Love and buts

As a scientist, I understand uncertainty. It is no surprise to me that the CERN scientists, who are undoubtedly more excited than 10,000 teenagers at a Justin Bieber concert, are holding back and qualifying their announcement on the probable discovery of the Higgs Boson (popularly referred to as the God Particle).  After all, the history of science is rich with examples of stunning and sometimes embarrassing error.  The geocentric universe.  The plum pudding model of the atom.  Cold fusion. 


One needs to be cautious.


As a human being, I understand shades of gray.  Things are almost never black and white. As a university administrator, I have developed a maxim that for every problem, there are n+1 sides to the story, where n is the number of people involved.  Being able to see and understand multiple points of view is a valuable skill, in fact,  F. Scott Fitzgerald, once said "The test of a first rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposed ideas in the mind at the same time, and still retain the ability to function."

So I understand both uncertainty and ambiguity.  A healthy appreciation of both is crucial to learning and thinking.  If one is always sure and things are always clear, there is not much to think about, is there?  If one is always sure and things are always clear there is no incentive to probe deeper into the dark and tangled realms where real understanding lies.  

Yet, I think there are a few phrases that should never be qualified.  For instance, the phrase "I love you" should never be followed with the word "but."  Likewise, the phrase "I am sorry.  I was wrong"  should stand alone.  There are no "buts" in love or apology.  

Just my humble opinion.

Today I celebrate the feats of human intelligence and imagination.  Congratulations to the thousands of people who worked on the search for the Higgs.  I hope it stands up to further scrutiny.  

Out of focus

Some days I can't get started
Wondering which shoe to put on first
Or should I brush my teeth
Before or after I put on my shirt
So many big decisions
Boiled or scrambled, fried or even raw
I'm so damn open-minded
Used to think I'm lucky but I'm cursed

........ and it's all too much
                                     -Joe Jackson



It's the weekend, and the 2 days off stretch in front of me with infinite possibility.  Finally, I'll have the chance to straighten up my frame shop and get started on some photo-framing projects.  But first, I'll have to sort through the thousands of images to decide which ones I want to frame.  I'll have time to finish writing the stories about our summer travels for the Ancestor Project.  I'd better get up early tomorrow to weed the garden before the oppressive heat sets in. We're hoping for a bike ride sometime-- maybe tomorrow evening when it starts to cool down-- and it is time to make some homemade blueberry jam now that the local berries are in.  I'll take some time to read; inspired by my recent travels, I am reading A Short Introduction to Modern China and with my new knowledge of 20th century Chinese history, I'm re-reading Wild Swans and finding it so much more meaningful.  Actually, I would really like to finish Wizard: The Life and Times of Nikola Tesla first, since I started it before I left for my trip.  Now that I think of it, I started Nelson Mandela's autobiography even earlier and it is utterly fascinating.  Recently, I  saw an articleabout William Faulkner, and it made me want to read Absalom, Absalom, which despite my long-term appreciation for Faulkner, I have never actually read.  I have been promising myself that I will learn a few Mandarin Chinese characters each week, so maybe I'll see about getting started with that too.  Or maybe, instead of learning a whole new language, I should brush up on the German that I do know.  I have been wanting to learn piano, but then again, maybe I should dust off my bassoon or clarinet since I already have lots of experience with those instruments.  The larder is a little bare, so grocery shopping is a definite plan and oh, yeah, Al and I are thinking about buying a new cabinet to store fancy glassware, so we really should start looking to see what we can find.  ZigZag will need a couple of walks; it has been so hot lately that we haven't been out much, and I am sure she misses her evening constitutionals.  

I'm sure glad I get to relax a little before next week, because I have a lot of things to catch up on at work.  I have been gone a lot this summer and I am behind on a few major projects.

I think you get the picture.  Lots of choices.  All good.  You would think with so many great choices, I'd get lots of things done.  But the problem is that with so many things to choose from, some days I can't get started.  Then I don't do anything at all.  And that makes me grouchy and cranky.  Just ask Al.


