We bought the townhouse, airplanes and flood planes and all.
Fooling around with the parameters of the policy, we were able to get flood protection for a much more reasonable premium. And with the lower premium, the flood insurance costs less than the extra property taxes alone on the more expensive, but less wonderful, houses that we might have considered instead. Not to mention that we're paying less for the house itself, and actually getting what we really want. =)
It feels good to have finally come to a decision. No more second-guessing, no more frantic information gathering, just the blissful knowledge that we have our very own home.
It feels good to have made a decision, and I feel good about the decision that we made. When you buy a house, it's about so much more than just a house, it's about the sort of life you want to live as a family. We've done a lot of thinking over the past six months about how to structure our life, I really think that this is the right house to help us live well.
Of course, we could live well in a smaller house, but we would have to work harder at it.
And we could live well in a bigger house... but we'd have to work harder at that, too.
This house is just right. Not just "good enough for now," but really-o, truly-o just right.
At least, for now it is. God willing, it looks as though we'll be running out of bedroom space in a few years. =) But it has a high-pitched roof, and good solid attic ready to be finished into a few more bedrooms. When we outgrow the house, the house can just grow right along with us--but we don't have to worry about that until the time comes.
It's a good feeling.
And in the mean time, baby is turning somersaults, and that's a good feeling, too. =)
3.14.2008
3.11.2008
I really didn't think this would be so hard.
Emily has tagged me with a most delightfully intriguing meme.
THE RULES:
Look up from the computer, look around the room where you're sitting and pick up the closest book. Open the book, turn to page 123, count down to the fifth sentence on that page, and then post the next three sentences.
And Emily made it quite clear that there was to be no cheating whatsoever-- it had to be the very nearest book.
Well, the nearest book is Richard Scarry's Chipmunk's ABC. It doesn't even have page numbers, but being an alphabet book devoting one page per letter, the page count can't be much above 26. The next closest book is Beethoven's Klavierstucke, but while the fifth measure on page 123 is quite lovely, I'm afraid I'm not entirely sure how to blog it.
The next book my eyes fell upon was the Rand McNally Houston Street Guide. Since the first page is map number 2236, I didn't think I'd find a page 123, but it turns out that there is really a page 123 in the index.
So here we go:
My. Now wasn't that enlightening.
Now, usually with something like this, I'm extremely contrary, and I try to find a way to twist and mangle the rules completely beyond their intention. But in this case, the rules and their original intent are so intriguing that I really want to play along. I need to find a book with an actual sentence on page 123.
Ah. The Estelle Liebling Vocal Course.
60 pgs.
I fear that I'm going to have to admit defeat and just walk over to the book shelf. But then, finally, I spot the Book of Common Prayer laying on the couch.
Ah. Much better. Real, live, sentences... and good ones, too. Even if it really is only 8:44 in the morning.
And now I'm tagging Sarah, and Ashley, and Christa, and Gwen, and Sharon.
I'm sure you'll all have much better luck.
And now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go mope in desolation at the thought that all my books with more than 122 pages are tucked away on the shelf gathering dust.
THE RULES:
Look up from the computer, look around the room where you're sitting and pick up the closest book. Open the book, turn to page 123, count down to the fifth sentence on that page, and then post the next three sentences.
And Emily made it quite clear that there was to be no cheating whatsoever-- it had to be the very nearest book.
Well, the nearest book is Richard Scarry's Chipmunk's ABC. It doesn't even have page numbers, but being an alphabet book devoting one page per letter, the page count can't be much above 26. The next closest book is Beethoven's Klavierstucke, but while the fifth measure on page 123 is quite lovely, I'm afraid I'm not entirely sure how to blog it.
The next book my eyes fell upon was the Rand McNally Houston Street Guide. Since the first page is map number 2236, I didn't think I'd find a page 123, but it turns out that there is really a page 123 in the index.
So here we go:
Snail Hollow Dr.
8300 HarC 7064 3542 AS
Snake Cr.
