The fountain of youth resides in a pixel

The graduate checked out my December 12^th blog and noted the picture of me and Al from 1977.  We were facebook chatting  late one night, and the discussion went as follows: 

12:04am

Him:  i really really really regret that i'll never have old photographs to look back on that look as much like old photographs as that one of you and dad on your blog today.  i resent digital technology.

12:05am

Me:  :-)

Grandma took it with a very crummy 'instamatic camera' - no aperture control, no focus control, no shutter speed control...just click and there is your photo. It is what almost everyone had back then. SLR's were very rare.

I should say, click, finish the roll of film sometime in the next year, take to the drugstore and pick up the prints a week later, and there is your photo. I skipped a couple of steps in there somehow!

12:10am

Him:  haha yeah... just man.

film grain.

so good.

12:10am

Me:  Hmmm....I guess it has its charms

12:11am

Him:  "crappy" and old is so in these days.

the aesthetics of degradation are so hip.

12:11am

Me:  I am aging at just the right time then, eh?

I went off to bed feeling rather good about myself, knowing that showing my age is hip.  But, really, Eric raises an interesting point.  We boomer babies have worked very hard to eliminate all evidence of aging.  People have long sought eternal youth, but our generation has almost found it!   Think about it, Sally Field  is 64 and Paul McCartney is 68.   They certainly don’t look it!  Personally, I haven’t worried too much about wrinkles or gray hairs, but I have become, unwittingly, a cheerleader for perpetual perfection.

How so?

Technology!

My Dad, 1946

While my son might like the grainy, fading images of yore, I fully embrace digital photography for a whole host of reasons.  Convenience, control, less waste, more immediacy, etc.  And to honest, I include among those reasons that digital images don’t fade, as he  pointed out.  The photographs of my children taken after 1998 will never change.   The photographs of the places we’ve been will become dated only if the places change;  the images will look as sharp and vibrant in 50 years as they did the day they were taken.

 

The same with music!  We grew up listening to LP’s that clearly showed signs of age:  scratches and skips, the warble of warp-age.  And,  cassette tape was just distortion waiting to happen.  CD’s eliminated the warbles and distortions, but were still prone to skips and scratches.  But digital music downloaded for an iPod remains perfect forever.  My iPod stores hundreds of hours of music, no skips, no scratches, no warbles, no distortion.  I can carry it anywhere and listen to whatever I want, pretty much whenever I want.  And it always does and always will sound great!

Likewise, my Kindle allows me to travel with hundreds, even thousands, of books contained in a space about the size of a normal paperback. The pages will never tear, yellow or become dog-eared.   And digital movies will always remain crisp, sharp and vibrant.  The film doesn’t stretch, break or scratch.

I am not about to make a case for returning to the old ways.  Like I said, I am a cheerleader for digital technology.  I love my Kindle, my iPod, my camera, and DVD movies.  I am of the generation that worked to create permanent perfection, but I find it interesting that the next generation has developed an appreciation for the aesthetics of natural degradation and embraces imperfection.  

And so, the pendulum swings….back and forth….back and forth.

Today I am grateful for Christmas—the season of generosity and goodwill,  of light in the dark of winter, of love for family and friends.  Like Ebenezer Scrooge, “I will honor Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year. “

Blog pre-empted

Tonight's blog has been pre-empted by an important family event.  We will return to our regularly scheduled programming next week.

The graduate

Eric graduated today from the University of Michigan with a Bachelors of Fine Arts.  His focus has been on sound design and sound engineering for film.

With the proud parents

And the happy sister

And with Sarah

Today I am grateful for our son.  We are immensely proud!

Today in History

Today is an important day in the history of the world, one that Al and I celebrate annually.  A quick scan of the day's events should reveal the reason.

• December 12,1792:   22 year old Ludwig von Beethoven had his first lesson in music composition from Franz Joseph Haydn.
• December 12, 1800:  Washington D.C. was established as the capital of the United States.
• December 12, 1913:  the Mona Lisa was returned to the Louvre after having been stolen two years earlier.
• December 12, 1946:  Tide detergent was introduced to the world.
• December 12, 1957: Jerry Lee Lewis married his 13 year old cousin, while still legally married to his first  (presumably somewhat older) wife
• December 12, 1965:   the Beatles gave their last formal concert in Great Britain.
• December 12, 1976:  Al Huntley kissed Deb Robsky for the first time.
• December 12,  2007:  Ike Turner died of a cocaine overdose at 76.

Well, ok.   Ludwig van Beethoven is my favorite composer of all time, but we do not celebrate his first composition lesson.  We do use Tide detergent, but its introduction is not enough to warrant a special glass of wine.  Jerry Lee Lewis' wedding anniversary? That is just creepy.

Maybe our celebrations have something to do with that first kiss. Many couples commemorate the anniversary of their first date, but in our case that is sort of difficult to pin down. The first time we went out together was when I was dating a guy named Jon and Al showed up in his place.  So, if we picked that night (December 3, 1976) as the start to our relationship, we’d actually be celebrating a night that I had a date with another guy.  

