rochester, New York, to New York City, for example, he'd plan to arrive two hours early for his performance. Usually, that's what would happen, but the time wasn't wasted—there was always something productive to do with that time. But if an accident on the Thruway snarled traffic—no stress.

Contrast this with my own habit of tailoring my activities precisely so that I will be ready to leave for church at the exact right time. That may sound clever, but let Porter say—as he does with disconcerting frequency and little-to-no notice—"Let's stop at X on the way to church," and I'm undone. How much more reasonable just to plan to be ready to get in the car a half hour early, and then use any extra time to my advantage. It may sound easy, but....

By bookending—anticipating and preparing for both adversity and success—we stack the deck in favor of our decisions. (p 217)

Of course, time is only one of many factors that benefit from a healthy margin of error. Because we are so notoriously poor at prediction—how much time, how much money, how much profit—a technique called "bookending" can help mitigate problems on both ends of the event spectrum. Some of us are accustomed to considering the worst-case scenario, and trying to build in mitigation, but unexpected success can be nearly as great a problem. What if your new product takes off beyond your wildest dreams, and you have no way to handle the sudden onslaught of orders?

With the right tripwire, we can ensure that we don't throw good money (or time) after bad. (p 231)

I found the section on tripwires especially interesting, particularly because of the story of Kodak's failure to recognize the importance of digital photography. That's a story I lived through, being in Rochester and having several friends who worked for Kodak and saw that failure up close. Van Halen's obsession with brown M&Ms was a tripwire, warning of potentially dangerous carelessness. Kodak might have not gone under if their confidence that digital photos would never be acceptible to the public had been hedged by a tripwire such as, "We will reconsider when more than 10% of the public finds digital images satisfactory." Parents might tell a recent graduate, "You're welcome to move back home and work full-time on your art, Vincent, but if after six months you haven't sold a painting, you'll need to find another source of income."

Our first instinct, when challenged, is usually to dig in further and passionately defend our position. Surprisingly, though, sometimes the opposite can be more effective.

Dave Hitz, the founder of NetApp, says he learned that "sometimes the best way to defend a decision is to point out its flaws."

"Let's say you have decided to pursue Plan A. As a manager, it is part of your job to defend and explain that decision to folks who work for you. So when someone marches into your office to explain that Plan A sucks, and that Plan Z would be much better, what do you do? ... My old instinct was to listen to Plan Z, say what I didn't like about it, and to describe as best as I could why Plan A was better. Of course, the person has already seen these same arguments in the e-mail I sent announcing the decision, but since they didn't agree, they must not have heard me clearly, so I'd better repeat my argument again, right? I can report that this seldom worked very well.

It works much better if I start out by agreeing: "Yep. Plan Z is a reasonable plan. Not only for the reasons you mentioned, but here are two more advantages. And Plan A—the plan that we chose—not only has the flaws that you mentioned, but here hare three more flaws." The effect of this technique is amazing. It seems completely counterintuitive, but even if you don't convince people that your plan is better, hearing you explain your plan's flaws—and their plan's advantages—makes them much more comfortable. (pp 244-245)

The jetpacks of science fiction are closer to reality!

It may not be the most comfortable way to get from England to France, buy you can't beat it for excitement.

I read a satirical article recently in which someone from Political Group A wrote as if he were from Political Group B. Except for the vituperation and bad language, it reminded me of a "debate" I once heard at a former church, which had been billed as a chance to hear both sides of a controversy, in a debate format. It was a good idea; there was just one problem: The underlying assumption was that most if not all of the audience agreed with one side, and in fact so did the presenter of the opposite side. In a formal debate one is expected to be able to expound and explain a position whether or not one agrees with it—but this presenter apparently had no intention of doing so; his facts and arguments seemed selected for the purpose of making it clear how stupid they were.

The result of the event? Those who already believed in the chosen position went away cheered and even more convinced they were right. Those who believed in the position that was mocked went away convinced that there was no hope for understanding or reconciliation (and this in a church!). And some of us were merely embarrassed.