6000 FBnC 77479 4495 E7
6000 FBnC 77479 4496 A7
Snake Canyon Dr.
2900 HarC 77449 3815 E7
My. Now wasn't that enlightening.
Now, usually with something like this, I'm extremely contrary, and I try to find a way to twist and mangle the rules completely beyond their intention. But in this case, the rules and their original intent are so intriguing that I really want to play along. I need to find a book with an actual sentence on page 123.
Ah. The Estelle Liebling Vocal Course.
60 pgs.
I fear that I'm going to have to admit defeat and just walk over to the book shelf. But then, finally, I spot the Book of Common Prayer laying on the couch.
Be our light in the darkness, O Lord, and in your great mercy defend us from all perils and dangers of this night; for the love of your only Son, our Savior Jesus Christ. Amen.
O God, the life of all who live, the light of the faithful, the strength of those who labor, and the repose of the dead: We thank you for the blessings of the day that is past, and humbly ask for your protection through the coming night. Bring us in safety to the morning hours; through him who died and rose again for us, your Son our Savior Jesus Christ. Amen.
Ah. Much better. Real, live, sentences... and good ones, too. Even if it really is only 8:44 in the morning.
And now I'm tagging Sarah, and Ashley, and Christa, and Gwen, and Sharon.
I'm sure you'll all have much better luck.
And now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go mope in desolation at the thought that all my books with more than 122 pages are tucked away on the shelf gathering dust.
3.09.2008
Crash Landing
When we first fell in love with the neighborhood, with its gracefully arching trees and smiling children, we wondered if the planes might cause some problems. Its close proximity to the airport would be wonderfully convenient for travel, and the wuggies love seeing planes, but would it be too noisy inside?
But that turned out to be more a perk than a problem, since the airport had recently soundproofed all the houses in the immediate vicinity of their newest runway. The high quality windows and doors leave the townhouses undisturbed by noise of planes, traffic, or neighbors, and energy-efficient too. A block or two further away, and the noise of the planes might have driven us mad, but here it was no problem.
Everything was just perfect. The neighborhood was simultaneously tranquil and full of life, and it was in just the right spot, halfway between Andy's job and the cultural and educational opportunities of downtown Houston.
And the unit itself was spacious, and full of wonderful nooks and crannies. It was just the right size for us right now, and with a large, well-supported attic, it offered the potential to expand with our growing family.
Everything was looking wonderful.
But then the insurance agent called us back with those numbers.
To hear Isaiah explain it, a broken-down plane crashed on top of the townhouse, which is very dangerous, not least because it brings up the possibility that other planes might land on our car as we drive down the freeway.
Actually, it was a flood plane, not an airplane, and the house is on the plane, not the other way around. But I guess you really could say that the flood plane made a crash landing onto that house.
Up until this summer, there was no problem getting flood insurance in the neighborhood. But ever since Katrina demonstrated the inadequacies of our flood risk assessments, FEMA has been slowly making its way through the nation, updating the flood maps.
And according to the new maps, our dream house is now located in a flood plane, and the insurance is astronomically expensive.
Insurance, taxes, HOA fees, and basic maintanance--the carrying costs that you never, ever stop carrying--would come up just $100 shy of typical rent in the area.
We love the place so much... but the numbers just don't add up to good stewardship.
It might still work if we can protect ourselves financially while insuring it for its appraised value only, rather than for the full cost of rebuilding. (Rebuilding a destroyed townhouse is much, much more expensive than walking away and buying a new home.) We're meeting with a real estate attorney tomorrow to discuss the extend our HOA obligations in the event of a catastrophic flood--but mostly because we want to understand the dynamics of townhouse ownership better as we look for other properties, not because we have any real hope that this particular home will turn out to be a sensible investment.
Meanwhile, on Saturday, we looked at a pretty much identical townhouse in a different area for comparison purposes, to see how much the flood zones impacted how far your money would go. Same floor plan, same general price range, good condition, comparable community amenities, and in a quite respectable part of town.