Camera technology has come a long way since I started taking photography seriously.

Wow!  That was an abrupt transition.  But please bear with me.  There is a point.  
I promise.

Like I said, camera technology has come a long way since I started taking photography seriously.  For example, my first 35 mm film cameras were pretty primitive compared to what I use today. They did have built in light meters, but focusing was all manual.  To focus the camera, there was a little circular split screen in the middle of the viewfinder.  To focus the image, I had to place something in that spot that had sharp edges so I could align the two sides of the center circle.  It sounds complicated, but was pretty easy once you got used to it.  

Left side is out of focus, right side is in focus.  (images stolen from Wikipedia)

The key, however, was that I had to know what I was focusing on.  It is not possible, even with current technology, to focus accurately on all objects in an image simultaneously.  My current camera gives me about 40 different focusing options- full manual, and 39 different focal spots to select from.  But even with so many choices, I still have to identify the key element.   There are lots of choices, many of which could work, but if I don't choose something to focus on, the image will almost certainly be disappointing. 


Sort of like this weekend if I don't make some choices.  In many ways, it doesn't  matter what I decide to do.  I just need to pick something and get going.  I wonder what it will be. 


Any suggestions?

Today I am grateful that there are so many interesting options in my life.  Not cursed,  not at all.  Lucky.  Very.

Hola! 北 京 烤 鸭, s'il vous plaît

These days, neuropsychologists and neurobiologists can use fancy imaging procedures like fMRI or PET scanning to map and correlate brain activity to various cognitive functions.  So, I am sure my next observation would not stand up to the scrutiny of modern science, but intuitively I know this:

For a person whose primary language is English and who has only limited knowledge of other languages, words are stored in our brains in one of two ‘bins.’  First, there is the large “ENGLISH bin” which holds thousands of words, sorted efficiently as to part of speech, tense, case and so on.  

Then there is the much smaller “OTHER bin” where all other words are stored.  The words in the “OTHER bin” are not sorted at all- certainly not by part of speech, certainly not based on  tense or case.  In fact, I have concluded that they are not even sorted by language.   

They are all just tossed in that “OTHER bin” like the miscellaneous flotsam and jetsam that we hide in the junk drawer when company is coming.

The evidence for my hypothesis comes from my experiences abroad this summer in Spain, Morocco, China and Taiwan.  I think I know English pretty well, although regular readers of my blog may disagree.  Nonetheless, according to Wikipedia, a college educated person knows, on average, 17,000 word families, so I’ll assume I do too.  I studied German in high school and college and remember a fair amount, but I’d optimistically estimate my German vocabulary to be less than 1% of my English vocabulary- maybe a  hundred words at most.  In my next best language, French, I may know a whopping total of 20-30 words, excluding menu items.  In Spanish, I learned maybe 5-10 non-culinary words – certainly not enough to express a single thought or idea.  Considering Chinese (3-4 words) and Arabic (1 or 2 words) and you can see why I am grateful that people all over the world place a high value on studying the English language.  No matter where we were, we could usually find someone who could speak at least some English and could help us out.  In China, we had full-fledged translators, which was helpful, because otherwise I’d have never said more than 你 好' [nǐ hǎo] and 謝 謝  [xie xie].  Actually, “Hello” and “thank you” can take you surprisingly far in a foreign land, but are not exactly enough for deep conversation, or any conversation for that matter.

So, my English word bin contains 17,000 word families, and all together my “OTHER bin" may include at most a couple hundred words, tossed together randomly, a veritable smorgasbord of gibberish.  I have a strong conviction that when traveling it is polite to be able to at least say SOMETHING in the native language of the country I’m visiting, but when I’d reach into my “OTHER bin" for a word or a phrase that I had tried to learn, pretty much anything could come out.  It was like reaching blindfolded into the junk drawer for a screwdriver and getting a roll of scotch tape.  So, I repeatedly thanked Moroccans in Spanish, greeted Chinese people in German, ordered water in Spain using French, and looked for the toilette in languages that neither I nor my listener knew at all, indeed,sometimes in  languages that were fictitious hybrids of miscellaneous sounds and syllables cobbled together.