I get it. We all need the encouragement that comes from talking with like-minded people. But I'm pretty sure that mocking and demonizing one's opponents is the worst form of cheerleading. It's bad for our own souls, and if it falls into the hands of those opponents, it does not change their minds but saddens and hardens them, possibly beyond recovery.

Which brings me to an enlightening article by James Clear: Why Facts Don't Change Our Minds. It is well worth taking the time to read the entire article. Clear does not deal directly with the issues of anger and mockery, but illuminates a bigger problem: most human beings do not develop their views of the world based on rational argument—and we don't change our minds that way, either.

(Clear unfortunately plays fast and loose with singular vs. plural in the article. It drives me crazy. But I've let his words stand as he wrote them.)

Humans need a reasonably accurate view of the world in order to survive. If your model of reality is wildly different from the actual world, then you struggle to take effective actions each day. However, truth and accuracy are not the only things that matter to the human mind. Humans also seem to have a deep desire to belong. ... Understanding the truth of a situation is important, but so is remaining part of a tribe. While these two desires often work well together, they occasionally come into conflict. ... We don't always believe things because they are correct. Sometimes we believe things because they make us look good to the people we care about.

Parents, if your child has already become dependent on a peer group, don't be surprised to find that he is deaf and blind to all the facts and logic you throw at him.

Social media, which ought to be a great place for the lively interchange of ideas, is perhaps the worst, because any attempt to move away from the consensus of one's Facebook friends is likely to be immediately called out and derided. We may be a long way from the Medieval Church, but excommunication is still a devastating threat.

If they abandon their beliefs, they run the risk of losing social ties. You can’t expect someone to change their mind if you take away their community too. You have to give them somewhere to go. Nobody wants their worldview torn apart if loneliness is the outcome. The way to change people’s minds is to become friends with them, to integrate them into your tribe, to bring them into your circle. Now, they can change their beliefs without the risk of being abandoned socially.

The British philosopher Alain de Botton suggests that we simply share meals with those who disagree with us:

“Sitting down at a table with a group of strangers has the incomparable and odd benefit of making it a little more difficult to hate them with impunity. Prejudice and ethnic strife feed off abstraction. However, the proximity required by a meal – something about handing dishes around, unfurling napkins at the same moment, even asking a stranger to pass the salt – disrupts our ability to cling to the belief that the outsiders who wear unusual clothes and speak in distinctive accents deserve to be sent home or assaulted. For all the large-scale political solutions which have been proposed to salve ethnic conflict, there are few more effective ways to promote tolerance between suspicious neighbours than to force them to eat supper together.”

I'm sure it's no coincidence that Jesus set up the meeting together of his disciples, his Church—which would mix together people of great differences in race and religious background, social class and culture—to center around a meal.

Another reason friendship is the best vehicle for exchanging ideas is that we are more likely to be convinced by someone with whom we already have much in common.

If someone you know, like, and trust believes a radical idea, you are more likely to give it merit, weight, or consideration. You already agree with them in most areas of life. Maybe you should change your mind on this one too. But if someone wildly different than you proposes the same radical idea, well, it's easy to dismiss them as a crackpot.

This is a good reminder to people like me, who like to broadcast information and arguments via Facebook or blogs:

If you divide [a spectrum of belief] into 10 units and you find yourself at Position 7, then there is little sense in trying to convince someone at Position 1. The gap is too wide. When you're at Position 7, your time is better spent connecting with people who are at Positions 6 and 8, gradually pulling them in your direction.

Here's an argument that hits in the gold for a book-loving introvert:

Any idea that is sufficiently different from your current worldview will feel threatening. And the best place to ponder a threatening idea is in a non-threatening environment. As a result, books are often a better vehicle for transforming beliefs than conversations or debates.

In conversation, people have to carefully consider their status and appearance. They want to save face and avoid looking stupid. When confronted with an uncomfortable set of facts, the tendency is often to double down on their current position rather than publicly admit to being wrong. Books resolve this tension. With a book, the conversation takes place inside someone's head and without the risk of being judged by others. It's easier to be open-minded when you aren't feeling defensive. Arguments are like a full frontal attack on a person's identity. Reading a book is like slipping the seed of an idea into a person's brain and letting it grow on their own terms.