But we both came away with the impression that we would absolutely hate living in that neighborhood. Oh, there was nothing objectionable about it. Everything was clean and well-maintained... and utterly soul-less. It's hard to put your finger on it, but there it is, and it matters. Every time we drove into that wonderful little neighborhood in the flood zone, I couldn't help but smile. It's a happy place.
This other neighborhood isn't. Not in particular, anyway. It's not that it's a sad place, or an angry place, or even an apathetic place, more that it isn't any place at all.
So we'll keep looking.
But that turned out to be more a perk than a problem, since the airport had recently soundproofed all the houses in the immediate vicinity of their newest runway. The high quality windows and doors leave the townhouses undisturbed by noise of planes, traffic, or neighbors, and energy-efficient too. A block or two further away, and the noise of the planes might have driven us mad, but here it was no problem.
Everything was just perfect. The neighborhood was simultaneously tranquil and full of life, and it was in just the right spot, halfway between Andy's job and the cultural and educational opportunities of downtown Houston.
And the unit itself was spacious, and full of wonderful nooks and crannies. It was just the right size for us right now, and with a large, well-supported attic, it offered the potential to expand with our growing family.
Everything was looking wonderful.
But then the insurance agent called us back with those numbers.
To hear Isaiah explain it, a broken-down plane crashed on top of the townhouse, which is very dangerous, not least because it brings up the possibility that other planes might land on our car as we drive down the freeway.
Actually, it was a flood plane, not an airplane, and the house is on the plane, not the other way around. But I guess you really could say that the flood plane made a crash landing onto that house.
Up until this summer, there was no problem getting flood insurance in the neighborhood. But ever since Katrina demonstrated the inadequacies of our flood risk assessments, FEMA has been slowly making its way through the nation, updating the flood maps.
And according to the new maps, our dream house is now located in a flood plane, and the insurance is astronomically expensive.
Insurance, taxes, HOA fees, and basic maintanance--the carrying costs that you never, ever stop carrying--would come up just $100 shy of typical rent in the area.
We love the place so much... but the numbers just don't add up to good stewardship.
It might still work if we can protect ourselves financially while insuring it for its appraised value only, rather than for the full cost of rebuilding. (Rebuilding a destroyed townhouse is much, much more expensive than walking away and buying a new home.) We're meeting with a real estate attorney tomorrow to discuss the extend our HOA obligations in the event of a catastrophic flood--but mostly because we want to understand the dynamics of townhouse ownership better as we look for other properties, not because we have any real hope that this particular home will turn out to be a sensible investment.
Meanwhile, on Saturday, we looked at a pretty much identical townhouse in a different area for comparison purposes, to see how much the flood zones impacted how far your money would go. Same floor plan, same general price range, good condition, comparable community amenities, and in a quite respectable part of town.
But we both came away with the impression that we would absolutely hate living in that neighborhood. Oh, there was nothing objectionable about it. Everything was clean and well-maintained... and utterly soul-less. It's hard to put your finger on it, but there it is, and it matters. Every time we drove into that wonderful little neighborhood in the flood zone, I couldn't help but smile. It's a happy place.
This other neighborhood isn't. Not in particular, anyway. It's not that it's a sad place, or an angry place, or even an apathetic place, more that it isn't any place at all.
So we'll keep looking.
2.28.2008
A $270 mistake for the better.
I called the survey company this morning. They hadn't cancelled my order for the elevation certificate after all. Which would actually have been a rather disturbing error, since they assured me that it was cancelled, and the charges to my credit card reversed...
but as it is, that little mistake just means that the results won't be delayed by a day after all.
Whew.
but as it is, that little mistake just means that the results won't be delayed by a day after all.
Whew.
Tuck me in.
"Owie. Owie. Owie."
Concerned, I pad out to see what could be troubling Isaiah so at 3:30 in the morning, but he doesn't appear to be in agony.