Ellen calls it linguistic confusion. 

I call it embarrassing.

I also call it “Summer 2012.”  I was secretly gratified to hear one of the people in my group in say “Gracias” to a Chinese waiter.  I guess I am not the only one suffering from a  linguistic identity crisis.

This is the menu for the best dinner ever.  I have no idea what it says, but it was all delicious!

Today I am grateful for the encouragement of friends and family who are reading this blog.  It helps keep me motivated and keeps me writing.  Thanks!

Destined for greatness

Oprah Winfrey is quoted as saying “I always knew I was destined for greatness.”  I can’t imagine what it feels like to know that you are destined for greatness.  I don’t know that I am destined for anything in particular. 

Unless you count black dogs who shed prodigiously and like stinky things. 

In honor of the 100^th birthday of our beloved family dog, Pippi, I blogged about her loyalty, her joyfulness, her penchant for human food, cupcakes in particular, and her unique talent for carrying on extended conversations with us, the content of which only she knew.  Sadly, at the time I wrote that, unbeknownst to us, Pippi was already fighting bone cancer.  It was very difficult and painful to watch our family dog, always so trusting and so full of energy, fail.  In mid-June of last year, with deep sadness and reluctance, we all agreed that it was time to put her to sleep and relieve her suffering.  

The loss of Pippi left a huge hole in the family.  We missed having her greet us each day, we missed her being underfoot.  We missed those sweet brown eyes and that wagging tail.  We missed the constancy of her presence and her devotion to the family.  We realized that there never could be, and in fact, there never will be another family dog in quite the same way.  The kids grew up with Pippi, and their childhoods had passed.    We really could not imagine adopting another dog to fill that hole.  The Pipster was a full-fledged member of the family, not a replaceable possession. 

Besides, we reasoned, we often work late.  We like to travel.  We like our freedom.  Dogs are a lot of work, especially puppies.  We didn't miss the clumps of dog hair in the carpet.  Our mature cats would probably not appreciate a new puppy.  Logic suggested we should leave well enough alone.

So, we tried to be dogless.  Al, who always considered himself a cat person was surprised by how much he missed the Pipster.  I, clearly the dog person, tried very hard to become a cat person, and be satisfied with our very sweet 12 year old cats.

We tried.  We really did. 

It just didn’t work.

Al and I were out in Oregon in August of last year and went hiking on the Zigzag Ridge near Mt. Hood.  We talked about this and that and as it often did in those days, the conversation found its way back to Pippi.  I cautiously brought up the possibility of a new puppy, not really sure how Al would feel.  As it turned out, he had been thinking the same thing and we decided that someday we would get another dog, not to replace Pippi exactly, but to help offset the deafening silence of our empty nest.  We also decided that her name would be ZigZag, in honor of those beautiful mountains where we made the decision to forego logic and adopt another puppy.

Another month or so passed and one Saturday we decided to ‘just look’ at the area animal shelters to see if they might have any cute puppies. 

Here is where destiny seems to be involved.

Here is the story of how we got Pippi:

One day, Eric, Ellen and I went to the Oak Ridge Animal Shelter to ‘just look’ at puppies. (Al was at work.)   In one cage there were two female black puppies, probably lab/husky mixes, both jet black with perky ears and energetic demeanors.  They were about 9 weeks old and just incredibly cute.  They were both so eager to be adopted we had a hard time choosing one, but finally picked the sweet girl who became our Pipster.