I'd be with him 100% here—except that so many people these days simply don't read books. I wish Clear had addressed a far more effective, even insidious, way people are now being induced to change their beliefs. The seeds planted by music and the visual media slip in far more easily and take root much more deeply than those planted by logical arguments in books. Certain books of fiction do that well for me, but as I said, few people read. The movie version of The Lord of the Rings has affected far more people's beliefs than the book (the worldviews are not the same)—and the influence of Star Wars is several orders of magnitude greater still.

Finally, Clear makes the much-needed point that bad ideas and false stories persist because people continue to talk about them.

Silence is death for any idea. An idea that is never spoken or written down dies with the person who conceived it. Ideas can only be remembered when they are repeated. They can only be believed when they are repeated.

And how are bad ideas most often repeated? When we complain about them!

Before you can criticize an idea, you have to reference that idea. You end up repeating the ideas you’re hoping people will forget—but, of course, people can’t forget them because you keep talking about them. The more you repeat a bad idea, the more likely people are to believe it. ... Each time you attack a bad idea, you are feeding the very monster you are trying to destroy.

Fortunately, there's a solution, albeit one that is more difficult to implement.

Your time is better spent championing good ideas than tearing down bad ones. Don't waste time explaining why bad ideas are bad. You are simply fanning the flame of ignorance and stupidity. ... Feed the good ideas and let bad ideas die of starvation.

Of course, there's still a place for correcting misinformation. (Emphasis mine)

Let me be clear. I'm not saying it's never useful to point out an error or criticize a bad idea. But you have to ask yourself, “What is the goal?” ...

When we are in the moment, we can easily forget that the goal is to connect with the other side, collaborate with them, befriend them, and integrate them into our tribe. We are so caught up in winning that we forget about connecting. It's easy to spend your energy labeling people rather than working with them.

If our goal is not "to connect with the other side, collaborate with them, befriend them, and integrate them into our tribe," what business is it of ours to try to correct them?

I never fail to get a kick out of the way my mind has a mind of its own. There are things I know that I don't know I know, tucked away in the depths of those "little grey cells," waiting to be called forth, or more likely, to bubble up at random times, unbidden.

For example, there was the time I saw an interesting-looking butterfly flitting around the garden, and into my mind popped, "It's a gulf fritillary." I had no idea I knew what a gulf fritillary butterfly was, but I know I'd seen the identification before, having quite long ago made a book about butterflies for our grandchildren. It was there in my mind, somewhere, even though I could not have voluntarily recalled that information.

Then there was this, quite recently: I had just finished reading C. S. Lewis's Surprised by Joy, and when my eyes passed over the title of the book on our kitchen counter, my mind filled in, "Impatient as the wind." After a moment's wonder, I realized that I was quoting a poem, and my next thought—again unbidden—was, "It's probably Wordsworth." Which, I later confirmed, it is. I have no idea from what depths that knowledge was dredged, nor why, at this particular time and place, it came to me.

Surprised by joy—impatient as the Wind
I turned to share the transport—Oh! with whom
But Thee, long buried in the silent Tomb,
That spot which no vicissitude can find?
Love, faithful love, recalled thee to my mind—
But how could I forget thee?—Through what power,
Even for the least division of an hour,
Have I been so beguiled as to be blind
To my most grievous loss!—That thought’s return
Was the worst pang that sorrow ever bore,
Save one, one only, when I stood forlorn,
Knowing my heart’s best treasure was no more;
That neither present time, nor years unborn
Could to my sight that heavenly face restore.

I had been looking at the book and its title multiple times a day for several days, yet never once in those previous days had the poem come to mind.

I'm reminded, also, of the time early in her mathematical education, when our younger daughter cried out in frustration when I—dutiful teacher!—asked her to show her work, instead of just writing down the answer to the problem. "I can't show my work!" she exclaimed, "There is no 'work'—there is just the answer!"