Wait, that sounds bad.  

Here is what happened.

Jon happened to be a good friend of Al’s. We were all members of the UCONN marching band and tended to hang around together.  So, it was not particularly strange for the three of us to go out to see a movie, get pizza,  or go ice-skating.  However, on December 3, 1976, Jon and I had a date  to see the campus movie (Woody Allen’s “Everything You Wanted to Know about Sex but Were Afraid to Ask”) and as far as I knew, Al wasn’t going to join us.  Sadly, Jon got news that his grandmother had passed away and that he needed to go home for the weekend.  He had tried to call me, but this was long before cell phones or even voice mail and he had been unable to reach me.  He asked Al to let me know what had happened.

At the appointed hour, I heard a knock and opened the door expecting to see Jon.  Instead, Al stood there.  His exact words were, “Jon’s grandmother died and he had to go home.  Do you want to go to the movie anyway?”

I didn’t have anything else to do that night, and like I said, we were all friends, so I said, “Uh. Sure.  I guess.”

Of course, we had a nice time, but we were just friends.  And I was dating Jon.

The next week, Jon dumped me.  Actually, that was fine with both of us.  He was a nice enough guy and we remained friends, but we were clearly not meant for anything more than that.

February 1977

Nine days later, on Sunday, December 12^th to be exact, I was in my dorm room working on some homework when there was another knock on my door.  To my surprise it was Al.  He had two things to tell me.  The first was that he bought a used electric piano, complete with headphones, in preparation for an introductory piano class he intended to take the next semester.  The other was that he had a paper due the next day on T.S. Eliot’s “The Wasteland” and since I mentioned that I loved T.S. Eliot, he hoped I might be able to shed some light on this massive and somewhat opaque poem.

Well, I was very impressed by the piano;  pianos were certainly not  common dorm room accessories.  And I agreed to help tame “The Wasteland” beast.  To say that I really understood that poem would be giving me far more credit than I deserved, but I did have a heavily annotated copy from a previous discussion class, so I could share a few ideas and identify a few themes.

We probably talked about “The Wasteland” for half an hour.  Otherwise we talked about music,  skating, constellations, mutual friends, marching band, concert band... usual things.   Three hours later, Al started to leave.  I followed him to the back door of the dorm, wishing he could stay a little longer.   But, he did have that paper to write and type.  (For you young’ns out there, this involved an actual pen and paper, followed by a couple of hours with a real manual typewriter).  But as he said his final goodbye, he gave me a quick hug and a shy kiss.  And then he was gone.

Yup.  That is how it all started and tonight, 34 years later, we toasted that modest start to the grand adventure of our lives together.

Tonight I am grateful for celebrations that commemorate all those important milestones and events that give our lives shape and character.

 

Bah Humbug! NOT!

It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas!

And well it should, at least at our house.  Last weekend, while the kids were home for Thanksgiving, we went out on our annual tree-cutting expedition to find this year’s "most perfect tree."  Thanksgiving weekend seems too early to me, but we really wanted to have the annual tree trimming party while Eric and Ellen were home which won’t happen again until just before Christmas.  So early or not, the tree is up, decorated, and is, as all Christmas trees are, magnificent.

We always cut our own tree at a local tree farm, and in the past, the process has been long and painstaking.  Typically, we have to weigh the merits of various species:  White Pine? (full and lush, but ornaments tend to slide off) , Blue Spruce? (lovely, but the sharp needles hurt), Douglas Fir? (overall nice, but can be sparsely branched).  Then, once that decision is made, we do a thorough search for the best specimen.  A tree must be tall and full, have no bare spots, have straight trunk, and be symmetric.  In some years, this search has taken quite some time.   This year, Eric walked up to the first tree he saw and said, “How about this one?”  No doubt, it was an excellent tree.  We looked at each other in disbelief.  There was no way we could take the first tree we saw.  So we looked at its next door neighbor.  It was equally satisfactory, as was the next one we looked at.  I suggested that we go look at the spruces, but since it was a very cold and windy day, Ellen said, “You know, I am fine with these.”  The wind picked up and we all agreed the third tree we saw would be perfect.  Al cut it down; the boys carried it to the checkout, and we were done.  Ten minutes, arrival to departure.   The next day, we decorated it with our somewhat odd and eclectic mix of ornaments.  And like I said, it is magnificent.

Not all of the holiday preparations have been so smooth.  Like everyone I know, I have been overly busy lately and I am starting to feel tired and run down.   Maybe that is why I have been having a hard time getting into the holiday spirit.   Or maybe I am missing the kids.  Whatever the reason, yesterday was the day to decorate the rest of the house and I was pretty crabby about it.  I usually love the process of unwrapping and setting out all the Christmas stuff, but to be honest, this year it just felt like a chore.  A rather big chore. 


But, our schedules are getting pretty full and there really wouldn't be another time.

And, unfortunately, Christmas isn’t going to wait until I am in the mood for it. 

