Lift Up Your Hearts!

Eric Schultz has done it again.  Never would I have thought a business writer could be so interesting.  Perhaps it's because he's also a genealogist.  :)  Yesterday's post, Leadership in the White Space, is about business, but along the way touches on astrophysics and music, with this idea for a mystery novel:

The other day on XM Radio I was listening to Bob Edwards interview one of XM’s Classical Music hosts. (Sorry to not catch his name.) The two were discussing the life and enormous impact of Leonard Bernstein. Edwards asked a really good question, as he often does: If every member of the New York Philharmonic is a virtuoso musician able to read, interpret and play virtually any piece of music ever written for their instrument, what exactly does the conductor do?

The XM Classical host answered, and I’m paraphrasing slightly, “There’s a lot that goes on between the notes.”

That could be the title of a classical murder-mystery novel, no? Between the Notes: Mozart, murder, oboes, sex, more oboes, intrigue and a French horn. Yowza. The hardboiled detective would look at the voluptuous flautist and say, “You may be able to hit the high E-sharp, but you have to know there’s a lot that goes on between the notes.”

[Skipping the actual business-related meat of the post]

As for that murder-mystery novel I was proposing, the one with the sex and oboes, the one entitled Between the Notes?

Question the percussionist.

Any good detective will tell you to never trust a guy who hits things for a living.

Check out the entire post, not only for content, but to see the Oboe Babe graphic I did not include here.

I'll admit it:  I've been an A.W.A.D. fan ever since my father signed me up for the daily e-mails over 10 years ago, and I often enjoy the quotations as much as the definitions.  On December 2, however, the quotation was a definition that should have made any dictionary fan cringe:

Democracy, to me, is liberty plus economic security. - Maury Maverick, attorney and congressman (1895-1954)

Huh?  As valuable as liberty and economic security may be, what on earth do they have to do with defining democracy?  If we are going to re-define words willy-nilly, language has no meaning.  It's the Humpty-Dumpty Effect.

"I don't know what you mean by 'glory'," Alice said.

Humpty Dumpty smiled contemptuously. "Of course you don't—till I tell you. I meant 'there's a nice knock-down argument for you!'"

"But 'glory' doesn't mean 'a nice knock-down argument'," Alice objected.

"When I use a word," Humpty Dumpty said, in rather a scornful tone, "it means just what I choose it to mean—neither more nor less."

On the other hand, the A.W.A.D. of November 28 was pure delight.

forwhy

PRONUNCIATION:

(for-HWY)

MEANING:

adverb: Why.
conjunction: Because.

ETYMOLOGY:

From for + why.

USAGE:

"She is the weeping welkin, I the earth:
Then must my sea be moved with her sighs;
Then must my earth with her continual tears
Become a deluge, overflow'd and drown'd;
Forwhy my bowels cannot hide her woes."
William Shakespeare; Titus Andronicus; c. 1590.

Not only does the Usage example contain "welkin," but "forwhy" itself I find delightful, because for several days thereafter my head rang with the hymn, All People That on Earth Do Dwell.  The line "For why? the Lord our God is good," which seems to be the most common interpretation, is a little odd, but it makes perfect sense in context this way:

O enter then His gates with praise;
Approach with joy His courts unto;
Praise, laud, and bless His Name always,
For it is seemly so to do.

The homeschool group my nephews belong to has been meeting once a week for ice skating, and today I joined them.  I can't tell you how long it has been since I've skated, but I think my ankles can.  Normally I leave the lacing of my skates rather loose for comfort and blood circulation, but today I found I needed a little more support.  Having made that adjustment, however, I had a blast—and so, I believe, did my nephews.  What a great way to get exercise without knowing it, at least until the skating is over.  I'm also reliving my childhood, apparently, having just a few days earlier gone bowling, a sport last attempted even longer ago than skating.

After the skating was over, I made a point of thanking the person in charge of the music that played while we skated.  The music itself was not spectacular, nor even enjoyable.  It did include the obligatory Hokey Pokey, though not, I now realize, the Chicken Dance.  What made the music so unusually delightful was that it was played at less than jet-engine assault volume.  In this it contrasted starkly, not only with most skating rink experiences, but also church services, movie theaters, the above-mentioned bowling alley, and even Yorktown.  (The last has some excuse, there being no volume knob on a cannon.)

Thanks, Peter, for this link, which I finally got around to checking out this morning.  I'm not sure I know anyone who has 15 minutes to spare for watching this award-winning short film, but it will give you a smile if you need one.

Please be patient, those of you who sent me the innundation of e-mails that awaited me tonight.  You know the stories you hear about people in a coma who can understand all that is going on around them but can't respond?  It's something like that.  At the moment I can receive e-mail but not send it.  I have no idea why, but I'll be working on it soon.

Maybe after the Scattergories game that is calling me right now....