I think we all know a lot more than we think we do—not everything we learned went in one ear and out the other. The problem is not so much knowledge as retrieval. It's all the more interesting to me because one of our grandchildren appears to have this undependable retrieval system under much better control than most of us: When he learns something, he knows it and he remembers it—at least a lot better than most of us do. How does that work?

And what other fascinating facts are there, sleeping in the recesses of my brain, that I know but don't know I know until they choose to reveal themselves?

A Morbid Taste for Bones: The First Chronicle of Brother Cadfael by Ellis Peters (Little, Brown, first published 1977)

Everyone wants to give the surprise, spot-on birthday gift. True, the wish list was a great invention, allowing us to give gifts that will be welcomed, even though we aren't close enough (physically or emotionally) to a person to know well what he wants or needs. But perhaps the best gift is one that comes unbidden and meets a need or desire we didn't even know we had.

Such was this book for me. Once having cleared up my initial confusion of reading the author as Ellis Potter, an entirely different sort of writer, I recognized Brother Cadfael as a PBS show, of which we may have seen an episode long ago. Apparently we were not impressed enough to continue the series.

Not so with the book! I was hooked immediately by this medieval murder mystery, combining as it does two of my favorite genres. And, much more than that: the characters, plot, and actions are all touched by that quality so rare in any tale and especially modern writings: grace. To quote the last sentence of the second book, One Corpse Too Many, without giving anything away: From the highest to the lowest extreme of a man's scope, wherever justice and retribution can reach him, so can grace.

I began this review after having read just two of the books in the series; at the time, my thoughts were almost entirely positive. Now I have devoured five books, and binge-reading tends to exaggerate the presence of small negatives. Hopefully all that has done is make me more realistic in my assessment. After all, I still adore the books of Miss Read, even though a recent re-reading of everything I have of hers—which is very nearly everything she wrote—similarly raised the profile of the books' faults.

The negatives (with some mitigation) of the Brother Cadfael series, based on the first five books:

• Too much romance. As a genre, Romance ranks only slightly better than Horror in my mind. To Peters' credit, the romance takes second place to the mystery, but it's still too prominent for my taste. In many ways the Cadfael books remind me of George MacDonald's novels. MacDonald is one of my favorite authors (as he was of C. S. Lewis), but many of his novels (as opposed to his fantasies and children's stories) have Romantic elements clearly designed to appeal to his 19th century audience. I bear with the Romance because of the serious philosophical content of which it is the vehicle. (MacDonald was a preacher, and it shows—but far from detracting, that is what makes his novels worth reading.) In Cadfael, I bear with the Romance because of the detective story content. The Romantic elements are also (at least so far), pure love stories—nothing embarrassing about them.
• The stories are somewhat predictable. That is, I find myself able to guess many of the plot twists and outcomes. But hey, it doesn't bother me to feel smart.
• More troublesome is the occasional feeling of anachronism, with both attitude and action sometimes owing more to modern sensibilities than to those of the 12th century. But it's reasonably subtle and does not get in the way of the story, at least not in my limited experience. In any case, I don't know enough history to be certain of calling it out. The author seems to take seriously the historical accuracy of the setting—the period of English history known as The Anarchy. Perhaps when you write in modern English—and what else could she do?—modern phrases and modern perspectives will creep in.

The positives:

• Grace, as mentioned above. For the most part, it's not cheap grace, either. (“Cheap grace is the grace we bestow on ourselves. Cheap grace is the preaching of forgiveness without requiring repentance, baptism without church discipline, Communion without confession...Cheap grace is grace without discipleship, grace without the cross, grace without Jesus Christ, living and incarnate.” ― Dietrich Bonhoeffer)
• The character of Brother Cadfael: come late to his life as a monk, carrying with him his experience as a soldier, a sailor, and a Crusader, he's a gentle, kindly man with a vast store of knowledge and a razor-sharp wit. He is wise as a serpent and harmless as a dove.
• The respect shown for the Christian faith and the Church. Peters—and Cadfael—do not brook hypocrisy, arrogance, boorishness, and deep evil when they appear within the monastery, but there is goodness there, too, and also self-sacrifice, justice, mercy, patience, forebearance, duty, responsibility, and humanity.
• Happy endings. I love happy endings. Love triumphs, justice prevails, courage and hope live. The real world is quite full enough of darkness and sorrow. Happy endings, at least if done right, are not escapism nor foolish denial, but an expression of faith in the ultimate victory of justice and mercy. As C. S. Lewis said, "Since it is so likely that they will meet cruel enemies, let them at least have heard of brave knights and heroic courage."
• The mysteries. They're clever, and fun.
• The setting. The castles and monasteries, medieval towns, knights, monks, squires, damsels in distress—and not in distress. (One of the giveaways that Ellis Peters is a modern author is her use of strong, intelligent, and courageous female characters. That's okay with me.) Brother Cadfael's herb garden and medicinal concoctions. Evil that is portrayed as evil, but not luridly painted. Good that is good, and desirable. Indeed, the Good, the True, and the Beautiful shine here.

Incidentally, should any of my family decide to read these books, be aware that you are related to some of these historical figures. For example, the Empress Maud (aka Empress Matilda) who is contesting with King Stephen for the English throne, is my 25-great-grandmother, and Porter's 24th-great-grandmother. Genealogy makes history—and historical novels—personal, which adds to the pleasure of the experience. Brother Cadfael also serves to render more familiar those bizarre Welsh names that appear in our family tree, such as Efa ferch Madog and Hywel ap Meurig. And I have our new rector to thank that a character's pilgrimmage to the shrine of Our Lady of Walsingham is meaningful to me, and not just another unfamiliar historical reference.

If the rest of the series lives up to the promise of the first five books, I should be set for a while with temptations away from my more serious readings. (Thanks to Wikipedia for the list.)

1. A Morbid Taste for Bones (published in August 1977, set in 1137)
2. One Corpse Too Many (July 1979, set in August 1138)
3. Monk's Hood (August 1980, set in December 1138)
4. Saint Peter's Fair (May 1981, set in July 1139)
5. The Leper of Saint Giles (August 1981, set in October 1139)
6. The Virgin in the Ice (April 1982, set in November 1139)
7. The Sanctuary Sparrow (January 1983 set in the Spring of 1140)
8. The Devil's Novice (August 1983, set in September 1140)
9. Dead Man's Ransom (April 1984, set in February 1141)
10. The Pilgrim of Hate (September 1984, set in May 1141)
11. An Excellent Mystery (June 1985, set in August 1141)
12. The Raven in the Foregate (February 1986, set in December 1141)
13. The Rose Rent (October 1986, set in June 1142)
14. The Hermit of Eyton Forest (June 1987, set in October 1142)
15. The Confession of Brother Haluin (March 1988, set in December 1142)
16. A Rare Benedictine: The Advent of Brother Cadfael (September 1988, set in 1120)
17. The Heretic's Apprentice (February 1989, set in June 1143)
18. The Potter's Field (September 1989, set in August 1143)
19. The Summer of the Danes (April 1991, set in April 1144)
20. The Holy Thief (August 1992, set in February 1145)
21. Brother Cadfael's Penance (May 1994, set in November 1145)

We couldn't see yesterday's Falcon 9 launch from home this time, due to clouds between us and the coast. We did catch the first stage landing live, albeit via the television coverage. That was impressive enough for one who grew up with expendible rocket boosters and landing scenarios that did not look at all like those depicted in the science fiction novels I loved.

After staying up all night to watch the moon walk, I was glad the next two days on our Girl Scout European adventure included not much more than relaxing at Hemsby Beach. When you realize that I had grown up with the warm Atlantic waters and the soft, sandy beaches of Daytona Beach, Florida, you will realize that the following entry was actually high praise for Hemsby Beach and the North Sea.

Went to beach—nice but sort of rocky. Not nearly as cold as I thought. Pleasant to swim in.

We stayed up late again on the 21st, to watch the Eagle (lunar module) rendezvous with Columbia (command module).

Then on the 23rd we had an adventure that had nothing to do with the moon landing. We waited an hour and a half for a bus to take us into Yarmouth to do some shopping, not my favorite activity to begin with.

