. . . and it's already been quite a day!
Somehow, my birthday has gotten shoved into the annual Superbowl gathering - which I really don't mind, as I enjoy football - but it can leave the actual day a bit empty, when the celebrations are already in the past tense.
Today has already been quite a day for me though. We started with the usual: coffee with the king (he added cinnamon - which he knows I love - as a special treat), and at some point the impression of Psalm 112 fixed itself firmly enough in my mind that I felt confident that that was what we should read together this morning.
Fine. Because other than that, we were about to take on the martyrs in the book of Hebrews [the second half of the chapter on faith, chapter 11. . . .] and I really didn't have the heart for that on this festive day.
Anyway - Psalm 112 was about the good stuff that follows from being on good terms with God. The two ideas that really stuck with me as 'for me' today were: "trust" and "you won't be afraid of bad news".
Very well then!
The first thing I saw when I checked email (beyond several birthday wishes emails) was an email from Magda. "First comments", it was entitled. I clicked to open it before I could work myself up into being afraid of bad news. Magda reports that the internal examiner told her that both he and the external examiner thought my thesis "very good." She wanted to pass that information along so that my viva preparations would be a bit more "light-hearted". . . .
So now I'm worried that once I get in there, they'll realize that I don't really know a thing and that this dissertation (which I have yet to re-read) was somehow achieved as if by dictation and that everything I wrote escaped my mind the minute it was put down on paper!
No - not really. But I have not been preparing the way I know I must, and this good news - although really good news - is not going to ease me out of preparations, it should actually make me work even harder. Now all I have to do is figure out where we are again on the countdown. That'll strike terror into my heart, eh?
Oh no, that's right: I will fear no bad news.
Isn't it strange not to be working out of fear? That doesn't mean I won't ever get bad news, it means I won't fear it. . . . Yet I realize now that fear has served as a major motivator in my life. What shall be the replacement, do you think? And isn't it funny how many of us work off of fear throughout our lives, and yet how often have I heard people claim to be turned off from God, because they're offended by talk of fear of hell. . . . or by a "religion" that supposedly tries to use fear as a motivator.
But is not fear almost the universal motivator? Think of our advertisements. What do they prey on, if not fear? Fear of death. Fear of hunger. Fear of growing old, getting wrinkles, losing one's attractiveness, being alone, smelling, having split ends or gray hair, being constipated, getting sick, having high blood pressure, low self esteem, losing erections, having a tree fall on one's house or car, getting audited - I mean, you name it! Even the Superbowl commercials yesterday can be traced back to fear. Bridgestone's screaming squirrel, and the tires that allay the fear of death and squashing a lovely furry critter. Budweiser's Dalmatian training the Clydesdale and overcoming a fear of failure. The laundry detergent (was it 'Tide'?) that presented itself as saving us from rejection and shame by silencing the "talking stain." Doritos' attacking giant rat. . . .
Fear and "protection". Start counting the number of products or services or companies that claim to "protect" us. At the same time, consider just what it is they would be "protecting" us from. . . . I've been amazed at the sheer protection racket going on.
Anyway - just to get back here: it's my birthday, and I'm a very happy prophet today. I trust God and I fear no bad news. I think I'll go to the greenwood and have a walkabout. At some point, I'll recalculate the countdown number - not because I'm afraid - but so that I can recalculate the work that needs to be done, and allocate the days properly.
I do hope that there's some champagne in my near future!
Many happy returns to all of you.
Monday, February 4, 2008
Friday, February 1, 2008
garden: gorgeous. . . .
What is it about nature - modified - that can be ever so satisfying?Not that "raw" nature is not gorgeous. We've all seen enough of that to know the truth of it.
But there's something about the 'hidden' - but obvious - hand of man somewhere in the mix that can be incredibly appealing. A subtle shaping or encouraging or ordering that is so lovely, but yet can go so wrong. We've all seen enough of the 'so wrong' shapings as well: the one-putrid-purple-petunia-every-six-inches in a straight line manning a sidewalk. . . .
The untouched landscape is something we can observe, marvel at, be thankful for, perhaps plan changes in. The shaped landscape is one which we have responded to already - or someone has - and so it calls forth a different response to the visitor or viewer. We respond to the land and to the gardener.
Perhaps this is another aspect of the question I considered yesterday, with respect to headline questions. There is a vast difference between a 5-year-old's constant questions as her only means of gaining attention and the solitary question of an Einstein about whether time is constant. Likewise, the difference between petunia outlines in garish colours and Piet Oudolf's juxtaposition of sculpted hedges in waves behind the tangle of a deadened winter field, in front of ancient knobby trees - in a row.
It's the difference between a melancholy ache of longing and simple nausea, perhaps, but it's more than that.
It's the "more than that" that draws me.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
headline questions
Have you noticed that more and more news headlines are posed in the form of a question?
I remember my Journalism 101 class, and the importance of the "attention-grabbing" function of the headline. These days, however, attention-grabbing has turned into "engagement-seeking". Everything is interactional these days. News isn't news - it's a guessing game!
Guess who won the Florida primary?
Guess who's back in hospital, being observed 'mentally', after "bizarre behavior"?
Guess who died? Who wrecked? Who lied? Who made a fool of him - or her - self?
I usually refuse to read "articles" like that, just out of principle. I resent being dragged in by idle curiosity. Today, however - on AOL - I bit on the headline for this article, the headline for which was "Why did Feb. 17 Make the List?[of days you shouldn't travel]".
As I'm traveling on Feb. 17 - this was information I clearly needed to know. I clicked on, only to be referred to yet another article which supposedly would enlighten me. It took me a while, but I finally found it - buried in the middle of an otherwise unastonishing - and, frankly, uninteresting - article. Why shouldn't I travel on Feb 17? Here it is, quote-unquote:
But no. It's the DAYTONA far-reaching 500. whoop.
So! Don't go outside. You might get run over.
Luckily, I'm only going to Ireland. . . . . I might be safe. Maybe.
I remember my Journalism 101 class, and the importance of the "attention-grabbing" function of the headline. These days, however, attention-grabbing has turned into "engagement-seeking". Everything is interactional these days. News isn't news - it's a guessing game!
Guess who won the Florida primary?
Guess who's back in hospital, being observed 'mentally', after "bizarre behavior"?
Guess who died? Who wrecked? Who lied? Who made a fool of him - or her - self?
I usually refuse to read "articles" like that, just out of principle. I resent being dragged in by idle curiosity. Today, however - on AOL - I bit on the headline for this article, the headline for which was "Why did Feb. 17 Make the List?[of days you shouldn't travel]".
As I'm traveling on Feb. 17 - this was information I clearly needed to know. I clicked on, only to be referred to yet another article which supposedly would enlighten me. It took me a while, but I finally found it - buried in the middle of an otherwise unastonishing - and, frankly, uninteresting - article. Why shouldn't I travel on Feb 17? Here it is, quote-unquote:
The 50th running of the Daytona 500 takes place Feb. 17th. I don’t even live in Daytona Beach, Fla. (I’m in Orlando) and I’m thinking of getting out of town. Don’t even think about renting a car — they’re taken that weekend. And stay away from the Orlando theme parks, unless your idea of family fun is to stand in a long line with a lot of rowdy NASCAR fans.Here I thought we might be dealing with some universal wisdom applicable universally - like, maybe, Feb. 17 is the day all airplane wheels fall off, or when the refuelers 'short' the jets on fuel just to piss off the pilots, or the day all the new air traffic controllers control traffic without supervision, or something like that, or meteor showers, or SOMEthing. . . .
But no. It's the DAYTONA far-reaching 500. whoop.
So! Don't go outside. You might get run over.
Luckily, I'm only going to Ireland. . . . . I might be safe. Maybe.
viva minus 22
I'm sure you've missed those count-downs quite as much as I did. So we're starting a new set - the viva countdown! oh joy. . . .
Can you believe this? Twenty-two days from today, I'll be in a conference room somewhere, with [a silenced] Magda at my side, the former head of the department acting as "chair", the internal examiner and the external one. We will do something for two hours, whereupon I will emerge either victorious or crestfallen. Or - possibly - devastated. . . . elated? or maybe something in between.
Thinking about it more carefully now, very likely I'll just be numb.
The good news is that my 'local' will be within spitting distance and I'll just bet that an expertly-poured pint will cure whatever ails me. The other good news is that I should be done early enough to get my favorite seat at the bar. Or - if I'm crying - Willie will let me into the snug (which will still be unclaimed that early) to cry into my pint in private. . . .
It's the little things that help cheer me up at this point. Like contemplating the symmetry of 20 and 2 days left. . . . And wondering where the hell I put my copy of the dissertation as - surely - it's time to read the thing for the first time, from beginning to end, and what if it's really terrible?!
I spent a little time this morning re-visiting the crazy days of the last countdown, the one before the dissertation was due. It all seems so unreal now. Almost as if another person did it. Just as I'm sure the viva preps - and the actual viva voce will also feel very unreal when it's all said and done with.
Meanwhile, though, I have a dissertation to read (and a list of errata to prepare), at least 2 new books to skim (if not actually read), and my main author's main book to re-visit in order to try and get the principles back into the working part of my brain, memory and speech pattern.
My vest is done - or the main pieces are, anyway. All that remains are the edgings for the armholes and the front where it buttons. But I don't like the edging the pattern calls for: it puckers, somehow, and looks wierd. Blocking might help, but that feels a little too much like cheating. You know, sort of like adding a whiz-bang production to cover up the fact that the song you started with is rather mediocre at best. So I've started a border of my own 'unvention' - yes, I've finally broken down and gotten one (two, actually) of Elizabeth Zimmerman's books. . . . - and we're trying out a separate band of cable as the edging. I'll let you know how it turns out.
My biggest regret in all of this is that I'm going to have to find the end of the one sewn-on band in order to try and rip it out. It's so hard to undo things, once they've been sewn together. . . .
neutrality and oppression - the relationship
The answer to those in Ireland who are so proud of their "neutrality" and view it - somehow - as ever-so-superior to those who are not neutral. . . .
You remember Elie Wiesel, don't you? The Holocaust survivor who's written so powerfully about it.
But then the current "neutral" anti-war people seem to be supporting people who maybe don't think much about the Holocaust.