Here is the story of how we got ZigZag

One day, Al, Ellen and I went to the Midland Animal Shelter to ‘just look’ at puppies. (Eric was in Ann Arbor.)  In one cage there were two female black puppies, probably lab/husky mixes , both jet black with perky ears and energetic demeanors.  They were about 9 weeks old and just incredibly cute.  (When we first saw those black puppies last summer we walked away.  They were just too similar to Pippi- eerily similar actually. But they were just too cute.)   They were both so eager to be adopted we had a hard time choosing one, but finally picked out the sweet girl who became our Zigmeister. 

We later realized that Zig’s birthday must have been within a few days of when Pip died, but we prefer not to think about that.  Just as we arbitrarily assigned Pippi the birthday of Halloween, we chose the Summer Solstice for Zig’s birthday.

Puppy Pippi

Puppy ZigZag

Despite visual resemblance, ZigZag and Pippi are not clones. Pippi was a food thief and a glutton, while ZigZag is not especially interested in treats- doggie or human.  Pippi would chase balls for hours, but never really played with tug-of-war toys or Frisbees; Zig loves her pull toys and flying discs.  In fact just today we shelled out another $30 for allegedly 'indestructible' dog toys to replace last month's set of 'indestructible' dog toys, now chewed to shreds. Pippi did a lot of talking and barking.  Zig was almost silent for months and even now only yowls occasionally.

ZigZag does share some traits with her predecessor however.

She sheds.  Boy does she shed! We have light colored carpets in the bedroom and this time of year, when she gets up from a nap, she leaves a dog-shaped furry black spot on the rug.  Just like the Pipster.

She loves her walks.  Just like Pip, she is so happy to perambulate the neighborhood that she nearly prances.

She chases squirrels from the bird feeders, leaves the birds alone, and just like Pippi, she occasionally tears around the backyard in circles, chasing nothing and for no apparent reason aside from the sheer joy of running. And just like Pippi, she runs with jaw-dropping beauty and grace.

But most of all, she loves stinky things.  This week alone, she has had two stinky encounters with some skunky smelling creature.  And just like the Pipster, she hates baths.  

Oprah may be destined for greatness.  I seem to be destined to have black dogs who shed prodigiously and stink. 

Zig at 1 year.  Still a goober.

Pippi at 14.  So dignified.

And that in itself is great.

Today I am grateful to be home.   I traveled far and wide this year and while I loved it all, I am grateful for the beauty and ideals of our country.  Happy birthday America!

J'adore l'été

Summertime, and the living is easy...
Summertime and the living is good!


Here are a few reasons I love summer.  

• Bike riding.
• Despite being perpetually cold most of the year, even I don't need a jacket (except in movie theaters!).
• Lingering on the deck for a second cup of coffee before work.
• Fresh herbs from my backyard garden.
• Saginaw's Lawnchair Film festival, especially when accompanied by a Mudslide from the Redeye.
• Homemade fresh berry sorbet right out of the ice-cream freezer.
• Chilled sauvignon blanc in the sweet fresh air of a cool Michigan evening.
• Finding the neighbors outside and taking time to chat with them while walking the doggie.
• The dappled sunlight through my red maple tree right outside my study window.
• The summer plumage of the goldfinches and house finches that frequent my thistle feeder.
• Flowers EVERYWHERE.  
• Fireworks on Ojibway Island.
• Fresh corn,tomatoes, and other veggies from Hemmeter Market.

Tonight's dinner before it got turned into grilled veggie kabobs!

Ah yes, summertime. Very good indeed.

Today, I am grateful for the warmth and bounty of summer.  

Minty mint-tea

The fresh mint is growing well in my herb garden and I decided to make a cup of mint tea, like the kind we drank in Morocco earlier this summer.  It is made from black tea and fresh mint leaves, and it is always generously sweetened.  I’m sipping it now- minty, sweet, tea-ey goodness.  We were only in Morocco for 2 days, but the place, as well as the tea has made a lasting impression.  That tea was our first greeting in the Riad Princesse Jamila, a sort of bed and breakfast where we stayed in Marrakech.