So, out came the Christmas village.   Out came the silk greens, the wreaths, the candles, and the candy dishes.  At one point, I said to Al, “Maybe we should just have the tree this year.  Do we really need the rest of this stuff?”  He replied that either way was ok with him, although I could tell he didn’t mean it.   So, out came the holiday linens.  Out came the gumdrop tree.  Out came Mom’s Santa collection and her Christmas bells.  Out came the tabletop trees for the upstairs hall and the basement family room. Out it all came.  It took all day, well into the evening.

It wasn’t until the job was done and the lights were lit that I felt my crankiness start to dissipate. It is nice to have all the "stuff" around again in preparation for the holidays. Christmas is beginning to do its magic again, bringing light to the darkest season of the year and even brightening up my run-down, worn-out crabby mood.

It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas!

It is even starting to feel that way. 

Today I am grateful for twinkling lights in the dark times of year.

Sorry, Pumpkin

Sorry Pumpkin, there’s a new pie in town.

Thanksgiving weekend has just about passed; the cooking is done, the dishes washed, families and friends have gathered and dispersed, the kids are getting ready to head back to Ann Arbor.   Our family has often traveled on Thanksgiving weekend, and been pretty flexible with the scheduling of the actual Thanksgiving day feast.  However, there has been nothing flexible about the menu.  This year, I suggested to Al that instead of traditional mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, squash, etc, we could make that wonderful roasted root vegetable recipe I tried a couple of weeks ago- chunks of potato, sweet potato, carrots and fresh beets, roasted in a little olive oil and butter with simple seasonings.  “What?  No mashed potatoes?  We NEED mashed potatoes for the gravy!”  he exclaimed, clearly horrified by the prospects of a non-traditional potato treatment.   Although I love roasted veggies and was eager to have fewer side dishes (and consequently fewer leftovers), I conceded without further debate.

If you know me at all or have been following this blog, you’ll know that cooking is one of my favorite hobbies.  Al loves to cook too and is well known for his homemade pies.  He makes beautiful, flaky crusts and has a knack for juicy (but not runny) fillings.  This year, he and Ellen cooked up two wonderful pies, and of course, Thanksgiving tradition called for pumpkin and apple.  Both lived up to his high standards and were simply delightful.

But this year, there was an intruder on our Thanksgiving dinner. 

A week or so ago, Nancy came to dinner and brought a dessert called “Nantucket Cranberry Pie.”   Despite having grown up in  fairly close proximity to Nantucket,  I had never heard of this pie, really more of a cobbler.  The filling is made from fresh cranberries, walnuts or pecans, and sugar and the buttery topping has a wonderful overtone of almonds.  Al and I simply loved this pie and if you want to make one,  the exact recipe can be found at the PioneerWoman website.  We immediately deemed this recipe a new favorite, and I decided to make one ‘for the weekend’ if not for Thanksgiving day itself. 

This recipe is not at all difficult, calling for no unusual ingredients, no special equipment, and no advanced techniques.  However, there is one teeny-weeny thing you should be aware of.  

Size matters.  A lot.

I have lots of experience and really should have known better, but I made a couple of bad decisions on my first attempt to recreate this pie. First, the recipe calls for 2 cups of fresh cranberries, but a typical 12 oz bag contains 3 cups.  The Thanksgiving cranberry sauce was already made and not having any use for one cup of leftover fresh cranberries, I decided to use all of them-- making the filling extra-cranberry-y.  Of course, cranberries are not naturally sweet so I adjusted the other filling ingredients to compensate.  This seemed like a good idea and it would have been fine, except for my next decision.  I really wanted to use my pretty glazed stoneware pie pan, with its deep cranberry red exterior, so perfect for the cranberry pie.  The diameter of the pan is a little small, but I convinced myself that it was deep enough to contain the recipe.   I put the three cups of berries, the pecans and sugar into the pan and that is when my brain should have sent out some warning signals “Danger Will Robinson!  Pan is too small” but I was so enamored with the idea of the cranberry pie in that cranberry- red pie dish that I just kept going.  The batter came right to the top of the pan—in fact there wasn’t quite enough room for all of it.  Oh well.  I stuck the pie in the oven next to the apple pie that Al and Ellen made and went upstairs while the two desserts baked.

About 10 minutes later, Ellen called from the kitchen. “Mom!  Should I open a window to let out the smoke?” 

Smoke?  Egads!

I ran downstairs to discover my cranberry pie had overflowed and that delicious buttery, almondy topping was emitting a thick gray smoke as it turned to charcoal on the bottom of the oven.

 It was really quite impressive.

We turned on all the fans and they began clearing air in the room.  I was worried that the apple pie would acquire an unpleasant smokiness, so I moved it to our second oven (for which I was grateful!).  With no other options, I put a cookie sheet under the oozing calamity that was my cranberry pie and just let it finish cooking. 

Wolfgang Pauli, in dismissing some inferior scientific work, famously said, “This isn’t right.  This isn’t even wrong.”  Well, I can tell you my pie was not beautiful.  It wasn’t even ugly.  It was a train wreck.