Neutrality helps the oppressor, never the victim. Silence encourages the tormentor, never the tormented.
Elie Wiesel, writer, Nobel laureate (b.1928)
You remember Elie Wiesel, don't you? The Holocaust survivor who's written so powerfully about it.
But then the current "neutral" anti-war people seem to be supporting people who maybe don't think much about the Holocaust.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
bluebird of happiness
It must be the cartoons that have spawned that particular image. . . . Snow White, probably. Wasn't there a bluebird of happiness in that one, carrying the train of Snow White's gown?
Whatever.
I like bluebirds. Of course, I'd never seen an actual bluebird until a week ago, when I saw two of them, flying across a field just down the road from the greenwood. I have aspirations of luring them to the meadow in front of our [almost-under-roof] house. I understand they like peanut butter. And they prefer man-made housing, on stakes. Not too high up. I have just the thing.
But there's a problem. Someone told me not too long ago that bluebirds are territorial, and drive off all the other birds.
Is it true, do you think? Our bird-watching books have not mentioned it. It does say that they're 'gregarious' and can live in large family groups, especially over winter. That's not so bad! But it doesn't say anything about "plays well with other species". . . .
Hmmm. More research is needed, clearly. Luckily, I have time before I have to make a decision whether or not to court them. Moreover, just putting out the preferred feed and housing is far from a guarantee that my desired bluebird of happiness will materialize.
Meanwhile, I feel oppressed at the prospect of full-time "work" outside of my house (1), the moths that have [apparently] invaded my closet judging by the pinholes I keep finding in favorite sweaters and blazers (2), and legal cases involving money disputes (3).
I don't like money disputes.
I don't like disputes - not really. And yet I pick fights. Or maybe it's that I point out conflict. I dunno. . . .
Two of my go-to writer friends have been scribbling along these lines as well. Lee Anne at Adorable Device of Destruction - in her posting about a flattened culture of happiness - and Non-Essential Equipment, who apparently got some people worked up by posting about faith issues and the question of 'non-believability'.
More thought. Clearly needed.
Note to self: Without conflict, there is no story. "Happily ever after" marks The End.
Sunday, January 27, 2008
spem in alium
[click "play" and then read on - this is more about the music than the random (although pretty) images. . .]
No - not a plant, although I was looking for alium bulbs as I pondered and daydreamed about my garden this cold winter's day. . . .
A 'google' search of alium reminded me of Tallis' Spem in Alium, a motet for 8 different choirs of 5 parts each - or 40 different voices - simultaneously. . . .
I attempted it 3 or 4 years ago with a band of other like-minded musically-adventurous types in Galway City's St. Nicholas' Cathredal. We got through it - amazingly - although there were some periods of unscheduled silence before some intrepid soul would pick up the lost thread and, like hounds to the scent, the rest of us joined in.
You can download the music here - and what a boon that site is to the ancient music lover! Tons of sheet music and scores in the public domain, available for free as pdf's. Amazing. There appear to be a lot of recordings there as well.
Anyway, here's the song. It's a long one - some 10 minutes. I sure did enjoy trying to sing it. 8 small choirs gathered in a circle, each with our own music director, and then the "professional" director flown in from England to stand in the middle and try and meld us all together. A small audience of maybe 25 or 30 people also sat in the middle surrounded by choirs and were nearly as relieved as we were when we managed the final chord. Thereafter, we drank sweet wine and ate 'biscuits' by candlelight.
We were elated and yet sad at the same time. It was a strange combination of emotion. I think it had to do with the ephemeral nature of the enterprise, knowing that we would in all likelihood never again be a part of something quite that ambitious. It's hard enough to get people for 5 different parts let alone to get a multiple of 8 times 5!
I watched the movie Troy for the first time the other night. Achilles comments that the 'gods' are actually envious of mortals, because our very mortality lends a sweetness to the moment that the immortal can never taste. . . . We savor the moment because it will never come again.
It was an amazing moment.
No - not a plant, although I was looking for alium bulbs as I pondered and daydreamed about my garden this cold winter's day. . . .
A 'google' search of alium reminded me of Tallis' Spem in Alium, a motet for 8 different choirs of 5 parts each - or 40 different voices - simultaneously. . . .
I attempted it 3 or 4 years ago with a band of other like-minded musically-adventurous types in Galway City's St. Nicholas' Cathredal. We got through it - amazingly - although there were some periods of unscheduled silence before some intrepid soul would pick up the lost thread and, like hounds to the scent, the rest of us joined in.
You can download the music here - and what a boon that site is to the ancient music lover! Tons of sheet music and scores in the public domain, available for free as pdf's. Amazing. There appear to be a lot of recordings there as well.
Anyway, here's the song. It's a long one - some 10 minutes. I sure did enjoy trying to sing it. 8 small choirs gathered in a circle, each with our own music director, and then the "professional" director flown in from England to stand in the middle and try and meld us all together. A small audience of maybe 25 or 30 people also sat in the middle surrounded by choirs and were nearly as relieved as we were when we managed the final chord. Thereafter, we drank sweet wine and ate 'biscuits' by candlelight.
We were elated and yet sad at the same time. It was a strange combination of emotion. I think it had to do with the ephemeral nature of the enterprise, knowing that we would in all likelihood never again be a part of something quite that ambitious. It's hard enough to get people for 5 different parts let alone to get a multiple of 8 times 5!
I watched the movie Troy for the first time the other night. Achilles comments that the 'gods' are actually envious of mortals, because our very mortality lends a sweetness to the moment that the immortal can never taste. . . . We savor the moment because it will never come again.
It was an amazing moment.
Friday, January 25, 2008
general update
Sorry - I've been sick. I can't quite tell what it is, but I spent the day zonked out yesterday. Today, the constant headache has yielded to ibuprofin, though, and I'm feeling the wonderful feeling of no pain. It really brings home the saying that the one good thing about hitting yourself in the head with a hammer is that it feels so good when you stop. . . .
So for the most part I'm feeling so good right now, just because the headache has finally stopped!
Other than that, there's not much.
We're not going to SC today for the weekend. [long story - no inclination to tell it]. I have another resume package to put "out there" today - for a position in the "justice" business. . . . There's a legal case to get started. . . . And I have a kitchen to design and a construction site to go visit and [hopefully] a new roof to see.
I will probably also be finishing up the main bits of a cabled vest I started knitting a week or so ago. . . . Normally, I would go take pictures of the same just to have a bit of visual interest to this post, but sorry. Not today. Maybe later.
I started with the viva voce reading last night. One of my author's translators has written a "Guide for the Perplexed" book on him, and I thought it would be a great overview. It has been quite interesting. For one, he talks about how Ricoeur reacts against the Cartesian and Enlightenment system of object/subject thought by insisting on unique personhood, adding the element of action and the potential of capability to the philosophical equation.
To relent, I'll close with a picture of the vest. . . . as there seem to be no more words for today!
So for the most part I'm feeling so good right now, just because the headache has finally stopped!
Other than that, there's not much.
We're not going to SC today for the weekend. [long story - no inclination to tell it]. I have another resume package to put "out there" today - for a position in the "justice" business. . . . There's a legal case to get started. . . . And I have a kitchen to design and a construction site to go visit and [hopefully] a new roof to see.
I will probably also be finishing up the main bits of a cabled vest I started knitting a week or so ago. . . . Normally, I would go take pictures of the same just to have a bit of visual interest to this post, but sorry. Not today. Maybe later.
I started with the viva voce reading last night. One of my author's translators has written a "Guide for the Perplexed" book on him, and I thought it would be a great overview. It has been quite interesting. For one, he talks about how Ricoeur reacts against the Cartesian and Enlightenment system of object/subject thought by insisting on unique personhood, adding the element of action and the potential of capability to the philosophical equation.
To relent, I'll close with a picture of the vest. . . . as there seem to be no more words for today!
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
money and freedom. . . .
I'm still working this sum out, but after how the stock market opened this morning (plunging some 400 points, whatever that means precisely, although I know it's not considered good) consider this thought by Robert Louis Stevenson:
The price we pay for money is paid in liberty.
-Robert Louis Stevenson, novelist, essayist, and poet (1850-1894)
In some ways, it's definitely true. Being in debt is like being in prison; it's a slavery. We give up our freedom to do other things and go instead to a job, or sit in front of a computer and write, or pack boxes, hammer nails, mind children. . . .
Isn't it ironic that we look to money to give us freedom?
Maybe I need to rethink that. . . .
Monday, January 21, 2008
body and soul. . . .
Nee, over at Non-essential Equipment, pointed to an article that she thought was "spot on" with respect to certain physical and cultural manifestations of moral sensibilities. I disagreed. To me, the article was little more than the attempt to reduce morality to a [not-completely-known-at-present] physical and/or sociological manifestation; an instinct. Here's what she wrote, and here's the article she referred to by S. Pinker. It's entitled The Moral Instinct.
Interestingly, today I read an article kind of from the "other side", in which a theologian makes the argument that we are more than our minds - that the body has something to do with our thoughts [and prayers] as well. Check it out - it's entitled "Thinking With Our Bodies", written by Mike Metzger.
How is it that I can so completely disagree with the one, and yet agree with the other? Aren't they really just approaching a similar conclusion, but from different perspectives? You know, I just don't think so.
I think it has to do with the question of responsibility - which in the one seems to be either lacking or sought to be restricted - but which in the other seems to acknowledge the potential of a greater richness in how we think, know, and decide, all the while leaving our individual responsibility in place.
I have a hard time with any kind of approach that would reduce morality to an "instinct"*. There is no trouble, however, for me to acknowledge that morality [or other kinds of thought and understanding] is influenced and/or enhanced by the physical and by our bodily experience.
One of my favorite quotes is from C.S. Lewis to the following effect [paraphrasing from memory here]:
But perhaps this merely demonstrates my own bias in favor of the metaphysical, and my disenchantment with the Enlightenment Project, by which man seeks to elevate human reason and understanding to ultimate status.
_______________________________
*C.S. Lewis has another great thought regarding instinct, and the fact that relying upon it does not advance our understanding of the underlying matter: "to say that migratory birds find their way by instinct is only to say that we do not know how migratory birds find their way". . . .