Saw a grand total of 2 stores. Didn't see anything I wanted so Mrs B. told Bonnie S. and I to explore a nearby street and meet her back at a certain store at 12:15. We were there, and she wasn't. So we waited and waited. For an hour and 45 minutes. We figured that they must have realized we were missing, and would come back for us. [That was the standing instruction in my family: If you get separated, stop, stay where you are, and wait for us to find you.] We didn't know whether Mrs. B. expected us to go back of our own accord or wait for her. So we played it safe and waited. Finally, we decided to call the camp. We found a phone but oh, what problems. We had to call the operator to figure out how to call. Then we couldn't get the money in the machine. We called the operator and she placed the call. Talked to a panicked Mrs. B. who said to come back via the Wellington Bus Station. When asked where it was she said, "ask anyone." So we did. A very complex story, but the end of it was we ended up in the factory section of town. We finally found it, and arrived at the camp about one and half hours late.

I have no idea what happened, why it was we didn't connect up with the group when we were sure we were in the right place at the right time, nor what directions we were given that had us going through the factory district. In fact, I only remember two parts of that adventure: trying to make that phone call at the British pay phone, and what we stared at while sitting and waiting to be found: a gigantic photo of a singer, and the words, "Englebert Humperdinck," covering one wall of the building in front of us. At the time, I knew that name only as the composer of the opera, Hansel and Gretel. This young singer with the same name was soon to be giving a concert in the area.

Little did I know that fifty years later, one of my friends would be touring the world, singing with that same Engelbert Humperdinck.

On July 24 we paid a visit to Sandringham Palace, the Queen's private residence. Alas, not to see the queen; the building wasn't even open. We enjoyed her gardens, however, and had a picnic. We arrived back at camp in time to watch the astronauts return to earth.

Watched astronauts come on board ship. Laurie and I threw an Apollo victory party just after a TV review of all Apollo. Mrs. B. provided drinks (7-Up and Coke); Laurie, Kathy M., and I bought goodies, and nearly everyone who came brought something. We ate and sang and took pictures.

Even though I didn't experience as much of the historic moon landing coverage as I would have liked, the timing could not have been better for where we were in our trip. We missed very few of the major events, and it was a great week to be an American in Europe.

"Ate and sang and took pictures"—I guess that's been my favorite way to celebrate for at least half a century.

I was eleven years old when the Beatles first came to America. The cultural effect, as viewed from sixth grade, was more momentous than the Cold War. Air raid drills—filing out of the classroom at the sound of a siren, covering our heads and leaning up against our lockers—we considered a normal part of life, but the Beatles dropped like an atom bomb on our world.

Their debut on The Ed Sullivan Show left me less than impressed. I couldn't see what all the fuss was about. Truthfully, I still don't. Oh, I listened to Beatles songs, I sang Beatles songs, I even almost liked Yesterday. That was the cultural water we swam in, back in the mid-60's.

My negative feelings toward their music were exacerbated by a detested art teacher. No doubt my memory does her a disservice, but I hated her looks and style of dress, especially her heavy makeup, which bordered on scary—and most of all I hated that she single-handedly dismembered, destroyed, and demolished any thought I may have had that I could ever learn to draw. Art class was torture to me, and the fact that she insisted on playing Beatles records while we worked added injury to insult. I'm sure she thought she was doing us a favor, and I suppose that for most of my classmates she was right.

Some of the boys and nearly all of the girls were stark, raving mad about the Beatles. I never saw anything like the screaming crowds and high emotions that followed them wherever they were glimpsed. It's possible that my dislike of crowds and my distrust of mob mentality had their birth right there. I always say that the 1960's have a lot to answer for.

That's the backstory.

Our choir director recently went to New York City to attend a workshop. Broadway musicals being for him a large part of both vocation and avocation, he attended several while he had the opportunity. At one of them, he recognized the man who sat down beside him: Sir Paul McCartney.

Knowing Tim, he was (outwardly) cool and calm and didn't even trouble the man for an autograph. Inwardly I can only guess.