But-- and here is the amazing part--it was still delicious. 

Nantucket Cranberry Pie- Second Try!

Everyone loved it and just like that a new tradition was born.  When the first cranberry pie ran out, I made a second in a bigger pan, with no further incident. Nantucket Cranberry Pie will not replace traditional apple and pumpkin, but will take its place alongside, and a decade from now it will be as deeply rooted in our family tradition as beignets on Christmas morning.  I will, however,  ALWAYS remember to use a larger pan.

So, Santa… if you are reading this, I’d like a 10” cranberry red glazed stoneware pie pan.  

On Thanksgiving, as everyday, I am thankful for so many things.   First and foremost, Al, Eric and Ellen.  Extended family, adopted family, close friends, new friends, old friends, and friends yet to come.  Good health, a warm safe home, rewarding work, furry pets (although maybe not the shedding), laughter.  The beauty of all creation.  Music, art, science,  literature, good food,  chocolate,  sunlight, moonlight.  Memories, this moment, the promise of tomorrow.    So many blessings.   Life is good.

 Indeed.

Saying Yes!

"It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out of your door.  … You step into the Road, and if you don't keep your feet, there is no knowing where you might be swept off to.”

So said Bilbo Baggins, a Hobbit of great experience to his young nephew, Frodo, on the consequences of leaving home. Bilbo would have been the last person,  uh… Hobbit, to discourage adventure.   While he loved his home in the Shire, he yearned to see more of Middle Earth.  Any of you who have read the Tolkien masterpiece, or seen  Peter Jackson’s brilliant film renditions,  know that Frodo does leave the Shire and could not possibly have know where he would be ‘swept off to.’  He was ‘swept off  to’ an adventure that he never could have prepared for, and while most of us are not given the responsibility of singlehandedly destroying evil like Frodo was, we can never know precisely what life has in store for us either.

Bilbo certainly got it right; the start of any new adventure is simultaneously full of opportunity and rife with uncertainty.   We simply can not know what lies ahead and perhaps that is why it is often so hard to take that first step.  This makes sense when we are pondering major life changes, but there seems to be tremendous inertia to changing all things, even very small things.  As a chemist, I tend to think of it in terms of activation barriers.  The basic idea is that to get the ball rolling, you need to give it a push.

Hang on a minute.  My laptop just beeped at me to tell me that the battery is low.  I need to plug it in.  I really should have done that when I sat down to write, but I was too lazy to open the outer zipper pocket on the computer case, and besides, the power cord is always tangled with the internet cable.  What a pain.  But now, I am about to lose my typing, so I’d better deal with it.

Ok.  I'm back. The computer is plugged in and I can keep writing. 

Now, what was I saying about activation barriers?  Oh yes, sometimes I need a push to do even small things, like… well...... like plugging in my laptop.  I tend to like pictures, so,

Even though it is more desirable to have unlimited work time, it initially required less of my energy to run off the battery.  That worked until the battery ran low. 

When the battery ran critically low, I had to devote a little energy to solving the problem.  I had to overcome the activation barrier. The turning point (or transition state) was reached when I untangled the power cord and the internet cable.  Over the hump,  plugged in the computer and can now work indefinitely, or at least until I finish this blog!

Some of you know, but many don’t, that a couple of years ago I lost some weight.  Quite a lot of weight actually.   It is no secret that weight control is a big concern in our society and lots of people have asked how I did it.   It was actually very simple.  NOT easy, but simple.  Eat less.  That was it.  The hard part was that first step, that scary uncertain first step of overcoming the activation barrier by putting in the energy necessary  to get over that hump.  (Trust me, the barriers to weight loss are HUGE!)   To paraphrase Jim Lovell in his autobiographical book, “Lost Moon” (made into the movie “Apollo 13”),   “It wasn’t a miracle.  I just decided to do it.” 

The first step was the doozy. 

It seems to me that the first step is always the doozy.  It is where the energy has to be supplied to overcome the activation barriers. The first step is to believe that something both can and should be done.  The first step is having faith that you can ‘keep your feet’ and stay on track.  The first step is saying yes.

To quote Stephen Colbert (the person, not the personality)*,

Cynics always say no. But saying "yes" begins things. Saying "yes" is how things grow. Saying "yes" leads to knowledge. "Yes" is for young people. So for as long as you have the strength to, say "yes."

Today I am grateful for the energy to say yes and overcome (at least some of the) activation barriers and begin new adventures, like this blog!

* Stephen Colbert in his commencement address at Knox College, June 2006.

Squandered light

Saturday, November 13

I am having a bad morning.  This is my last day in New Orleans and I have been promising myself all week that I’d get up early and do some sunrise photography along the Mississippi River.  This requires significant effort since I am not an early morning person by nature, but as a photographer, I wanted to photograph sunrise over the river and the city waking up (or since this is New Orleans, going to bed) in the early morning light.  Today, for the third consecutive day, I slept too late and squandered my last opportunity to capture the soft pink light of dawn.