Morocco was the first place we have visited as a family where signage does not use the Roman alphabet. Traveling through Europe we have always been able to find our way around because even if we don’t know the language well, there are enough related words that we can usually figure things out.   Clearly, Morocco, where the primary language is Arabic, would be a different story.

Al had made pre-paid arrangements with the Riad staff to meet us at the airport and take us to the hotel.  As we emerged from passport control at about midnight, we saw a guy holding a sign that said, “Riad Princesse Jamila” so we figured we were all set.  Our driver, who spoke no English and not much French, put our bags in his car and we set off for the hotel.  Of course, it was dark, and as we entered the old part of the city, we found ourselves in a labyrinth of dark narrow streets, shared by scooters, bicycles, pedestrians, and cars.  Lane lines were mere suggestions and traffic seemed to flow according to constant  non-verbal communication between drivers. Our driver calmly navigated the maze until he could go no further.  He stopped abruptly, took our bags out of the van and drove away.  We looked around and saw nothing that looked like a hotel, a bed and breakfast, or any type of lodging. What we did see was a parking lot, a few small stores still open, and numerous small groups of men playing games and talking.  

Suddenly, a young man said “Riad Princesse Jamila?” He beckoned for us to follow.  Al and I looked at each other, uneasy about following this unsolicited stranger through the dark and spooky streets.  However, we really had no choice. We would not find the Riad alone, that much was clear.  So, the four of us, each dragging a suitcase, followed him on foot as he led us deeper into the jumble of ever darker and ever narrower streets.  We had no idea where he was leading us; certainly the surroundings did not give us any reason to suspect we were getting nearer to our hotel.  Our imaginations began to stir with the knowledge that not everyone likes American tourists and that we were pretty vulnerable.  Still, we had to trust him- there was simply no other way that we could find our way through or back out of the confusing web of narrow dimly lit passages.

This is a daytime photo of the narrow passageways near our hotel.  You can imagine how much darker it was at midnight!

The stranger stopped walking at what initially appeared to be a dead end, but then he pointed to a rounded door to our left.  In the dim light offered by a small sconce, we could read the words  “Riad Princesse Jamila” over the doorway.

The Entry way to our Hotel in broad daylight.   

 He rang the bell and a young woman in traditional Moroccan dress answered the door.  “Welcome,” she said, “Come in.”  She led us to an atrium area and motioned for us to sit down.  “Would you like a cup of tea?”  Meanwhile another young woman appeared and with the help of our guide took our bags and disappeared. We assumed and hoped that they had brought our bags to our rooms.  A few minutes later, they  reappeared  and stood watching us as we awaited our tea.  Finally the woman said, “Would you like to pay him?” We gave our helpful stranger a nice tip, he smiled, nodded,  and left.  It was our first exercise in trust in a land that seemed both exotic and dangerous, but turned out to be warm and friendly, as well as very tip oriented!

Behind that little door lies a beautiful atrium, the site of several cups of mint tea!

Zara, the proprietress of the Riad, emerged from the kitchen with a silver tray with a silver tea pot and a four small tea glasses.  Using silver tongs, she placed a sugar cube in each glass and filled each with the hot and delicious mint tea that we have come to love.  Our first taste of Morocco!

Today I am grateful for safe travels, warm hospitality and delicious tea.  And yes, our bags were in our room, the candles were lit, and we settled in for a good nights rest.

The Ancestor Project

We landed in Beijing at about midnight local time and boarded a bus for the hotel.  By the time we were all checked into our rooms, it was probably 1:30 in the morning.  I had awakened in Michigan nearly 30 hours earlier and although I had managed to sleep a few hours on the plane, I expected to crash for a good rest at the hotel.  To my surprise, I woke up with the sun, bright and early.   I tried to get more rest, but there was no more rest to be had, so I got up and decided to go for a walk before breakfast. 