C.S. Lewis, The Abolition of Man (London: Fount Paperbacks, 1999 ed.)p. 21.
Interestingly, today I read an article kind of from the "other side", in which a theologian makes the argument that we are more than our minds - that the body has something to do with our thoughts [and prayers] as well. Check it out - it's entitled "Thinking With Our Bodies", written by Mike Metzger.
How is it that I can so completely disagree with the one, and yet agree with the other? Aren't they really just approaching a similar conclusion, but from different perspectives? You know, I just don't think so.
I think it has to do with the question of responsibility - which in the one seems to be either lacking or sought to be restricted - but which in the other seems to acknowledge the potential of a greater richness in how we think, know, and decide, all the while leaving our individual responsibility in place.
I have a hard time with any kind of approach that would reduce morality to an "instinct"*. There is no trouble, however, for me to acknowledge that morality [or other kinds of thought and understanding] is influenced and/or enhanced by the physical and by our bodily experience.
One of my favorite quotes is from C.S. Lewis to the following effect [paraphrasing from memory here]:
So much of what passes for godliness is nothing more than a proper digestion and a good night's sleep.It does not work the other way around, though, that what passes for a proper digestion and a good night's sleep is nothing more than godliness [or morality]. . . .
But perhaps this merely demonstrates my own bias in favor of the metaphysical, and my disenchantment with the Enlightenment Project, by which man seeks to elevate human reason and understanding to ultimate status.
_______________________________
*C.S. Lewis has another great thought regarding instinct, and the fact that relying upon it does not advance our understanding of the underlying matter: "to say that migratory birds find their way by instinct is only to say that we do not know how migratory birds find their way". . . .
C.S. Lewis, The Abolition of Man (London: Fount Paperbacks, 1999 ed.)p. 21.
signs of life. . . .
I don't know why, but this post over at Garden Rant really cheered me up.
It's about a couple of birds that live inside the Denver International Airport. The article begins:
I guess I'm feeling a bit jaded today.
I'm not alone, it seems. A bunch of my writer-friends have posted 'I'm-down' posts. I don't know that I'm actually down, just a bit melancholy and thoughtful.
What I liked about the post is the reminder of how precious life is. And how delightful watching an ordinary sparrow looking for a meal can be. Even if it's just for a moment. Looks like I might go bird-watching today. . . .
PS - Brian Williams reported that this particular Monday in January is being called "Blue Monday" - historically showing a very high [the highest?] rate of suicides of any other day. . . . Here's the article Brian's story was based on.
It's about a couple of birds that live inside the Denver International Airport. The article begins:
It's hard to describe the effect that three or four little birds can have on a group of bored, numbed-out, jet-lagged passengers.It also features a poem. Which is pretty insightful, if jaded.
I guess I'm feeling a bit jaded today.
I'm not alone, it seems. A bunch of my writer-friends have posted 'I'm-down' posts. I don't know that I'm actually down, just a bit melancholy and thoughtful.
What I liked about the post is the reminder of how precious life is. And how delightful watching an ordinary sparrow looking for a meal can be. Even if it's just for a moment. Looks like I might go bird-watching today. . . .
PS - Brian Williams reported that this particular Monday in January is being called "Blue Monday" - historically showing a very high [the highest?] rate of suicides of any other day. . . . Here's the article Brian's story was based on.
Friday, January 18, 2008
one man's dream
Why does everyone 'love to hate' Yanni?
I'd never even heard his music and yet he was an object of derision. Maybe it's the hair.
But you know what? He writes beautiful melodies. What I want to know is how he gets to play his music at such amazing places. The Acropolis. The Taj Mahal. China's Forbidden City.
This is his song "One Man's Dream".
I'd never even heard his music and yet he was an object of derision. Maybe it's the hair.
But you know what? He writes beautiful melodies. What I want to know is how he gets to play his music at such amazing places. The Acropolis. The Taj Mahal. China's Forbidden City.
This is his song "One Man's Dream".
jobbernowl
To add to your verbal arsenal:
jobbernowl (JOB-uh-nowl) noun
A blockhead.[From French jobard (stupid, gullible), from Old French jobe (stupid) + noll (top or crown of the head).]
from Anu Garg (words at wordsmith.org) who will send you a word-a-day if you sign up.
"That he pays not the least regard to the requirements of convention marks him out as either a superior soul or a right down jobbernowl."
Soseki Natsume; I Am a Cat; Tuttle Publishing; 2002.
It's so close to Lewis Carrol's "jabberwocky" that I can't help but think of Alice in Wonderland when I see it, though. And I run the distinct risk of calling someone a jabberwock instead of a jobbernowl.
No worries. I'm sure they'll get the general idea.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
dreary = wrong
If your morals make you dreary, depend on it, they are wrong.Robert Louis Stevenson, novelist, essayist, and poet (1850-1894)
Now there's a thought for you!
Granted, I think it's a dangerous thought for someone trying to talk himself out of doing the right thing. . . . but it's a freeing thought for someone chained to a deadening sense of duty; it's an ennobling thought for someone facing trying times.
Dreary sacrifice or courageous over-the-top gift?
Dreary attendance or breathless assignation?
Dreary shouldering of a burden or joyful embrace and carrying off of a prize?
We get to choose. Somehow. And yes, yes, yes: I recognize that I am dealing here more with motive rather than a so-called moral "content." Morality is not the same thing as rules.
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Tuesday already
I don't know where the time goes. I really don't.
I couldn't tell you what I did yesterday. . . . well now, I guess I can, now that I stop to think about it. We started early. The king's chariot is troubled and had to go to the chariot-fixer. A new fixer of chariots, since the chariot dealer has been found wanting. Wanting way too much money and apparently incapable of fixing the problem.
The problem? The mysterious disappearance of coolant liquid.
The solution? According to the new fixer of chariots: a new radiator cap.
So that was the morning. Well, the car drop off and back home, where the king worked out of his home office.
You know what that means.
Upstairs to where I'm trying to get things done every half hour, at least.
What'cha doing?
I was trying to write. . . .
Ah. . . . well, um, when you get a minute. . . .
And so it would go. One rabbit trail involved the search for the ruler I admittedly took from his desk drawer and which then apparently fell down a rabbit hole, never to be seen again. I have looked everywhere for it, to no avail. The king decided to look in my studio for it.
You don't mind, do you?
No. Of course not.
Whereupon all mental work ceased while he stood in the middle of the room and made periodic forays to lift things up and look underneath.
What you should know to properly understand this picture is the utter futility of his hoping to find his ruler in my studio, given the current disarray of that space. There are stacks of books, papers, and Christmas wrapping paraphernalia everywhere. In the near corner you may find kitchen counter samples, supply catalogs and ripped-out pages from magazines of pictures I like of kitchens, baths, brick walls, castles, gardens - you name it!
In the far corner lives the art supplies and sewing boxes (two) and assorted to-go bags I've assembled for various projects in assorted ziplock baggies of varying sizes.
Knitting is [mostly] in the armoir, but a couple of projects have taken up residence in an overstuffed chair (along with the knitting needle case - a very cool orange Veuve Cliquot zipped carryall we got with the champagne we bought to replace the broken bottle of Dom Perignon the king brought along for our first trip to Puerto Rico together, but that's another story. Still, you can see a picture of where we went, here).
As you can see, just walking into this room is a very dangerous thing for a "creative" like me, not to mention an "excursive" like me! I get caught up by things that reach out and grab me, and get lost in knitting, or remembering, or imagining possibilities, or - like I did yesterday - in sorting through, discarding, filing, and organizing. (and trying to picture what our house-under-construction might actually look like. . .)
Then there was the try-to-get-an-actual-number out of two different kitchen suppliers - meaning an actual number for each thing, rather than one very large number for the whole project and then spend months trying to figure out just what it is that costs so much so that I can choose another option. Whenever I volunteer to give up something, though, it's always met with "Well, that's really not all that much."
Today, for example, after months of hearing how expensive the finishing package I had chosen was, I finally got the additional cost for the "distressing" I like. It is negligible. Seeded glass - on the other hand - I discovered is responsible for something like an extra $100 per pane! Clear glass they practically give away. I guess I'll learn to live without the little bubbles. . . .
But that's my job for today. An already it's after 11, and I've talked to my actual best friend who leaves tomorrow for St. Maartens (she usually comes with us to Puerto Rico, but I'm not in Puerto Rico, remember? sigh. . . .
But there's good news. I put in the application for a further research and teaching fellowship and I have been overwhelmed with the letters of recommendation I've gotten. You should see what Magda wrote! Man. I wrote her back to thank her and said that I would hire me, and I know better!
Then there's my buddy who I've known since he went to the Basic School at Quantico. He's a Lt. Colonel now and who (unbeknownst to me) is in the middle of some special operation in the middle East and took the time to do this for me. From the copy of the acknowledgment email I got, that alone spoke volumes to the person in charge of making the selection. . . .
You know what? If I don't even get an interview - I don't care. Not at this point.
I couldn't tell you what I did yesterday. . . . well now, I guess I can, now that I stop to think about it. We started early. The king's chariot is troubled and had to go to the chariot-fixer. A new fixer of chariots, since the chariot dealer has been found wanting. Wanting way too much money and apparently incapable of fixing the problem.
The problem? The mysterious disappearance of coolant liquid.
The solution? According to the new fixer of chariots: a new radiator cap.
So that was the morning. Well, the car drop off and back home, where the king worked out of his home office.
You know what that means.
Upstairs to where I'm trying to get things done every half hour, at least.
What'cha doing?
I was trying to write. . . .
Ah. . . . well, um, when you get a minute. . . .
And so it would go. One rabbit trail involved the search for the ruler I admittedly took from his desk drawer and which then apparently fell down a rabbit hole, never to be seen again. I have looked everywhere for it, to no avail. The king decided to look in my studio for it.
You don't mind, do you?
No. Of course not.
Whereupon all mental work ceased while he stood in the middle of the room and made periodic forays to lift things up and look underneath.
What you should know to properly understand this picture is the utter futility of his hoping to find his ruler in my studio, given the current disarray of that space. There are stacks of books, papers, and Christmas wrapping paraphernalia everywhere. In the near corner you may find kitchen counter samples, supply catalogs and ripped-out pages from magazines of pictures I like of kitchens, baths, brick walls, castles, gardens - you name it!