Being faceblind, I wouldn't even have recognized the former Beatle. Besides, I'm the kind of person who can go to New York City for two weeks and never see a Broadway show, preferring to spend all that glorious time in the New York Public Library. It was thrill enough for me to run into Gary Boyd Roberts, the New England Historic Genealogical Society's genealogist who guided my first faltering steps in family history back in Boston seventeen years ago.  (For those who are wondering, I had no trouble recognizing him, because I heard him speak before I saw him.)

But had they been in Tim's position, most of my female friends in middle and high school would have fainted on the spot.

On July 19 our touring Girl Scout group had left London and a madcap sightseeing itinerary behind and settled into a hostel of sorts at Hemsby Beach in Yarmouth, England. July 20 was a day of rest and recreation for us, for which I was grateful, as there was a television set in the camp on which we were able to watch the Apollo 11 moon landing. Not well, because it was a small TV, almost certainly black and white, and the room was packed—but we saw it.

My journal tells me just those bare facts, because I poured my stream-of-consciousness "live" reactions into a letter that I sent to my family. It's possible I have that letter somewhere, and if so I hope to unearth it in my lifetime. But sadly, that time is not now. As a long-time science student and science fiction fan, with grandparents who lived in Daytona Beach and an uncle who worked as part of the space program, this was a big moment for me. I'm glad my once-in-a-lifetime (or so I thought) trip to Europe didn't cut me off completely from the joys and triumphs of the moon landing.

Mrs. B. made us all go back to our rooms at midnight, so I was once again grateful to have my contraband radio. Several of us huddled together in the tiny, one-room "chalet" I shared with my friend Laurie, and stayed up all night following the coverage so as not to miss Neil Armstrong's first step onto the moon.

Fifty years ago a few intrepid adults gathered a flock of teenaged girls and took them on a tour of Europe. What were they thinking??? The group primarily comprised members of a Girl Scout troop from the little village of Scotia, New York. That had been my own troop until my family moved to Wayne, Pennsylvania after my freshman year of high school. But we had been working for this trip for years, and didn't let the move keep me out: I joined the rest of the gang at JFK airport. The longer I live, the more I marvel at the energy and courage of the chaperones, especially "Mrs. B.," an extraordinary English war bride turned American citizen who was our troop leader. What a world-expanding, eye-opening opportunity that was for a group of small-town “innocents abroad.”

It was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, I was sure. Whenever else would I have either the desire or the opportunity to return to Europe? That’s how little we can imagine what the future holds for us.

While we were walking through lands that were strange and new to us, Neil Armstrong took the first steps of a human being on our moon. The world available to travellers has continued to expand—though not, alas, to the moon. 

July 16, 1969 was an extraordinary day. Having already visited Paris, several places in Switzerland, and Lake Como, Italy, we were then in London. The day began with a tour of Girl Guide headquarters, of which I remember nothing except that near the end someone mentioned that it was nearly time for the liftoff of Apollo 11. I still have the little notebook in which I kept a brief journal of our trip.

We entered a room where we could sit down, so I snuck out the earphone of my radio and turned it on just in time to hear, "We have liftoff!" I jumped up, pulled out the earphone, and we all [in my tour group] listened until the station left the Cape, after Staging. Everyone shouted and waved a U. S. flag Mrs. B. had bought. I learned [then] that we weren't supposed to have radios, but no one minded.

From there we walked to the U. S. Embassy. The Embassy visit was my baby, because Robert Montgomery Scott, special assistant to Ambassador Walter Annenberg, was from the town where my family was now living. How my mother persuaded Introvert Me to contact him I have no idea—but she did, and he responded gallantly, inviting our group to the Embassy for a tour. We were wearing our Girl Scout uniforms. Mrs. B., though often relaxed and informal, was firm about protocol.

We arrived about 3:20, changed shoes [from our walking shoes to heels], put on gloves, and entered.

I was embarrassingly naïve, and easily impressed.  But it was a fine experience.