Instead, I find him sprawled on his belly in the doorway of his bedroom, chin resting on his hands, feet kicking in the air. The classic image of mid-afternoon boredom, not night-time distress.
"Tuck me in."
I look for his blanket, tossed off rather forcefully to all appearances, while Isaiah makes his way over to his bed.
"I need a book."
I hand him The Three Little Pigs.
"No, not that one. I need Mike Mulligan."
He holds the big red book up high while I arrange his blankets around him.
Instantly, he curls up, arms around his book, and is asleep before I am done kissing him.
Concerned, I pad out to see what could be troubling Isaiah so at 3:30 in the morning, but he doesn't appear to be in agony.
Instead, I find him sprawled on his belly in the doorway of his bedroom, chin resting on his hands, feet kicking in the air. The classic image of mid-afternoon boredom, not night-time distress.
"Tuck me in."
I look for his blanket, tossed off rather forcefully to all appearances, while Isaiah makes his way over to his bed.
"I need a book."
I hand him The Three Little Pigs.
"No, not that one. I need Mike Mulligan."
He holds the big red book up high while I arrange his blankets around him.
Instantly, he curls up, arms around his book, and is asleep before I am done kissing him.
2.27.2008
5:07 PM
5:07.
That is when I got the email from the property manager, saying that they didn't have the elevation certificates after all.
5:07.
Which wouldn't be nearly so bad, except that I'd just cancelled my order with the survey company.
And they are closed now.
5:07.
That is when I got the email from the property manager, saying that they didn't have the elevation certificates after all.
5:07.
Which wouldn't be nearly so bad, except that I'd just cancelled my order with the survey company.
And they are closed now.
5:07.
One must never underestimate the importance of being bored.
Ah, the sweet sound of happy children.
I'd been feeling guilty for being such a homebody, not taking my children out of the house enough. But this week, that hasn't been a problem.
We've been running around non-stop, and it was all stuff they enjoy, too. I mean, going to the bank may be a boring errand for me, but the local WaMu branch has a terrific play area, so that's actually a special treat for the wuggies. And real estate contracts may be dull, but the Re/Max office is a new place they've never been before. And it was all interspersed with fun stuff particularly for the kids, like the McDonalds play place and the zoo.
But slowly, over the course of the week, well... let's just say that strangers have stopped remarking over the good behavior of my children.
This morning was rocky, and this latest bit of misbehavior resulted in a safety hazard which I'm not quite sure how to resolve in the short term. So into their bedroom they went, and there they will stay until lunch, and our afternoon of errands. And oh, there's quite an afternoon of errands ahead. Without the luxury of time, I'm running around collecting documents, rather than waiting for people to send them to me at their leisure. So we'll be taking a grand tour of the greater Houston area this afternoon.
Anyway the kids are in their bedroom, and happier than they've been in several days.
I wish I could just stay home and read to the kids and catch up on chores today.
But I think it's going to be okay, because the wuggies have had their dose of boredom, and that makes all the difference.
I'd been feeling guilty for being such a homebody, not taking my children out of the house enough. But this week, that hasn't been a problem.
We've been running around non-stop, and it was all stuff they enjoy, too. I mean, going to the bank may be a boring errand for me, but the local WaMu branch has a terrific play area, so that's actually a special treat for the wuggies. And real estate contracts may be dull, but the Re/Max office is a new place they've never been before. And it was all interspersed with fun stuff particularly for the kids, like the McDonalds play place and the zoo.
But slowly, over the course of the week, well... let's just say that strangers have stopped remarking over the good behavior of my children.
This morning was rocky, and this latest bit of misbehavior resulted in a safety hazard which I'm not quite sure how to resolve in the short term. So into their bedroom they went, and there they will stay until lunch, and our afternoon of errands. And oh, there's quite an afternoon of errands ahead. Without the luxury of time, I'm running around collecting documents, rather than waiting for people to send them to me at their leisure. So we'll be taking a grand tour of the greater Houston area this afternoon.