Why?

 I stayed up way too late last night and was just too tired to get up that early this morning.  As you can imagine, Agnes and Agatha, my twin internal critics, had plenty to say.

A&A:  So, how did those early morning sunrise photos turn out?

Me:  Well, I didn’t exactly get up in time. 

A&A: :  Why not?  You have been promising every day that you have been here.  This was your last chance.  What were you doing? 

Me(evasively):  Sleeping.  I was very tired.

Beignets at Cafe Du Monde= LOVE!

A&A:    Well, maybe we’ll cut you some slack.   Were you out at a late night jazz club? After all, you ARE in New Orleans. 

Me: No, that wasn’t it.

A&A:   A late night hurricane at the hotel bar with some friends?

Me:  Uh, no not that either.

A&A:   Did you have a big Cajun dinner?  Sometimes rich food keeps you awake.

Me: No, that wasn’t the problem.

A&A(clearly exasperated):  Did you stay up late reading again?

Try the shrimp remoulade- YUM!

Me: No.  I didn’t have anything to read. I somehow forgot to bring any books or my Kindle on this trip.

A&A:   Writing?  Were you working on your story for your writing group? Or your Sunday blog?

Me:  No.

A&A:   What then?  Did you find a late night movie on TV?

Me (sighing):  No.

A&A:  What on earth were you doing?

Me:  Well, if you must know, I was doing Sodoku puzzles on my cell phone. 

A&A: : WHAT?  You missed a chance for sunrise photos because you frittered away time and energy doing Sodoku puzzles on your cell phone?

I nod.

A&A: : You moron!  

Me:  I did improve my times….

A&A (dripping with sarcasm):  Congratulations.

Yeah.  That is what is happening in my head this morning.   I downloaded the Sodoku application to kill time in the airports, but somehow I spent several hours playing last night.  Maybe you can understand my frustration.  I lost an opportunity that I will not have again for a very long time because I wore myself out playing mindless games on a cell phone.  Every time I started a new puzzle, I’d promise myself that it would be the last one.  But I kept playing, one puzzle after the other, determined to set new records for completion time.

Why? 

I have no idea.  I wasn’t even enjoying it, really.  It was like sitting down to watch an episode of “Design on a Dime” and staying for three consecutive episodes of “House Hunters.”    Suddenly the whole evening has passed and nothing got done.  Relaxation is one thing, catatonia is another.

This does not fill me with pride.  

Benjamin Franklin tried to organize his life around a “bold and arduous Project to achieve moral Perfection,” and developed a set of 13 ideal virtues.  He made a chart and evaluated his performance on each of the virtues each day.  He finally concluded that there was no way to achieve moral Perfection, but felt that he was "a better and a happier man than I otherwise should have been if I had not attempted it."  If you check out his list, you’ll see why he never quite measured up.  I have given some thought to a philosophy of living and while my plan is still in development (and significantly more modest than Ben's) I do know two essential elements

• I try to remember that it is not about me.
• I try to live a life that I will someday be proud of having lived.

I don’t remember who the commencement speaker was at Al’s college graduation, but I do remember a story that he told.  A man was trying to get some reading done and his young son was pestering him endlessly.  Finally, the man tore out a page of a magazine that featured a picture of the earth.  He tore it into many pieces and told his son to reassemble the picture, like a jigsaw puzzle.  The man thought that the task would take the child a long time, but the little boy finished very quickly.  The father, quite impressed, asked how he had done this so quickly.  The boy replied, “On the back of the page, there was a picture of a person.  I put the person together and the world turned out just fine.”  For a long time, that story really resonated with me.  But, now, I tend to think the exact opposite; if I focus on the world, the person will turn out fine.  In fact, I am at my best- happiest, most satisfied, most productive- when I am focused outside myself.  Said another way, I am not my most important project.

It was an academic conference that brought me to New Orleans.  One of the keynote speakers was the president of Tulane University, a fellow UCONN alum as it turns out.  He was inspirational in discussing the transformation of both his University and the city of New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina, which the locals simply refer to as “the storm.”   In the immediate aftermath, the future of Tulane and New Orleans were inextricably linked.  Tulane had the resources and the responsibility to assist in the recovery.  Initially, it was a matter of necessity, but civic engagement  took on a life of its own at the university and is now  the foundational value of the institution.  As a condition of graduation, ALL students must participate in public engagement every year of their college careers.  It has had enormous effects.  For example, Tulane now runs nearly 100 community health centers that service the large indigent population of this city.   As President Cowen said,  “No one will ever remember you for what you do for yourself.  You are only remembered for what you do for others.”

Exactly. 

In one of my blogs last summer, I lamented that the American cultural landscape is too homogeneous and cities and towns are eerily similar to each other.   That statement simply does not apply to New Orleans.  New Orleans is certainly not a place you could confuse with any other.  It is an assertive... no, aggressive city that assaults your senses all at once.  I found it simultaneously exhausting and exhilarating.  New Orleans is an ever changing kaleidoscope of bright lights, shiny beads, masks, nearly naked women, loud music, bars, jazz, voodoo, the delicious aromas of Cajun cooking  mixed with the reek of vomit and urine.