In the far corner lives the art supplies and sewing boxes (two) and assorted to-go bags I've assembled for various projects in assorted ziplock baggies of varying sizes.
Knitting is [mostly] in the armoir, but a couple of projects have taken up residence in an overstuffed chair (along with the knitting needle case - a very cool orange Veuve Cliquot zipped carryall we got with the champagne we bought to replace the broken bottle of Dom Perignon the king brought along for our first trip to Puerto Rico together, but that's another story. Still, you can see a picture of where we went, here).
As you can see, just walking into this room is a very dangerous thing for a "creative" like me, not to mention an "excursive" like me! I get caught up by things that reach out and grab me, and get lost in knitting, or remembering, or imagining possibilities, or - like I did yesterday - in sorting through, discarding, filing, and organizing. (and trying to picture what our house-under-construction might actually look like. . .)
Then there was the try-to-get-an-actual-number out of two different kitchen suppliers - meaning an actual number for each thing, rather than one very large number for the whole project and then spend months trying to figure out just what it is that costs so much so that I can choose another option. Whenever I volunteer to give up something, though, it's always met with "Well, that's really not all that much."
Today, for example, after months of hearing how expensive the finishing package I had chosen was, I finally got the additional cost for the "distressing" I like. It is negligible. Seeded glass - on the other hand - I discovered is responsible for something like an extra $100 per pane! Clear glass they practically give away. I guess I'll learn to live without the little bubbles. . . .
But that's my job for today. An already it's after 11, and I've talked to my actual best friend who leaves tomorrow for St. Maartens (she usually comes with us to Puerto Rico, but I'm not in Puerto Rico, remember? sigh. . . .
But there's good news. I put in the application for a further research and teaching fellowship and I have been overwhelmed with the letters of recommendation I've gotten. You should see what Magda wrote! Man. I wrote her back to thank her and said that I would hire me, and I know better!
Then there's my buddy who I've known since he went to the Basic School at Quantico. He's a Lt. Colonel now and who (unbeknownst to me) is in the middle of some special operation in the middle East and took the time to do this for me. From the copy of the acknowledgment email I got, that alone spoke volumes to the person in charge of making the selection. . . .
You know what? If I don't even get an interview - I don't care. Not at this point.
Friday, January 11, 2008
thought: life and thinking
Life consists in what a man is thinking of all day.
Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882)
I have often wondered what we would look like if what we thought were somehow visible on our face. . . . In a way, though, it is. After years of thinking ugly thoughts, does it not show in the habitual scowl or snarl lines some people seem to wear?
Sorry - don't mean to make a political statement here, but hers was the easiest scowley face to find. . . .
Hillary doesn't look so bad when she smiles.
But you can still see those scowl marks in between her brows.
Then there are others who make you feel real friendly before they've ever said a word. I think it's the smile lines.
Of course, it's not easy to get a picture of someone who has laugh lines when they're not actually smiling. . . .
OK - so that's how we hold our faces. Or how we translate emotion into physical experience: tight-shouldered tension, sweaty nervousness, the tingle and flush of attraction. . . .
How about the content of our thoughts? What difference between - say - the one who thinks of nothing but the details of his next gourmand feast, and the one who dwells on how best to feed and clothe the poor and hungry?
Or the one who is obsessed with what she looks like, versus the one obsessed with her garden? Or his car? Her music? His stockmarket portfolio? Her track record?
Not to mention things like war, peace, education, criminal law, ecology, animal welfare, politics, God. . . .
Who knew "life" could be so complicated?
elvas update
Thought I'd forgotten, eh?
Oh no. It's impossible to forget these guys. They dominate the living room! Let's start again at the beginning. Day one:
Several days later, the ptero hatchlings:
Oops! Trouble in paradise. . . .
These two want to be together:
I guess three's a crowd. 
Fine. I'll just go off on my own.
I think he likes television.
Check it out - football! My favorite.
The playoffs! The 'Skins lost. . . .
Meanwhile, the other two have split up. One insists on standing upright. The other is doing an imitation of a reading light. I like that in a flower.
Here's the overall picture: reading lamp to left; mr. upright in the center; football-friend to the right.
It's hard to get a good shot of the blossom straight on. Here's friend-o-football in profile to the right.
And yes, they do rather look like the picture on the cover (below).
I just can't figure out how that photographer got his blossoms to stay in such close proximity to one another. Mine won't have anything to do with anyone else. And don't be talking to me about the sun - we've got guys facing in every direction here, so rotating them to 'follow' the sun is clearly not an option.
Oh no. It's impossible to forget these guys. They dominate the living room! Let's start again at the beginning. Day one:
Several days later, the ptero hatchlings:
Oops! Trouble in paradise. . . .
These two want to be together:
I guess three's a crowd. 
Fine. I'll just go off on my own.
I think he likes television.
Check it out - football! My favorite.
The playoffs! The 'Skins lost. . . .
Meanwhile, the other two have split up. One insists on standing upright. The other is doing an imitation of a reading light. I like that in a flower.
Here's the overall picture: reading lamp to left; mr. upright in the center; football-friend to the right.
It's hard to get a good shot of the blossom straight on. Here's friend-o-football in profile to the right. And yes, they do rather look like the picture on the cover (below).
I just can't figure out how that photographer got his blossoms to stay in such close proximity to one another. Mine won't have anything to do with anyone else. And don't be talking to me about the sun - we've got guys facing in every direction here, so rotating them to 'follow' the sun is clearly not an option.
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
protection. . . .
I need someone to protect me from all the measures they take in order to protect me.
-Banksy, street artist (b. 1974)
The quote reference is from Word-A-Day, which I've written about before. Ok, referred to - anyway - before. . . .
I don't know who vets their quotes - all I can tell you is that they say that this is something Banksy said. . . . Then again, having done a bit of research on this guy (I'd never heard of him - sorry!) it appears that he keeps his identity a closely guarded secret so how could one put quotes around anything he has supposedly said?
Said as "Banksy", anyway.
As usual, I digress.
I was interested in "protection" from the political perspective, as we enter the ramped-up campaign heading to the elections this fall. Just what is the government reasonably expected to do to protect individuals, and from whom and from what.
Your assignment today: think about that.
Do I need, want, or expect "protection" from my family? My neighbor? My elected official? The nearby-living different-than-me group? Here's another "Banksy" streetscape (the one above, by the way, is called "Ratapult". . . . The one below, if you can't read the text, says: "How do we solve the crisis of youth crime? How do we get these kids to kill the right people?"
Here's another interesting observation: check out just how many products and companies advertise that they protect us - or that we need their protection. The one that particularly galls me is the life insurance company that says their insurance will "protect" me.
Protect me?!
I don't think so.
Not unless that word means a whole new thing these days.
But hey - I've met a pretty cool thinker and image maker today already through this flight of fancy. I figure it's a good day, even if that's all that happens today. . . . But it's not even 10 yet. I've got some time, Lord willing. Maybe I should go eat some "protective" cereal and put on my "protection" face cream. Then I'll go read up on how the politicos now leaving New Hampshire are planning to "protect" me if I will vote for them in November.
This is serious business. I think it calls for one more Banksy. Somebody get me outta here!
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
another day. . . .
It is as I suspected.
Today is another day. A better day than the one that ended yesterday, but maybe that's just because the day is still mostly ahead of me, and I still see hope and promise in it. Whereas yesterday was a bit of a trial, and - finite ridiculous person that I am - I am not able to see the benefit of trials and other beset-ments. . . .
At the same time, I am dimly aware that it is these very besetting difficulties endured, that has made me who I am. How is it that we are most shaped by difficulties, rather than by whimsies and delights? But perhaps there is someone who can make the case for character-shaping delights?
No?
I thought not.
Hedonists seem always hedonistic as a remainder - namely because it doesn't really "matter" so you might as well enjoy yourself - rather than as a goal. The "teacher" of Ecclesiastes did pursue pleasure at one point in his quest to find meaning, but found none there. Of course, he found none - really - anywhere else, either, in human pursuits anyway. . . .
WARNING: I suspect theological content lurking ahead. . . . a premonition, perhaps, from the Ecclesiastes reference that sprung - unbidden - to mind. But maybe not. We'll have to see, eh?
Now. Where was I? Right: better day. Or another day, anyway.
I'm coming back around to "good"/"bad" orientations in a philosophical and theological sense. Isn't it quite amazing to consider the judgment involved in saying whether a day is either "good" or "bad"?! I, who have neither made nor contributed to making [or receiving] any day at all, presuming to judge in advance? Or even after the fact!
Quite astonishing.
This is not to say, however, that the exercise of "judgment" is "bad". I have little time for people who mouth the "Who am I to judge?" platitude, when talking about lying, cheating, stealing, killing, even plain old simple bad manners - etc.
I'm just saying that it might a good idea to consider my framework as I judge, and to recognize my limitations. I am fully capable of judging - and condemning - rudeness, violence, cruelty, manipulation, all sorts of things, under the appropriate circumstances. But there are perhaps times when that judgment is better suspended, like perhaps when I don't what I think I want right now, or even when I don't get to go to the islands as usual [poor pitiful me], or - more seriously - when suffering; sickness; violence; rejection. Or maybe it's better for me to say that - rather than suspend judgement - I should be open to seeing also what good can come out of even the "bad".
I am NOT in any way here arguing [as apparently Paul's audience did in - ah - the book of Romans, I think it was] that we should go out and do evil so that good will result!
Suffering and the problem of evil is the philosophical fault-line where it seems all thought systems break down. . . .
Consider this: the tree that caused all the trouble in the garden of Eden was the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. Interesting, eh? "Knowing" evil - at this point - I can't imagine not knowing it. . . . And therein is perhaps one way of understanding the "death" promised to any who ate from that tree: namely the death of the not-knowing.
Well! That'll tie my thoughts up in knots for a while! Better get moving, I think. I have a weathervane to order - and finials. Here's the weathervane we've chosen - the banner. I like it!
It's a whimsy.
Not character-shaping.
But perhaps an indication of how that character has been shaped?
[to be continued. . . .one day. . . .maybe. . . .]