There was an interesting column by Laura Vanderkam from Thursday's USA Today:  Tailoring school to the child.  From private tutors to online courses to hybrid forms, homeschooling is drawing in many who thought they never could or would.  Funny, though, how often the next generation mis-characterizes the ones that have gone before:

Once, people saw home schooling as a fringe religious or hippie activity. These days, many families see it as a way to challenge kids and give them time to pursue their passions.

[Ahem]  Excuse me, but "a way to challenge kids and give them time to pursue their passions" was exactly why we homeschooled more years ago than I want to admit.  Hippie religious freaks, hrumph.  The fringe is kinda fun, though.

Isaac Christopher Daley
November 21, 2002 - November 23, 2002

Six years ago I stumbled through a small speech as our first grandson's ashes were interred, along with a cross made of Legos, a small toy car, and innumerable hopes and dreams.  In honor of what would have been his sixth birthday, I think it's time for me to hear again what I had to say then.  You may eavesdrop if you wish.

There is a picture of Isaac on the wall of my office.  Unlike the pictures of other children, this one will not be replaced, year by year, with the latest documentation of his growth.  I won’t pretend that I wouldn’t much rather have the living, growing Isaac to play with, to hold, and to hug, but his picture is there because there is a sense in which he is more present in my life now than if he were nestled in my arms.

When I am sitting at the computer, doing my genealogy work, typing in the many names of children who died at birth or soon after, Isaac is there, and I remember that our road of suffering is a well-worn path.

When I see any lively, healthy baby or young child, Isaac is there, and he reminds me not to take children, health, or life for granted.

When I am frustrated or unhappy in any of the circumstances of my life, Isaac is there to restore my perspective and remind me of what is important.

When life is good around me, and the world is beautiful, Isaac is there to remind me to be thankful for every good thing, and not to forget those who are suffering.

When I am impatient or upset with myself or other people, Isaac is there to remind me that life is too short and people are too important to waste time and energy on unproductive, negative emotions.

When I consider the pleading of Jesus Christ in Gesthemene, Isaac is there, and I remember that God Himself knows what it is like to have His most desperate prayers remain unanswered.

When I consider the death of Christ on the Cross, Isaac is there to show me that God also suffered the pain of a parent watching his child in agony.

And when I consider the unexpected, earth-shattering resurrection of Jesus Christ, and His victory over death, Isaac is there, too, telling me that this grave is not the end of his story, and that one day my first grandchild and I will embrace, and will play together in a world where no sorrow mars the beauty, peace, and joy.

Isaac’s accomplishments in this world are not proportional to the length of his stay in it.  God willing, I will have many other grandchildren to play with, to hold, and to hug, whose ever-changing pictures will grace my office wall.  But Isaac will always have his own vital place in our lives, reminding us that in the midst of life we are in death, and in the midst of death we are in life.

The Occasional CEO is on the short list of my enjoyable, regular blog-reading.  Today's offering, I Love the Swiss Watch, struck my funny bone, perhaps because it's a tad sensitive due to a few stresses and the stock market playing How Low Can You Go?

Did I say I'd take the Swiss trains ahead of a Swiss watch?  I really meant I'll take a Swiss son-in-law.  Practical and elegant.

Once when we were visiting Pittsburgh, we had the pleasure of attending a Stephen Foster festival at the cemetery where he is buried.  While there, we heard the group Home Front, and bought their CD, Parlor to Campfire.  It was somewhat amusing (better to laugh than to cry) to hear our stereo system, which randomly plays tracks from a rather large collection of music, wail forth with Hard Times Come Again No More—right after I had sneaked a look at the rapidly plunging (again! still!) stock market.

As I said to the clerk at the post office—in response to his, "What?  You're here again?"—I'm doing my part to support the economy.  The world is apparently falling down around me, yet life goes on as usual.  I think that's not an unreasonable attitude at the moment, but I also sometimes wonder if there's not a bit of Madame Ranevskaya in me.

I've said before that most so-called conspiracies can be more readily explained by simple human stupidity.  Take, for example, the recent brouhaha over NASA's Goddard Institute for Space Studies, whose climate data for October reported temperatures to be an astonishing three-quarters of a degree above normal.  It turns out the data was badly skewed because in several cases September's data had been used rather than October's. 

Some of the commentary I've read accuses the GISS of deliberately putting out a false report, but I see no need to propose a more complicated explanation when a simple one will do:  The GISS was expecting to see warming, so they didn't question the data.  This is why scientific experiments are double-blind whenever possible.  In lieu of that, it might be wise to have your enemies proofread your work:  those on the other side of the global warming debate found the error quickly.

U.S.A. Today recently printed an excellent editorial in support of saving large hunks of taxpayer money by replacing the one dollar bill entirely with dollar coins.  What do I mean by "excellent"?  (1) They got the facts right, which is not nearly as common an occurrence as it should be, and (2) they agree with me.