 Talk about sensory overload. 


 New Orleans is a little rough.  It is more than a little seedy.  But, it is unapologetically its own place.  It is what it is.  Take it or leave it.  I have to admire a city like that.

It strikes me as ironic that the message of service and selflessness emerged in this particular city.  On the one hand, “the storm” forced everyone to reexamine their values and priorities.  On the other hand, the Big Easy relies on self-indulgent tourists and deals in excess and debauchery.  I guess there is a time and a place for everything.

Except squandering an opportunity for sunrise photographs on the Mississippi.  I am still mad about that.

And just for Nancy- SHINY THINGS!

Today I am grateful for those leaders who genuinely lead for the common good.  I wish that there were more of them in our cultural and political arenas.

"15 in 15"

Last night, I attended an awards celebration.  In his acceptance speech, one of the recipients talked poignantly about a moment, a letter actually, that absolutely changed his life.  I started thinking about those moments that were pivotal in my life and at first the obvious milestones came to mind- marriage, birth of first child, birth of second child, and so on.  But there were other moments, perhaps quiet, unplanned moments when the earth shifted beneath me and I found myself moved to another place altogether.  Some of those moments occurred because of literature.

Last week, my friend Nancy, who seems to have a way of getting me started on things without even trying, sent me an invitation to participate in Facebook game called “15 Books in 15 Minutes.”   The idea is that in just 15 minutes, you post the titles of 15 books that had a big impact on you for whatever reason. Then you tag your friends and compare lists.  Unlike most Facebook games, this has been fun and very instructive; between Nancy’s list and those of some other friends,  I have my reading list for winter all worked out. 

Anyway, the first book I put on my “15 Book” list was “Stuart Little” by E.B. White.  I remember checking it out of the Wethersfield Public Library after school one day when I was seven or eight.  I brought it home and sat down at the kitchen table and started to read.  I was captivated by the adventures of the little mouse and his human parents and brother.  I simply could not put the book down and read it straight through without stopping.  I can’t say with any real certainty, but I think it was the first time that I was completely engrossed in the pages of a novel.   That book essentially changed me from a child who could read into a reader.    

As a kid, I devoured the “Little House” series,  all of the Beverly Cleary books, and others.  By  late elementary school and early junior high, I was reading a lot of mysteries- Nancy Drew, Hardy Boys, and was just getting started on the Perry Masons that my mother loved when my brother shoved a copy of Aldous Huxley’s “Brave New World” in front of me.   This was a whole different ball of wax and I loved it.  When I finished Huxley,  he gave me a copy of William Goldings  “Lord of the Flies.”  These were the first  ‘adult literature’ that I read and they redirected my reading for many years- moving me to George Orwell, Kurt Vonnegut and others for the duration of high school.  Neither Huxley nor Golding made my “15 Book List” but they probably should have.

My passion for reading was one of the things that I shared with my mother.   Normally, our tastes In books were quite different, but there was one book, Alex Haley’s “Roots”  that we both loved.  (It is also on my “15 Book List.”)  We read it before it was widely available to the public.  A close family friend worked for Doubleday Publishers and had an early copy at her home when we visited for a weekend.  I was in high school, and bored by the adult conversation,  I picked it up and started reading.  Like my experience with “Stuart Little, “ I was unable to put the book down and read  late into the night, long after everyone had gone to sleep.  The next day, our friend offered to give me the book.  That is my memory of the story.  My mother had a different version, claiming that Jean had given the book to her.  For years, my Mom and I cheerfully argued over the ownership of that book, stealing it from each other’s bookshelves whenever we got the chance.  Once when I was in college, I stole the book and in its place left a poster for a genealogy conference that advertised "Find your own ROOTS!"  But finally, I lived too far away to continue this game, and I gave up and bought my own copy.   When I went through her things after she passed away two years ago, I found the original, and for the record, stole it back one last time.   I will probably never read this book again; its place in my life is as a symbol of that particular connection between us.  What if I read it and didn’t even like it anymore?  Too risky!

In case you are interested (and not a Facebook user), here is my full “15 Book list”  as it was posted originally.  I need to edit it at some point.  I can’t believe I forgot Winnie the Pooh! 

In no particular order

1.  Stuart Little  (E.B. White)

2.  To Kill a Mockingbird (Harper Lee)

3.  Slaughterhouse Five (Kurt Vonnegut)

4.  Yosemite and the Range of Light (Ansel Adams)

5.  Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance (Robert Pirsig)

6.  Why Christian? (Douglas John Hall)

7.  The Wasteland (T.S. Eliot)

8.  Roots (Alex Haley)

9.  The God Particle (Leon Lederman)

10. To Infinity and Beyond (Eli Maor)

11. The Shipping News (E. Annie Proulx)

12.  Poems by Lanston Hughes (Langston Hughes)

13. Intepreter of Maladies (Jumpa Lahiri)

14. Beloved (Toni Morrison)

15.Cellist of Sarajevo (Stephen Galloway)

15a.  Flatland (E. A. Abbott)

15b.  Cat's Eye (Margaret Atwood) 

Today I am grateful that my mother nurtured my love for reading, while my father encouraged my interest in science.  And I am especially grateful that my life and work allows me the opportunity to do both!  