P.S. I have nothing against pleasure. In fact, I like it a lot! Further, I think that how we deal with pleasure is one of the "church's" biggest fault-lines where they break down. Chocolat is one of my favorite movies. Not because it's anti-intellectual (as the reviewer seems to think is necessary, in order to enjoy sensual experience) but because it does not deny the wonderful pleasures of food, drink, taste, laughter, music, love, dance. . . . I begin to think that religious "worship" is very puny indeed because they don't "get it" - but that leads to another whole big discussion, fraught with the danger of (you guessed it) empty hedonism. Full circle. We're pretty much right back where we started.
But the danger of hedonism is way too much for me to take on before noon.
Today is another day. A better day than the one that ended yesterday, but maybe that's just because the day is still mostly ahead of me, and I still see hope and promise in it. Whereas yesterday was a bit of a trial, and - finite ridiculous person that I am - I am not able to see the benefit of trials and other beset-ments. . . .
At the same time, I am dimly aware that it is these very besetting difficulties endured, that has made me who I am. How is it that we are most shaped by difficulties, rather than by whimsies and delights? But perhaps there is someone who can make the case for character-shaping delights?
No?
I thought not.
Hedonists seem always hedonistic as a remainder - namely because it doesn't really "matter" so you might as well enjoy yourself - rather than as a goal. The "teacher" of Ecclesiastes did pursue pleasure at one point in his quest to find meaning, but found none there. Of course, he found none - really - anywhere else, either, in human pursuits anyway. . . .
WARNING: I suspect theological content lurking ahead. . . . a premonition, perhaps, from the Ecclesiastes reference that sprung - unbidden - to mind. But maybe not. We'll have to see, eh?
Now. Where was I? Right: better day. Or another day, anyway.
I'm coming back around to "good"/"bad" orientations in a philosophical and theological sense. Isn't it quite amazing to consider the judgment involved in saying whether a day is either "good" or "bad"?! I, who have neither made nor contributed to making [or receiving] any day at all, presuming to judge in advance? Or even after the fact!
Quite astonishing.
This is not to say, however, that the exercise of "judgment" is "bad". I have little time for people who mouth the "Who am I to judge?" platitude, when talking about lying, cheating, stealing, killing, even plain old simple bad manners - etc.
I'm just saying that it might a good idea to consider my framework as I judge, and to recognize my limitations. I am fully capable of judging - and condemning - rudeness, violence, cruelty, manipulation, all sorts of things, under the appropriate circumstances. But there are perhaps times when that judgment is better suspended, like perhaps when I don't what I think I want right now, or even when I don't get to go to the islands as usual [poor pitiful me], or - more seriously - when suffering; sickness; violence; rejection. Or maybe it's better for me to say that - rather than suspend judgement - I should be open to seeing also what good can come out of even the "bad".
I am NOT in any way here arguing [as apparently Paul's audience did in - ah - the book of Romans, I think it was] that we should go out and do evil so that good will result!
Suffering and the problem of evil is the philosophical fault-line where it seems all thought systems break down. . . .
Consider this: the tree that caused all the trouble in the garden of Eden was the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. Interesting, eh? "Knowing" evil - at this point - I can't imagine not knowing it. . . . And therein is perhaps one way of understanding the "death" promised to any who ate from that tree: namely the death of the not-knowing.
Well! That'll tie my thoughts up in knots for a while! Better get moving, I think. I have a weathervane to order - and finials. Here's the weathervane we've chosen - the banner. I like it!
It's a whimsy.
Not character-shaping.
But perhaps an indication of how that character has been shaped?
[to be continued. . . .one day. . . .maybe. . . .]
P.S. I have nothing against pleasure. In fact, I like it a lot! Further, I think that how we deal with pleasure is one of the "church's" biggest fault-lines where they break down. Chocolat is one of my favorite movies. Not because it's anti-intellectual (as the reviewer seems to think is necessary, in order to enjoy sensual experience) but because it does not deny the wonderful pleasures of food, drink, taste, laughter, music, love, dance. . . . I begin to think that religious "worship" is very puny indeed because they don't "get it" - but that leads to another whole big discussion, fraught with the danger of (you guessed it) empty hedonism. Full circle. We're pretty much right back where we started.
But the danger of hedonism is way too much for me to take on before noon.
music therapy - the lullaby
Ravel's Pavanne for a dead princess
This is a nice interpretation by a pianist I don't know. . . .
And this is the closest thing I can think of to a lullaby for a grown-up. (although you'd better be asleep before that last chord sounds, or it'll wake you up again!)
I listened to this over and over again when my official best friend's mother died. Years ago now. I don't really know why I love it so, or why it calms me.
I think I can sleep now.
nothing to say. . . .
I have nothing to say - really - but I can probably say it in 500 words or more. Dissertation-speak, you know. Actually, I've gotten a bit out of the dissertation habit and I fear I have not yet entered into the viva voce read-and-get-into-the-dissertation-defense mind set.
But I don't want to talk about that.
The pressure ought to build up enough in a week or so to the point where I'll have no choice but to talk about it, but I've still got a coupla days of dissimulation left in me. . . . Meanwhile, I'm not sleeping well, and - when I do sleep - I'm dreaming wierd dreams, like the one the day before yesterday, which involved airlifted elephants floating overhead, and the threat of one of them being lowered on me. As Dave Barry says: "I am not making this up." Or at least I'm not making up the fact that I dreamt about it. . . .
The long-awaited house is finally being built: we have a foundation, and actual walls now. Today, we had to make the final decision on the roof shingle. Don't ask. Do you have any idea how many different shades of gray they have for roofing tiles?!
I'm feeling a little sorry for myself because the rest of my family leaves tomorrow for our usual 2 weeks down in the islands. "We" decided that, because of the ongoing construction and the fact that next month I have to travel to Ireland for the viva, we ought to forego the usual trip the first 2 weeks of January. And it makes perfect sense - don't get me wrong - but I am still trying not to whine about it. Here, let me show you what I'm missing.
There now. Don't you feel sorry for me?
No?
Somehow I didn't think you would.
The good news is that it's supposed to be 70 degrees tomorrow. No beaches. No palm trees. But at least I won't be freezing for the next couple of days!
Well now, on that positive note, let me end and then see if I can go get some sleep free from dropping elephants. tomorrow's a whole 'nother day, with building materials to select, price and order, a trip out to the site, and then a funeral. . . .
Hoo buoy. Well that positive note was short lived. No worries though. Tomorrow's another day. Thank God.
But I don't want to talk about that.
The pressure ought to build up enough in a week or so to the point where I'll have no choice but to talk about it, but I've still got a coupla days of dissimulation left in me. . . . Meanwhile, I'm not sleeping well, and - when I do sleep - I'm dreaming wierd dreams, like the one the day before yesterday, which involved airlifted elephants floating overhead, and the threat of one of them being lowered on me. As Dave Barry says: "I am not making this up." Or at least I'm not making up the fact that I dreamt about it. . . .
The long-awaited house is finally being built: we have a foundation, and actual walls now. Today, we had to make the final decision on the roof shingle. Don't ask. Do you have any idea how many different shades of gray they have for roofing tiles?!
I'm feeling a little sorry for myself because the rest of my family leaves tomorrow for our usual 2 weeks down in the islands. "We" decided that, because of the ongoing construction and the fact that next month I have to travel to Ireland for the viva, we ought to forego the usual trip the first 2 weeks of January. And it makes perfect sense - don't get me wrong - but I am still trying not to whine about it. Here, let me show you what I'm missing.
There now. Don't you feel sorry for me? No?
Somehow I didn't think you would.
The good news is that it's supposed to be 70 degrees tomorrow. No beaches. No palm trees. But at least I won't be freezing for the next couple of days!
Well now, on that positive note, let me end and then see if I can go get some sleep free from dropping elephants. tomorrow's a whole 'nother day, with building materials to select, price and order, a trip out to the site, and then a funeral. . . .
Hoo buoy. Well that positive note was short lived. No worries though. Tomorrow's another day. Thank God.
Tuesday, January 1, 2008
what I learned. . . .
We should be careful to get out of an experience only the wisdom that is in it -- and stop there -- lest we be like the cat that sits down on a hot stove-lid. She will never sit down on a hot stove-lid again, and that is well; but also she will never sit down on a cold one any more.Mark Twain (1835-1910)
Actually overheard: "Oh I never read anymore. I had to read so much during the war [note: that would be the Second World War. . . .] that I said to myself when it was over that I would never read again."
This, from an 83 year old woman whose husband died a year ago. Her chief complaints? She's lonely (1); she's bored (2). But hey, she had a bad experience reading over 60 years ago so she's never gone back.
I don't understand.
Then again, there are probably equally ridiculous "lessons" I have taken to heart for myself, never questioning the ridiculousness of conclusion I have adopted from the experience I went through. I just don't see them. Or not yet, anyway. . . .
day one. . . .
a new year. Amazing!
Resolutions? I've never been big on them, myself. But it occurs to me that if you fail to aim at anything, you'll hit it every time. . . . Hit nothing, that is.
Better to aim for something.
My "resolution" is to start walking every day. We're hoping to get a dog when the house is built, and I'd thought to use that as anexcuse motivation to walk every day. But I think now that that won't do at all. If I won't walk for myself, I won't walk because of the dog. I'll just kick him out the back door when he has to go, and/or stand around, tapping my foot, until he's done his "business". Not a good way to bond either with the dog or to incorporate daily exercise and fresh air into my system!
So: walkabout is on, PRE-canine, in the hopes that it will endure, post-canine-arrival.
Here's where we walked today, out at the greenwood. I never tire of it.
Resolutions? I've never been big on them, myself. But it occurs to me that if you fail to aim at anything, you'll hit it every time. . . . Hit nothing, that is.
Better to aim for something.
My "resolution" is to start walking every day. We're hoping to get a dog when the house is built, and I'd thought to use that as an
So: walkabout is on, PRE-canine, in the hopes that it will endure, post-canine-arrival.
Here's where we walked today, out at the greenwood. I never tire of it.
Saturday, December 29, 2007
breakfast by candlelight
It was many years ago. I went to Germany on a whim, I'd say, if I didn't know [now] how important it really was. At the time, though, I didn't know why I was going, I just knew I had to. Ostensibly, it was to attend a 'by-invitation-only' conference I had invited myself to.