I had absolutely no idea where our Beijing hotel was in relation to anything else.  I had no map.  I can read no Chinese.  I knew I needed to be back at the hotel by 8:30 a.m. because my travel group would then board a bus bound for  the Great Wall and would not be returning to the hotel.  Ever.  Missing the bus seemed ill-advised; getting lost seemed likely.  But once outside, I realized that our hotel was on a main street and I figured that if I didn’t make any turns, I couldn’t go too far astray.  

Soon, I came upon this sign pointing towards Tian’anmen Square, only 3 km away.  That seemed like a good destination, so I watched for additional signs.  I never saw another but after what seemed like 3 km, I saw a walled area across the street, which I guessed might be the place.  I crossed the street turned down a side street.  Suddenly, I was in a different world. 

Modern Beijing

The very modern glass,brick, and steel buildings of the eight-lane main street gave way to small shops and green spaces. 

Side street

Canal  one block off the main highway. 

An area of small and modest residences was to my right.  

Residential area

I figured the square had to be to my left so I looked for an entrance.    I found a little gate and proceeded through.  I was stopped by a young man who simply said, “Ticket.”  He pointed to a makeshift kiosk so I went over and the woman there said “2 Yuan.”  That is about 35 or 40 cents, so I assumed that I misheard.  “2?” I asked?  “2” she said holding up 2 fingers.  So I paid the rather modest fee and went inside.

I was suddenly in a park that was so quiet that I could hear my footsteps as I walked.  The acoustics were very strange and echo-y.  I could hear the footsteps of the one other person in the garden, probably 100 yards away.  The silence was almost deafening.   I explored the garden and soon stepped over a high threshold in an opening in a red wall to find myself among yellow-roofed temples. I was excited because I knew that yellow was the imperial color, so I thought I must be in an important place.

The largest structure was marked “Hall for Worship of Ancestors.”   Completely by chance, I had stumbled into a public park called The Working People’s Cultural Palace that includes the Imperial Ancestral Temple and associated buildings.  The Ancestral Temple is thought to be one of the most sacred buildings in Beijing.  The whole area was part of the old imperial city and it turns out that I was very near the Forbidden City itself, and just a  little east of Tian’anmen Square. I couldn't have gotten into either the Forbidden City or Tain’anmen Square, but I had the Imperial Ancestral Temple almost to myself. 

Serendipity?

Oh my, yes!

Ancestors play a big part in Chinese culture, much larger than in our own.  In my absence from this blog,  I have been working on what I call “The Ancestor Project.”  The idea took form last fall after I came upon a quote by Jonas Salk, who said “Our greatest responsibility is to be great ancestors.”  I thought about how much of my ancestry is lost; we have some genealogies and the like, but the characters and the thoughts of our ancestors are gone.  I really wish I had listened more carefully to all the family stories that my parents told, but I didn’t and now those stories are lost to me.  I assume that our kids are not really listening to us either.  So, I am writing the family stories, documenting events and trips, collecting photos, making a family cookbook, and trying to capture our  thoughts, ideas, and opinions so that someday, when and if anyone wants to look back they will be able to reconstruct this family in this time and this place.  A few of the blog entries from 2010-2012 have even been incorporated in one way or another.

I don’t think it will make me a “great” ancestor, but it seems like the least I can do.

I have been absent from “ExtraOrdinary Ramblings” for a long time.  I never intended to stop writing; I guess life just got in the way.   “ExtraOrdinary Ramblings”  began with the “August Pledge” of 2010, when I challenged myself to write every day of that month.  This entry begins my similar “July Challenge” of 2012.  As always, I will end each entry with a brief statement of gratitude.  This is the most important part for me because it helps me to remember how blessed I am, especially in the midst of the swirling chaos that can be my life. 

Today I am grateful for fresh air and clean water.  My travels this summer reminded me that not everyone can take these fundamental things for granted.    

Oh.  About that early morning walk in Beijing.  I was so enamored with the buildings and gardens that I completely lost track of time.  I suddenly realized I was going to be late unless I seriously hurried.  So hurry I did, made no wrong turns, and arrived in time for breakfast as if I had everything under control.  As if.