And yes, I do know that my "15 Books" list contains 17 titles.  The edited one has even more! 

Whoa Nellie!

Last week felt like a scene from a science fiction movie. A spaceship accelerates through space-time, the surroundings distort, and then as the ship approaches warp speed, there is a flash of light and the journey is over. The week began at a brisk pace, and I am pretty sure I hit warp speed last Thursday. It seems like the hours between Wednesday night and Saturday morning collapsed into a few seconds and were over before they even began. The historical record contradicts this; with my electronic calendar, I can actually see exactly what happened.

My brain on Friday.  Or maybe tangled fish line.

Busy does not begin to describe it. On Thursday and Friday, I ricocheted from one meeting to another, like a billiard ball banking on the cushions. I had eleven meetings one day, followed by a mere five on the next. How is that even possible? My other work got done in fits and starts and by Friday night, my brain felt absolutely frayed. Remember last summer when I wrote about 'our piece of the world' and the contrast between the serenity of my backyard in the summer and my 'sometimes overwhelming' professional life? This week exemplified the latter.

Still, all in all, it was a good week. In that time-warp period, I got some very important things accomplished at work. On the personal side, some very nice things happened. For instance, my nephew from California came to visit and we had a delightful time, including a fun cousin dinner in Ann Arbor. What a treat to discover that the kid I've always loved is now an adult that I would choose for a friend!

I was listening to the soundtrack to Rent this morning and heard the song, “La Vie Boheme” It opens with a comical operatic parody, but soon shifts to 'presto'- a very fast tempo, so fast that singing along is a challenge. The tempo effectively conveys excitement and agitation. Then, the two main characters, who have been engaged in a complicated relationship of attraction and avoidance, step outside. The music slows as they discover that they do indeed have a future together.  The song is now a ballad, slow and flowing, andante. Despite the frenzy of the presto, the real movement of the plot occurs in the lyrical, reflective section.

It seems that the helter skelter pace allows chaotic motion, but not concerted movement. If you happen to be a thermodynamicist, (I know you're out there!) you'll recognize this as the difference between heat and work.

Isn't it interesting that music and thermodynamics demonstrate the same reality? There is a lot of energy in chaotic motion but to get anywhere, you have to direct that energy into coherence. Presto must slow to andante, the musical term that means "a walking pace."  Walking seems to be just the right speed for thinking. Einstein did a lot of thinking while hiking in the Alps; Wordsworth did the same in the hills of Lake District in England.  Even I, a mere mortal, do my best thinking when I'm walking. 

Slowing down. Walking.

I am beginning to detect an emergent theme!

Last Sunday, Al and I spent the afternoon browsing our local Barnes and Noble. Strictly speaking, we really don't need any more books, but there we were. As is typical, Al found a very cool book for me called, “Reading like a Writer” by Francine Prose (seriously, that is her name). I don't know how Al finds these books. He seems to have a homing instinct that leads him directly to books that I either really like or will find very useful in some way. Usually, I have never heard of them and certainly had no idea that I wanted them. He is much better at picking out books for me than I am at picking out books for myself.

Anyway, Prose's book is intriguing. I am only a couple of chapters in, but she advocates careful reading-- the kind of reading where you actually pay attention to the words. I suspect that I am not alone when I say that most of the reading I do is not word oriented. Somehow I read in chunks- making (sometimes bad) judgements about what to skim, what to skip and what to read. If I am reading a novel, I am mining the text for plot; in the case of nonfiction, it is information I seek.

Writers strive to develop plots and characters or perhaps provide information, but that is not how they write. Think about it, writers have to choose exactly which words to use to construct their sentences and then how to combine those sentences in ways that captivate readers and convey clear meaning. Yet, more often than not, I am pretty much oblivious to that painstaking process and charge through the text like there is a race to be won. I look for the gist and secretly long for bullet points.

How sad for the writer.

Not surprsingly, Prose essentially says, "Whoa Nellie!" She is writing to an audience of people who want to improve their writing (like me) and suggests that if writers want to improve their writing, they could being by improving their reading. How? By slowing down and paying attention to the choices made by other writers. What a concept!

If you've been following my blog for a while, you know I really like to cook. It seems to me that the same principle applies. Chefs pay attention to every ingredient and every phase of the cooking process, while eaters usaully just want something tasty to quell their tummy rumbles. But it seems to me that if cooks want to improve their cooking, they could begin by improving their eating by paying attention to flavors and textures, presentation and balance.

Oh my.

There we go again. I think I have rediscovered what seems to be a fundamental theme in my life. Slowing down and paying attention turn the ordinary into the extra-ordinary.