I spent 3 days in the Atlanta airport on a stand-by buddy pass ticket, trying to get a flight to Germany. I'm still in touch with at least one of the people I met during that time.
Ultimately, I flew via Dublin - a most creative routing - courtesy of the Delta manager who finally took pity on me and got me on the last plane out before they suspended all buddy pass tickets for the rest of the week, they were so backed up. A year later, I would be living in Dublin.
The conference came and went - apparently without incident except for a passing reference to 'conscience' which I would work on for the next five years - and I found myself in Frankfurt at the end of the whole affair with nothing to do and no set place to stay for the weekend. An American woman I'd tried to steer clear of at the conference found out I was at loose ends and said "You must come back with me and stay at the castle!"
I have a rule: never turn down an invitation to a castle.
So an hour later, I found myself in her banger of an old Volvo station wagon, heading to a small village outside of Heidelberg. The morning I was to leave, we were up before dawn. A light dusting of snow had fallen, and my hostess had prepared coffee and a light breakfast. We ate by candlelight. I've never had candles at breakfast before. It was lovely! The sun slowly rose and took over from the candles. Now, whenever I'm up before dawn - or when it's a horrible bleak drear of a morning - I light candles and think of her.
Like this morning.
The sun is well up now, but the candles are still burning in the darkened living room. My checkered mug has only half a slug of coffee left and it's time to get up and moving and start the day. I'll blow the candles out when I get off the sofa. It's been too long since I've seen my friend, though, and it's been nice to think of her this morning.
Friday, December 28, 2007
songbird. singing. . . .
It's been feeling like spring here, these last few days, of a morning.
I finally figured out why.
Some blessed bird has been holding forth, where formerly silence reigned.
No, it isn't any warmer than usual. In fact, this morning there was frost on cars and grass. But for some reason, this lone creature has had it in his heart to be singing. (and no, unfortunately the above is not a picture of the most recent singer. It's a picture I took last time I was in Dublin. We made an excursion one very cold day to Glendalough. This fat, feathery guy kept us company in the graveyard.)
It's amazing how I can get used to the silence - as well as get used to the song. It's only around the transitional period that I might become aware - but not necessarily. The bird singing - after having become used to silence - makes me feel like it's spring. And a profound silence - after the chatter of bugs and birds all summer and fall - makes me feel like a blanket of snow must have fallen. So I guess it's the out-of-the-ordinary that draws attention. The isolated bird singing when all else is (and has been) silent; the sudden silence when - an hour before - raucousness reigned. Other than that, the gradual decline or start up of the noises of spring and summer go largely unnoticed.
I remember coming across an unlabeled cassette tape in the dead of winter a few years ago in my cottage in Dublin. I popped it in to hear what it was. I had taped an interview on the back porch of my parents' house during late summer. The voices were barely discernible over the din of the locusts and crickets. I was amazed! Since then, I've made a recording of the summer night noises, and bring it out in the dead of winter, just to help myself remember. . . .
Must do this also for early morning bird song one day, I see. I'm missing 'em.
I finally figured out why.Some blessed bird has been holding forth, where formerly silence reigned.
No, it isn't any warmer than usual. In fact, this morning there was frost on cars and grass. But for some reason, this lone creature has had it in his heart to be singing. (and no, unfortunately the above is not a picture of the most recent singer. It's a picture I took last time I was in Dublin. We made an excursion one very cold day to Glendalough. This fat, feathery guy kept us company in the graveyard.)
It's amazing how I can get used to the silence - as well as get used to the song. It's only around the transitional period that I might become aware - but not necessarily. The bird singing - after having become used to silence - makes me feel like it's spring. And a profound silence - after the chatter of bugs and birds all summer and fall - makes me feel like a blanket of snow must have fallen. So I guess it's the out-of-the-ordinary that draws attention. The isolated bird singing when all else is (and has been) silent; the sudden silence when - an hour before - raucousness reigned. Other than that, the gradual decline or start up of the noises of spring and summer go largely unnoticed.
I remember coming across an unlabeled cassette tape in the dead of winter a few years ago in my cottage in Dublin. I popped it in to hear what it was. I had taped an interview on the back porch of my parents' house during late summer. The voices were barely discernible over the din of the locusts and crickets. I was amazed! Since then, I've made a recording of the summer night noises, and bring it out in the dead of winter, just to help myself remember. . . .
Must do this also for early morning bird song one day, I see. I'm missing 'em.
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
leave the ruby red slippers. . . .
. . . . bring the socks.
My favorite gift from the king: these regal socks and the 'courtly check' coffee mug (and enormous tea pot - same pattern, very cool).
My favorite gift from the king: these regal socks and the 'courtly check' coffee mug (and enormous tea pot - same pattern, very cool).
different drummer
I'm a little worried about my Amaryllis Elvas. They started out fine.
They've been growing. (you just saw this picture, below).
One guy is marching to the beat of a distant drummer - in the opposite direction from the others'. (but look how much they've grown!)
This is the blossom hoped for, but I don't know about our little rebel. He may wear a blossom of an entirely different colour!As might be expected, I'm drawn to the rebel - the guy heading in the opposite direction.
They've been growing. (you just saw this picture, below).
One guy is marching to the beat of a distant drummer - in the opposite direction from the others'. (but look how much they've grown!)
This is the blossom hoped for, but I don't know about our little rebel. He may wear a blossom of an entirely different colour!
As might be expected, I'm drawn to the rebel - the guy heading in the opposite direction.
Friday, December 21, 2007
they're getting bigger!
Remember these guys?
They're my Hippeastrum Amaryllis Elvas that I wrote about in dirt/happiness)
Look at 'em now!
Wow. I'm so proud of the little guys. . . .
my new word
It's: excursive. It's splendid! Here's the definition, courtesy of Wordsmith's A.Word.A.Day:
excursive (ik-SKUR-siv) adjective:My thoughts are excursive. Elsewhere, other definitional sources emphasized the excursional aspects of "excursive" - the going on a trip, making an excursion. And that's what I find intriguing not only in thoughts, but also in writing.
Tending to wander off; rambling.
Other people - I am told - can find it merely annoying; not to the point. (Those are the same people who manage to draw up an outline before the fact, and then write to fill out the outline. I'm always surprised at where I end up. I do outlines at the end, to figure out how I got there. . . . )
By the way, you can subscribe to get a new word every day by email - NY Times called Word.A.Day "The most welcomed, most enduring piece of daily mass e-mail in cyberspace." I've been getting it for years. It's also a major source of the quotations I collect. . . .<
And the painting above, by another way, is by William Bradford, an American painter, 1823-92, who was related to the wife of a rather wealthy man I know, who apparently has several original Bradfords in his home. . . . This is not one of them, but it's one of my favorites of the ones I could find online. Their Bradford - the one I saw, anyway - was more cloud-ey; very somber and ominous. Right up my alley, in other words. I liked it well enough that I managed to remember the name long enough to do some internet research.
And there you have it! Excursive thought and writing. Voilà .
truth, error, and popular opinion
An error does not become truth by reason of multiplied propagation, nor does the truth become error because nobody will see it.Mohandas K. Gandhi (1869-1948)
In other words, truth is not subject to democratic vote. Or 'spin'. Interesting.
Thursday, December 20, 2007
not reading PostSecret - part two
A few days ago I wrote about why I'd stopped reading PostSecret, concluding that it's grown past its initial positive impact, and is in danger of moving into scandalous voyeurism, if not also normalizing shameful behavior.
PostSecret Frank ("Yes, that Frank." as he assured me) weighed in on the matter in comments:
Thanks for your thoughtful comments.Funny, but I really didn't expect to hear from him. It never occurred to me that he'd be interested in reading why I don't read PostSecret anymore. The jaded bit of me thinks:
All publicity is good publicity.and:
Of course he'd be interested, if only as a blueprint to attract more readers! Knowing what not to do is almost as good as knowing what to do. . . .But no. I think Frank really is interested, because I think he started this project with a good heart, and for a good purpose. It's taken on a life of its own, though. I wonder if he'd noticed? Perhaps he was beginning to feel a bit uncomfortable with where things were heading?
I can't help but wonder if it'll make a difference. But no, I still won't be reading it anymore. I don't think there's a way to retrieve this, once the feeding frenzy of public guilt assuagement has commenced.
Lee Anne makes the insightful point that, "by sharing [public confession], you're dispersing the burden of responsibility/guilt."
WARNING: explicit theological content follows. Proceed at your own risk.
It seems to me that we might get some insight into this phenomenon by looking at the role of confession in Christianity. The Catholics, of course, involve another human being in the process: the priest. But the contents of the confessional are held in strictest confidence. (we've all seen examples of that, if no where else, in Law & Order and CSI, where the priest knows whodunit, but can't say because of the priest/penitent rules of confidentiality. . . .)
Alternatively, there's the "group confession" that takes place in the formal order of service, where everybody recites their individual and collective guilt of grievous offenses - but note: no details are given.
So, from the Christian side, confession is dealt with corporately (no details disclosed) and/or privately (where details are given, but then never referred to again). The cleansing agent is Divine forgiveness: the "do-over" and fresh start.
We see a different dynamic in the thought of Nietzsche, of course, as well as Sigmund Freud. There, ultimately it is the feeling of guilt itself that is attacked, rather than the erasure of guilt by the transcendent Creator. Where there is no guilt, there is no need of forgiveness. That requires, however, that we undo what we have held to be wrong, or bad. One way of doing that is to rehearse the disclosure of "bad" actions without attaching a corresponding condemnation for the act. Instead, we applaud the disclosure itself as "brave". Eventually, it appears the hope is that the underlying "bad" act will cease in our minds to be "bad."
There are a lot of variations on this theme, but this is enough for my present purposes.
For myself, I think I'd rather work on forgiveness of my bad acts, rather than working on dismantling my ethical convictions so that I won't notice my bad acts - or ultimately find in them an opportunity for pursuing cyber-celebrity by disclosing them in the most entertaining or artistic fashion, hopeful of being selected for publication in PostSecret. . . .
And now note this important DISCLAIMER: this is no way implies that all people submitting "secrets" to PostSecret are "bad" people, or that they're attempting to dismantle their ethical systems, or that they should rather go to a Catholic church and take advantage of the confessionals there (or an Anglican one, and confess "corporately"), or that Freud is a fraud, or that I don't like Frank ("yes, that Frank.").