I told a man at a desk who I was; he knew I wanted Mr. Scott and said he would get him. A man came later to take me to the Ambassador's Office—at first I thought he was Mr. Scott and shook his hand. Oh, well. He took me up to "hallowed ground." Mr. Scott took me into his office—a very nice guy. We talked over his plans for the group. He got a call from Mrs. Annenberg. He took me on a sneak preview tour of part of that floor, including the Ambassador's office. Very nice. Then downstairs to meet the rest. Another man was to conduct the tour (although Mr. Scott came with us), and it thrilled me no end when Mr. Scott introduced me as "a neighbor of mine from Wayne." Wow! The tour was great but short, and we ended up in the basement for Coke (with ICE) and cookies. It was sweltering, and our first ice since home. We next went next door to the Embassy Auditorium to watch on color television a program on Apollo. Unfortunately, they showed no shots of the liftoff and we had to go. But a very successful visit, I think everyone decided.

But the day wasn't over, not by a long shot.

In other cities we had stayed in youth hostels, and once in a convent, but in London our group was parceled out in different lodgings. My own, with a few other girls and a chaperone, was a small private house. It had seemed delightful, but when we returned around dinnertime the atmosphere had changed drastically. I never did get the whole story, but apparently there was some misunderstanding and/or disagreement between the woman who had welcomed us, and her husband who showed up later. Things got loud and scary, and we were hustled out of there and onto the street with barely time to stuff things randomly into suitcases and coat pockets. We did find another place to sleep that night, though I have no memory of it.

All that excitement meant that we missed the first half of the first act of Mame, starring Ginger Rogers. It was still a great experience, and I had my program autographed by a few of the cast members, including Ginger Rogers. We caught the last train, missed the last bus, and had to walk a long way—but we were young. As I said, it's the chaperones who impress me.

And the moon landing. More on that later.

I've been looking over some of my posts from years ago, and rediscovered this inspiring short film.  Take a 16-minute break and smile today.

Three cheers for small-town America! I know small towns and villages can be narrow and stifling and ingrown—but they can also put on festivals that warm my heart and give me hope for our country. I love the Independence Day parade and party put on by little Geneva, Florida, an eclectic and heart-warming mix of modern America and old-time Florida. And I'm sure that if I were in Hillsboro, New Hampshire this weekend, I would love their Fest and Fair, which sounds like something from my own childhood. Until this year, the event was called the Balloon Festival and Fair.

Long ago, nine balloon pilots lived in Hillsborough. They’ve all left or stopped flying, and balloons have become too expensive for the fair, which serves as a fundraiser for local firefighters and service organizations, Daley said, so the Hillsboro Balloon Festival and Fair has dropped “balloon” from its name.

The man quoted above is Jon Daley, our son-in-law. In addition to being one of the town's three selectmen (the form of local government in New England), he is a fireman and an EMT with the Hillsboro Fire Department, and his wife (our daughter) is part of the Ladies' Auxiliary, so planning for, working at, and attending the Fest and Fair is mandatory in their family.

Mandatory—and fun, at least for the kids, even without the balloons. I suspect one or more of our grandchildren may be running a lemonade stand there, too.

The fair hopes a bigger car show and a new skillet toss will bring fresh air.

The skillet toss must be New England's equivalent of Geneva's cow-chip toss (which in these modern times does not use the real thing, in case you were wondering).

Aside from the lack of hot-air balloons, there was only one thing I found depressing about the article:

[This year] here will be cheaper beer. “Before we had fancy beers, and everyone said they don’t like fancy beers, so we’re doing Bud and Bud Light,” Daley said.

Better stick with the lemonade.

The fireworks – “a lot better, a lot bigger, a lot longer than any of the other small-town stuff,” according to Daley – are back. So is one of last year’s hot draws: the unicorns. “This year they’re bringing two bigger horses too,” Daley said, clarifying that he meant to refer to horses’ elusive and horned relatives.

I know a couple of Swiss granddaughters who would want to come to the fair for the unicorns alone.

Admission is free, though some activities may cost money, and parking is $10 per car. No animals, aside from working service dogs, are allowed.

And unicorns.