How many times do I have to rediscover this before I find a way to live such a deliberate life? How does one find the still center in the spinning wheel?  How does one find the time to live slowly and richly in the midst of sixteen meetings in two days?

This is the challenge of my life, and I suspect that I am not unique in this regard. I have occasionally said that my basic modus operandi is to do what needs to be done when it needs to be done. That is how I managed the craziness of raising small children while working full time.  It is how I manage sixteen meetings in two days.

I think the trick is to realize that slowing down long enough to pay attention is one of those things that needs to be done and to recognize when it needs to be done.

I just wish I could remember that once in a while.

Today I am grateful to work at a University. I am so lucky to have the opportunity to learn from so many interesting, intelligent and generous colleagues.  

A mole of moles

Yesterday was Mole Day.  This is actually an official, well-known holiday.  It is celebrated across the country, mostly by young people between the ages of 14 and 24, but some adults observe this holiday too. 

You’ve never heard of it?

How odd.

You must not be a chemist, then.

Mole Plushie, $6.75 from the ACS!

National Mole Day occurs each year on October 23rd. The observance begins at 6:02 a.m. and ends at 6:02 p.m.    Most Mole Day parties occur in high school and college classrooms and while traditions vary, celebrations frequently involve lab coats, safety goggles and cute little stuffed animals. The celebration commemorates the basic unit of measurement for chemical compounds, the mole.  A mole is like a dozen only a lot bigger.  There are 12 eggs in a dozen eggs,  right?  Well, a mole is defined as the number of atoms in exactly twelve grams of carbon (To be very precise, it is the number of atoms in exactly twelve grams of the ¹²C isotope, but that is getting a little too technical, no?)  That, by the way, is a lot of atoms.  How many?  

602,000,000,000,000,000,000,000. Since we don’t like writing all those zeros, chemists use scientific notation and abbreviate it as 6.02 x 10²³.  Now do you get it?  At 6:02 on 10/23, we begin the Mole Day celebrations.

It was probably on Mole Day in 1973 that Mr. Perry, my high school chemistry teacher posed this question to my class:  “If a mole can dig a mole of holes, how many holes can a mole of moles dig?” 

And you thought IT guys were geeky!

Our orange cat, Buddy, has been celebrating Mole Day too.  He started a little early, delivering a plump little mole on Friday, October 22.  He never was very good with dates.  We didn’t get around to removing it from our back porch on Friday and on Saturday morning there were two more.   For a long time, we attributed the recent rodent murder rampages to 2-kee the Warrior Cat, but she has been sleeping inside with us lately, or more precisely, walking on our faces at all hours of the night, but that is another story.   It has been Buddy,  long associated with the qualities of sloth and gluttony, who has been bringing home the bacon, so to speak.

What is he thinking?  If cats think, which I seriously doubt, maybe it is something like this:

Oh boy!  A mole!

 I’m gonna catch it!

Concentrate...concentrate.   

 Sneak up behind.

Good. Close enough.  

 Crouch down.  Very still.

 Don’t move.

 Silent and still...

 Wait for it...

Wait for it...

POUNCE!

YES!  

Got it.   Who’s good?!  My people will be so proud.  I bet they’d like to eat this tasty morsel.   I’ll leave it by the back door and they’ll see it in the morning and they will love me best.

(next morning)

Hey!  What’s going on here!  They saw it but didn’t take it.  The female person seemed disgusted and the male person ignored it.  Must not have tasted good enough for them.  I’d better try again and see if I can find one that my people would like to eat.   Then they’ll love me best.

I’d like to tell Buddy that we are just not fans of mole meat.  Of course, we’ve never actually tried mole meat, but it seems that it would be sort of like eating Cornish game hens or quail- way too much work and not worth the effort.  Not to mention disgusting!

One morning last week there were eight mice on our porch!  Maybe Buddy enjoys rodent tasting the way people enjoy wine tasting.  I can  imagine him catching one and saying, “This mouse has a wonderful nose, light on the finish with a lingering acidity” or maybe, “This mouse has overtones of black cherry, chocolate and a pleasant oakiness. It must have aged in the woodpile.”    Just as a wine taster tastes but does not drink, he seems to taste but not eat.  He must be watching his weight.  Buddy does tend to get a little plump in the winter months.

I have lost track of the number of mice and moles that Buddy has given us in the last few months, but it must be 2-3 dozen by now.  I wonder how far he roams each night to find his quarry.  Maybe we should look in the woodpile and see if there is a mouse nest there.  We’ve tried to keep him in at night, but he meows and scratches at the back door until we give up and let him out.  For the good of the rodents,  I am eager for winter to come because he, a generally pampered and spoiled cat, hates being out in the cold. 

At least Buddy has not captured a mole of moles.  

And speaking of pampered and spoiled, today I am grateful for laptop computers.  As I write this, I am sitting in my favorite comfy chair next to a wonderful warm fire.  I can write the text, edit the text, add the images, and  post the entry while snuggling under my blanket, sipping tea, and warming my tootsies.  Now THAT is multitasking!