It is an analysis of what seems to me to be the changing face of PostSecret, and thoughts on questions of guilt and how to be rid of it.
I'm glad you found my comments "thoughtful", Frank. I found them rather disturbing, myself.
best wishes,
prophet.
stairway to heaven. . . .
Yes, that stairway to heaven, courtesy of the "Beatles". (actually, the "Beatnix”, a Beatles tribute group from Australia.
It takes a minute, but yes that is rather close to the actual melody! Arrangement is everything. . . .
I must say, I do miss the beginning guitar bit with the recorder flute.
This is amazing, though! Makes me laugh.
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
strange music. . . .
There's a TV ad for some kind of car that features beautiful haunting music. . . .
There's a girl sitting in the backseat, looking up through a clear roof at the Manhattan skyline. And this music plays.
After some sleuthing, I found that the song in question is by Band of Horses, and that the song is called Funeral. (if you haven't already, click to play above, while you read the rest. . . .)
I haven't made out the lyrics yet, but the official music video by the band includes footage of a very depressed-looking man drinking, driving, more drinking-in-a-bar shots, and heading in the end towards a scary-looking accident with a truck. Driving a vintage car.
Funeral.
Rather a strange song to select to advertise a new car, wouldn't you say?
Then again, they don't play the lyrics in the ad. Just the beautiful, floaty bits. . . . (and I liked it well enough to take the time to track it down. That says something) And maybe this is about the death of driving old cars? whatever. . . .
I just like the song.
Monday, December 17, 2007
why I don't read PostSecret anymore. . . .
Not a flash in the pan, I think PostSecret is picking up readership.
In case you're one of the few who hasn't actually seen it, PostSecret is a blog that posts pictures of postcards that contain secrets. Seems thousands of people make up these clever ways of disclosing way too much information on a postcard and send them to one "Frank" at a pre-disclosed address somewhere on Copper Ridge Road in Germantown, Maryland.
More recently, PostSecret has entered the book business. More recently still, there are art exhibits, chat secrets, video secrets, PostSecrets lectures, conferences, and book tours and, now, secret follow-up stories. . . .
The original premise of briefly sharing in the limited format of a postcard a secret you had never told anyone else:
Can we perhaps consider that there is a reason we keep certain things secret?
So. Why don't I read it anymore? Because (1) it's gotten too big properly to deal with secrets anymore, (2) secrets, dealt with on a large scale, are no longer secrets, they move towards scandal, (3) the mass consumption of secrets-leaning-towards-scandal begins to look a lot like scandalous voyeurism, and (4) I don't enjoy the attempt to make "normal" what really should remain shameful.
The message is that we all have secrets. True.
The follow-up to that, however, seems to be that if we just publish our secret, we won't be rejected and our secrets won't have a hold on us anymore. That may - or may not - be true. It depends on the "secret".
I know this may be an unpopular sentiment, but there are some things that are just wrong and proclaiming them in a "secret" forum doesn't make them right; doesn't make them palatable; doesn't make the proponent an acceptable member of society.
Frank: I think you started out well, helping people who had been crippled by a deadly secret. From giving people a hole to bury their secret in - with a witness to the burial - we've now invited those deadly secrets to join us for lunch.
I, for one, am not having any.
DISCLAIMER: Not all PostSecret "secrets" are scandalous. . . . Some "secrets" are sweet. . . funny. . . . enlightening. . . . thought-provoking. It's just that more and more deal with sex, death, hatred, humiliation, perversion and etc. . . .
In case you're one of the few who hasn't actually seen it, PostSecret is a blog that posts pictures of postcards that contain secrets. Seems thousands of people make up these clever ways of disclosing way too much information on a postcard and send them to one "Frank" at a pre-disclosed address somewhere on Copper Ridge Road in Germantown, Maryland.
More recently, PostSecret has entered the book business. More recently still, there are art exhibits, chat secrets, video secrets, PostSecrets lectures, conferences, and book tours and, now, secret follow-up stories. . . .
The original premise of briefly sharing in the limited format of a postcard a secret you had never told anyone else:
"Each secret can be a hope, regret, funny experience, unseen kindness, fantasy, belief, fear, betrayal, erotic desire, confession, or childhood humiliation."The emerging 'norm' seems to be a growing "openness" about "sharing" things better left not only unsaid, but unthought!
Can we perhaps consider that there is a reason we keep certain things secret?
So. Why don't I read it anymore? Because (1) it's gotten too big properly to deal with secrets anymore, (2) secrets, dealt with on a large scale, are no longer secrets, they move towards scandal, (3) the mass consumption of secrets-leaning-towards-scandal begins to look a lot like scandalous voyeurism, and (4) I don't enjoy the attempt to make "normal" what really should remain shameful.
The message is that we all have secrets. True.
The follow-up to that, however, seems to be that if we just publish our secret, we won't be rejected and our secrets won't have a hold on us anymore. That may - or may not - be true. It depends on the "secret".
I know this may be an unpopular sentiment, but there are some things that are just wrong and proclaiming them in a "secret" forum doesn't make them right; doesn't make them palatable; doesn't make the proponent an acceptable member of society.
Frank: I think you started out well, helping people who had been crippled by a deadly secret. From giving people a hole to bury their secret in - with a witness to the burial - we've now invited those deadly secrets to join us for lunch.
I, for one, am not having any.
DISCLAIMER: Not all PostSecret "secrets" are scandalous. . . . Some "secrets" are sweet. . . funny. . . . enlightening. . . . thought-provoking. It's just that more and more deal with sex, death, hatred, humiliation, perversion and etc. . . .
Friday, December 14, 2007
the rise of the mediocre
I've been enjoying a bit of a back and forth with Lee Anne over at Adorable Device of Destruction (where does she come up with this stuff?! grin) about what happens to a military that no longer admires the society it is sworn to protect.
She refers to an excellent article by Robert D. Kaplan, On Forgetting the Obvious" in The American Interest, and says:
The biggest reservation I have, though, about any kind of an "elite" group is the tendency for the 'rest of us' to slide/skate into mediocrity. Have you noticed that, with increased specialization, there is an increase in the big mass of us that has no clue what is going on?
With more and more specialists, we get more and more ignorance of those not specialists.
As tempting as it is to leave such weighty matters to the "specialists", I begin to think that we can't afford not to think about these things ourselves. We already have personal trainers to handle our flabby bodies, lawyers to take care of our disputes, police officers to "safeguard" our property at home, doctors to manage our health, accountants our wealth, dieticians, personal life trainers, shoppers, child care providers, lawn care "specialists", housekeepers, pooperscoopers, dogwalkers, color analysts, feng shui-ists, spiritualists, tutors, astrologers - need I go on?!
I came across Thoreau's Walden recently - in connection with building one's own house - and was struck by what he said about "divisions of labor" and thinking:
She refers to an excellent article by Robert D. Kaplan, On Forgetting the Obvious" in The American Interest, and says:
Kaplan explores the divisions between a small, elite warrior class and the American public. He views this separation as symptomatic of the diminishing importance of faith and nationalism in American society as well as an unwillingness to admit that war is a fact of life.What came to my mind was C.S. Lewis' The Abolition of Man in which he explores the consequences of "debunking" the kinds of values that have traditionally undergirded our society - and, I would add, especially our "warrior caste". (who else, these days, do you hear talking about love, duty, honour, country? AND paying the price for those values, I mean. . . .)
The biggest reservation I have, though, about any kind of an "elite" group is the tendency for the 'rest of us' to slide/skate into mediocrity. Have you noticed that, with increased specialization, there is an increase in the big mass of us that has no clue what is going on?
With more and more specialists, we get more and more ignorance of those not specialists.
As tempting as it is to leave such weighty matters to the "specialists", I begin to think that we can't afford not to think about these things ourselves. We already have personal trainers to handle our flabby bodies, lawyers to take care of our disputes, police officers to "safeguard" our property at home, doctors to manage our health, accountants our wealth, dieticians, personal life trainers, shoppers, child care providers, lawn care "specialists", housekeepers, pooperscoopers, dogwalkers, color analysts, feng shui-ists, spiritualists, tutors, astrologers - need I go on?!
I came across Thoreau's Walden recently - in connection with building one's own house - and was struck by what he said about "divisions of labor" and thinking:
But alas! we do like cowbirds and cuckoos, which lay their eggs in nests which other birds have built, and cheer no traveller with their chattering and unmusical notes. Shall we forever resign the pleasure of construction to the carpenter? What does architecture amount to in the experience of the mass of men?
I never in all my walks came across a man engaged in so simple and natural an occupation as building his house. We belong to the community. It is not the tailor alone who is the ninth part of a man; it is as much the preacher, and the merchant, and the farmer. Where is this division of labor to end? and what object does it finally serve?
No doubt another may also think for me; but it is not therefore desirable that he should do so to the exclusion of my thinking for myself.
Thursday, December 13, 2007
and, finally. . . .
Further to the dirt & happiness correspondence I wrote about a little while ago, I wanted to introduce you to the latest inhabitants in our home. They look a lot like some sort of prehistoric dragon fledgling, don't you think?
They are the Hippeastrum amaryllis - the Elvas variety.
Wait'll you get a load of the blossoms! Now that'll cure what ails ya. . . .
music therapy. . . .
You knew it. . . .
time for some music for my soul.
Here's a little Sarah. . . . covering a great Joni Mitchell song that Non-Essential Equipment reminded me of. Nee likes the version by Robert Downey Jr. [?!] - I never even knew he sang! RD Jr.'s is a pretty good version. But Sarah McLaughlin is my go-to for melancholy.
time for some music for my soul.
Here's a little Sarah. . . . covering a great Joni Mitchell song that Non-Essential Equipment reminded me of. Nee likes the version by Robert Downey Jr. [?!] - I never even knew he sang! RD Jr.'s is a pretty good version. But Sarah McLaughlin is my go-to for melancholy.
malaise, uninterrupted
Now is the time of year when I find that money questions seriously compete with a joy to the world state of mind.
In no time flat, a "token" gift can add 50 bucks to my cash outlay. [so you do the math for, say, ten token gifts!] Not to mention the question of the NON-tokens, for which I struggle to overcome a current cultural equation indicating a direct correlation between degree of affection/love and amount of cash outlay.