What happens when an atheistic science fiction writer becomes a Christian?  You get Christian blog posts with attitude, such as John C. Wright's response to the rationale behind an anti-Christian ad campaign planned for the Christmas season.  As an atheist-turned-Christian science fiction fan, I find the fantasy-style metamorphosis both delightful and amusing.  An excerpt:

I realize that, now that I am on the opposing side, I have no more right to feel contempt for weakness in the ranks, but, by Jupiter's holy lightning-flinging scrotum, this kind of whiny talk used to really bug me, and I still suffer flashbacks to my old self. How can you feel lonely during Christs' Mass when YOU DON'T BELIEVE IN CHRIST??!! The crowd of lemmings is rushing off after the Pied Piper to worship the Unseen Flying Spaghetti Monster, and you are feeling all lonesome because you are not in the crowd? Who wants to be in any crowd when the crowd is mad? 

(more, simlar ranting, followed by)

As a Xtian, I have to be nice and kind, and invite in to our cheerful feasts and celebrations the poor, the tired, and the unbelieving. All are welcome to partake of the spirit of Peace on Earth and Goodwill toward Man, even if you don't believe in spirits. A lamp is lifted for you by the open door: within, the feast is spread. Come, and be fed.

Young Mathematicians at Work:  Constructing Number Sense, Addition, and Subtraction, by Catherine Twomey Fosnott and Maarten Dolk (Heinemann, Portsmouth, NY, 2001)

I must return this book to the library today, and I don't have time to finish reading it, but nonethless it deserves mention.  This joint effort of American and Dutch mathematics educators is often repetitive and sometimes wearisome to read, but includes ideas well worth exploring by anyone desiring to teach, or to learn, mathematics at its most basic levels.  Their strategies for encouraging children to think mathematically are aimed at classrooom teachers—and show, incidentally, some of the advantages of group instruction—but many should be adaptable to home education as well.

When I learned of this book I had intended to order it as a Christmas present for our grandkids.  (I know what you're thinking—such an odd grandmother!)  However, while it is a great book to learn from, it's not that exciting a book to own.  So do what I did, and turn to your favorite library—Interlibrary Loan, if necessary.

Distributism, as an economic philosophy, is totally new to me.  (My decision to circumvent Pennsylvania's high school graduation requirement of a course in economics, which I ditched in favor of AP physics, continues to haunt me.)  I came upon it while looking for a good G. K. Chesterton link for my O God of Earth and Altar post; Chesterton was one of distributism's more vocal proponents.

Since one obviously doesn't hear much about it, distributism may be outmoded, impractical, unworkable, or just plain wrong; I don't have time to learn more about it now, and Li'l Writer Guy is still chanting with the monks.  However, I find it most intriguing, since at first glance it accords well with my own philosophies, bringing together such diversities as homeschooling, home birth, home cheesemaking, family farms, independent businesses, public transportation, artisan breads, adn above all recognition of the family unit as the basic structure of society.  Here are some quotes from the Wikipedia article:

According to distributism, the ownership of the means of production should be spread as widely as possible among the general populace, rather than being centralized under the control of the state (socialism) or wealthy private individuals (capitalism). A summary of distributism is found in Chesterton's statement: "Too much capitalism does not mean too many capitalists, but too few capitalists."

Distributism puts great emphasis on the principle of subsidiarity. This principle holds that no larger unit (whether social, economic, or political) should perform a function which can be performed by a smaller unit.

Distributism sees the trinitarian human family of one male, one female, and their children as the central and primary social unit of human ordering and the principal unit of a functioning distributist society and civilization. This unit is also the basis of a multi-generational extended family, which is embedded in socially as well as genetically inter-related communities, nations, etc., and ultimately in the whole human family past, present and future. The economic system of a society should therefore be focussed primarily on the flourishing of the family unit, but not in isolation: at the appropriate level of family context, as is intended in the principle of subsidiarity.

And here are two excellent essays I found in my brief meanderings, both from the Dallas Morning News, September 23, 2007:

Patrick Deneen:  There's a Lesson in Europe's Gardens, Woodpiles and Chickens

Allan Carlson:  Here's a Way for America to Give It a Shot

Enjoy!

I checked the date of the article; it's not April 1.  Mexican physicists have made diamonds from tequila.  One can only speculate how they came up with the idea of heating tequila to around 800 degrees celsius and turning the resultant carbon atoms into an extremely thin diamond film, but it might make a good comic routine.  Uses for the diamond film include the manufacture of ultra-fine cutting instruments, and as an alternative to silicon in computer chips.

The scientists found that even the cheapest of tequila brands, averaging at $3 a bottle, are good enough to make diamonds.

 The cost of an 800-degree oven might keep this from becoming a do-it-yourself project, however.