In other words: if I don't spend a bundle, I must not care very much.
Add to this a general drowning in things - stacks of articles, books I can't put away, resurrected crafts I'm starting to dig out again, Christmas cards waiting for addresses and personalized notes [damn - I don't think I have time to write up one of those 'what-we've-been-up-to-all-year' one-pagers, can I really just write Wishing you the best for the upcoming year! and be done with it? And hey! They haven't contacted me, either, so why is it always my fault for not having been in touch, I'd like to know?! Simmer down there now. . . . sigh]
You get the picture.
On top of that, I finally got the kitchen guy to give me an actual number for the kitchen design he's been working on, off and on for a year, for the house being built. Can you say "way over budget"? Well, I can. It's way over budget. And when I pointed that out, he got - well - a bit snitty with me. No more Mr. Nice Guy - now I get 'business-like' emails and the proposal is in contract form rather than proposal form. Sort of a 'sign or else' format. . . .
Oh - and the countertop is suddenly - mysteriously - no longer included.
sigh.
Emancipated son #1 continues his financial drama and has asked that I review a contract for his new employment elsewhere. As expected, it was draconian and incomplete and succeeded in pissing me off. I hate bad contracts. It's almost easier just to start from scratch. Anyway, the final indignity was to be told (having asked a bunch of questions) that I was overthinking the matter, and that this is just a simple arrangement, all that was needed was to make sure the legal 'mumbo-jumbo' was in order.
Right.
Funny how people view the law. It's 'mumbo-jumbo' at the start, when good will and best intentions still prevail. But when the will and the intentions have gone south - to hell in a handbasket - then suddenly the 'mumbo-jumbo' becomes important. The lawyers are still blamed - don't get me wrong - but it's because the parties didn't want to deal with what the 'mumbo-jumbo formality' was actually saying, to the extent that it does not mirror the "simple arrangement" the parties like to think they actually had. . . . . What's really going on, is that the parties have not thought through the details of their "simple arrangement", and decided what will happen if things do go wrong. . . . [which inevitably, they do. Sooner, or later].
Pessimism is an occupational hazard to practicing law.
Anyway - and a partridge in a pear tree to you, too!
Monday, December 10, 2007
it's sunny in Dublin
Don't blink!
Here's proof:
I keep a webcam widget on my Google desktop so that I can track the weather changes. I find it particularly unfair when it's sunny there, but overcast here. As it is today.
But I'll tell you what, there's nothing that will make you appreciate the sun more than living in Ireland! You don't take it for granted. I could go check the webcam in another 5 or 10 minutes and find it gray and pouring rain. Here, when the sun is out, you can usually count on it staying out for a good several hours. Not so, in Ireland!
This accounts for much of their approach to life, I think, which can be summed up twofold: (1) Expect rain, but (2) enjoy the sun now, while you can! It also accounts for the incredible diversity - and interesting - conversation about the weather, a favorite topic over there. You just can't help it.
Here's proof:
I keep a webcam widget on my Google desktop so that I can track the weather changes. I find it particularly unfair when it's sunny there, but overcast here. As it is today.
But I'll tell you what, there's nothing that will make you appreciate the sun more than living in Ireland! You don't take it for granted. I could go check the webcam in another 5 or 10 minutes and find it gray and pouring rain. Here, when the sun is out, you can usually count on it staying out for a good several hours. Not so, in Ireland!
This accounts for much of their approach to life, I think, which can be summed up twofold: (1) Expect rain, but (2) enjoy the sun now, while you can! It also accounts for the incredible diversity - and interesting - conversation about the weather, a favorite topic over there. You just can't help it.
thought: Membership? or Thought?
A sect or party is an elegant incognito devised to save a man from the vexation of thinking.
Ralph Waldo Emerson, writer and philosopher
(1803-1882)
Sunday, December 9, 2007
m.i.a.
Thursday was a concert over an hour's drive away.
Friday, the king's cold started catching up with me. I spent the day holed up on on the bed with books and my computer. Back to dissertation reading. The good news: I already have one of the 'new' books that Magda has recommended that I read.
Fun get-together Saturday with some of the people who were with us in Florida for the wedding - for which I paid today. . . .
Early to bed tonight, I think, and a fresh start tomorrow!
Friday, the king's cold started catching up with me. I spent the day holed up on on the bed with books and my computer. Back to dissertation reading. The good news: I already have one of the 'new' books that Magda has recommended that I read.
Fun get-together Saturday with some of the people who were with us in Florida for the wedding - for which I paid today. . . .
Early to bed tonight, I think, and a fresh start tomorrow!
Friday, December 7, 2007
dirt + bacteria = happiness
I kid thee not.
Garden Rant has posted a story about how the Mycobacterium vaccae bacteria which is found in gardening soil (i.e. "dirt") has been scientifically linked to the report of a greater feeling of happiness by means of an increase in the "quality of life."
The scientific explanation appears to involve seratonin, neurons, and the brain's "mood center."
The actual subjects interviewed were mice and cancer patients.
There you have it! My excuse for potting and puttering on the dining room table, now that there's snow on the ground. For today, the transplant of 3 individually pre-potted Hippeastrum amaryllis (on sale at the Giant, twofer something. . . .) into a big glass centrepiece-type bowl, hopefully in time to bloom by Christmas, but knowing my luck, to bloom sometime after the new year, when I am out of town.
But who cares? It's the dirt that counts.
Apparently.
But here's what I'll probably miss, and that would do a lot for my mental state, as well.
I don't care what they say. I like the flowers best.
Still - nice to know there a benefit to the mess!
Garden Rant has posted a story about how the Mycobacterium vaccae bacteria which is found in gardening soil (i.e. "dirt") has been scientifically linked to the report of a greater feeling of happiness by means of an increase in the "quality of life."
The scientific explanation appears to involve seratonin, neurons, and the brain's "mood center."
The actual subjects interviewed were mice and cancer patients.
There you have it! My excuse for potting and puttering on the dining room table, now that there's snow on the ground. For today, the transplant of 3 individually pre-potted Hippeastrum amaryllis (on sale at the Giant, twofer something. . . .) into a big glass centrepiece-type bowl, hopefully in time to bloom by Christmas, but knowing my luck, to bloom sometime after the new year, when I am out of town.
But who cares? It's the dirt that counts.
Apparently.
But here's what I'll probably miss, and that would do a lot for my mental state, as well.I don't care what they say. I like the flowers best.
Still - nice to know there a benefit to the mess!
Tuesday, December 4, 2007
another word of advice. . .
My mother was on a cruise not too long ago while I was in the throes of final dissertation madness. [No, I didn't resent it. . . . not much. Ok, maybe a little. . . .]
Anyway, on that cruise, she happened to meet an Oxford don - as she insisted on calling him - a lovely, dapper man from Oxford, who sent me this advice about finishing my dissertation:
I don't know this man, but I salute him. And I give fair warning: If I ever meet you, I will kiss you!
Anyway, on that cruise, she happened to meet an Oxford don - as she insisted on calling him - a lovely, dapper man from Oxford, who sent me this advice about finishing my dissertation:
It's not as hard as you think.I can't tell you the comfort I derived from those words.
I don't know this man, but I salute him. And I give fair warning: If I ever meet you, I will kiss you!
"just remember"
Somebody sent me an email with some words of advice and encouragement and I thought I'd post them here, in case they might also help out someone else going through the same rough stretch. . . . [thank you, Mr. RB, whoever you are!]
Just remember ... nobody knows *your* research more than you, not even your supervisor. Your external examiner(s) are experts in the subject, but not in your specifics.Sounds to me like he knows what he's talking about. Spot on advice!
Where there is stuff you don't know that's fine - you've followed a scientific method, you've observed then considered the results and if, justify, where there are blanks, [because] there are decisions that were made to get the work done within the time (after all, three years is too short!), so there's always future work!
It's all about small steps. Each of us takes one small step so that we don't over-stretch the corpus of existing knowledge, so each new piece of work becomes a brick in the wall and can be used in the future.
Worrying is a good thing, it just shows that you give a damn. Not worrying at all would be foolish! Your viva is a once in a lifetime thing :-) Enjoy it; you've done the hard work already.
My very best regards . . .
Now all I have to do is remember it. . . .
OK then! Write it down. That'll help.
Monday, December 3, 2007
viva voce
okey dokey then. Here's the first real mention of the viva voce. Latin, for "live voice." It is the oral defense of my thesis.
Notably, there's not much written about this process that I can find. There's a very helpful presentation here by Dr. David Twigg, and a postgraduate discussion huddle and support group here that takes on the topic on occasion. I did find this posting which takes on the difference between American versus European vivas, and this one, which gives greater insight into the British exemplar, which is of particular interest to me.
I heard from Magda today. Finally. The examiners have accepted and should get the manuscript tomorrow. So that puts me into February for the viva.
Rear in gear time! Back to some serious reading. It might be time also to read the dissertation again. Again? Actually for the first time, all at one sitting, that is. . . . I fear the typo. Oh Geordie-Geordie do I fear the typo! I'm sure there's tons of them. . . .
Then there's travel plans to make and accommodations to secure. And people to alert that I'll be in town - for after the viva, anyway. Although I'll have to be there a few days in advance. The time change heading East affects me pretty heavily for the first few days. As in: I can't think or speak! Fine. I can drink pints.
But to sum up, I think I need to do some more reading in my main guy, just to keep everything fresh and accessible. I will also read the dissertation several times - ditto: fresh & accessible - and start compiling an errata. It might also be a good idea to start thinking about what I think the weak points are, as well as the strengths, and to be prepared to discuss those.
Still in the spirit of Rembrandt - above is his painting of Hannah, the prophetess. Reading. . . .
who's reading whom?
A real book is not one that we read, but one that reads us.
W.H. Auden, poet (1907-1973)
Sounds clever. What do you think it really means? You know, feet on ground, "Oh yeah!" sort of stuff? Not to prose-ify poetry, or anything. . . .
[I have an idea, but I'll let this percolate a bit first. Any other thoughts?] Also, painting photo found here - it's a Rembrandt painting. There's a second painting pictured there, as well. Also very cool!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