Anyway the kids are in their bedroom, and happier than they've been in several days.
I wish I could just stay home and read to the kids and catch up on chores today.
But I think it's going to be okay, because the wuggies have had their dose of boredom, and that makes all the difference.
Works for Me Wednesday: Pretty Nails
A few months ago, a vendor at the mall did a little demonstration, buffing one of my nails to a glorious sheen. Seriously, it was amazing. It looked like I was wearing clear nail polish, except very, very nice clear nail polish, only better. It brought a natural rosy glow to my nail, too, and the vendor said that all the extra blood circulation would promote nail growth. I'm not sure about that, but it sounds plausible.So I was definitely sold on the idea of nail buffing. Unfortunately for the vendor, I was not sold on the idea of paying $50 for a nail buffer. Not even if it came with fancy Dead Sea skin care products. And no, not even if they knocked the price down to $25.
I had absolutely no idea whether it was any better than the cheap buffers at the drug store.
Well, now that I've tried a few of the drug store variety, I can tell you that if you're wanting to invest in your nails, if the mall vendor will give you one for $25, it's definitely not a rip-off. Their nail buffer really is considerably nicer than the ones you can get at the drugstore, in addition to being nicer than a salon manicure.
But as for me? I'm using the two-sided Sally Hansen nail buffer that I picked up at Family Dollar for a buck.
The shine doesn't last as long as the shine on my mall nail did, but then again, the process with the Sally Hansen buffer is much, much quicker, so it really sort of evens out.
And whatever buffer you use (as long as you don't use one of the four-sided ones with built in emery boards to scratch your nails as you try to buff) the results are splendidly mom-friendly.
No chipping polish, no noxious chemicals, nothing for the kids to knock over and destroy the carpet with... just pretty nails.
Works for Me.
2.24.2008
Ten Days
An agreement has been reached, our offer accepted. The contract has been signed by all parties.
Now we have 10 days to figure out if we really want to go through with this.
10 days to track down the condo association and make sure they're fiscally responsible. They certainly appear to be doing an amazing job of maintaining a tidy row of townhouses and a lovely pool for quite a reasonable monthly fee. On the other hand, I'm having a horrific time tracking down anyone who can provide me with documentation.
10 days to get the house inspected, make sure there are no red flags there.
10 days to talk with the someone from the sheriff's office, make sure that the neighborhood really is as safe as all the nice neighbors say it is.
10 days, for that matter, to decide whether or not we're really confident that out of all the neighborhoods in the greater Houston area, this is the one we want to commit to.
I think it is, though--provided we get the right set of answers over the next 10 days.
It's going to be a busy week...
Now we have 10 days to figure out if we really want to go through with this.
10 days to track down the condo association and make sure they're fiscally responsible. They certainly appear to be doing an amazing job of maintaining a tidy row of townhouses and a lovely pool for quite a reasonable monthly fee. On the other hand, I'm having a horrific time tracking down anyone who can provide me with documentation.
10 days to get the house inspected, make sure there are no red flags there.
10 days to talk with the someone from the sheriff's office, make sure that the neighborhood really is as safe as all the nice neighbors say it is.
10 days, for that matter, to decide whether or not we're really confident that out of all the neighborhoods in the greater Houston area, this is the one we want to commit to.
I think it is, though--provided we get the right set of answers over the next 10 days.
It's going to be a busy week...
2.20.2008
In the dead of night, she cries for the morning sky.
We leave on the light, but that is a pale substitute for the sun.
She screams and she cries and pounds the walls, but to no avail. Her struggles and her strivings can never speed the morning.
Oh, my child, the morning will come soon enough. But it will be as darkness to you unless you learn to rest in the night.
We leave on the light, but that is a pale substitute for the sun.
She screams and she cries and pounds the walls, but to no avail. Her struggles and her strivings can never speed the morning.
Oh, my child, the morning will come soon enough. But it will be as darkness to you unless you learn to rest in the night.
2.14.2008
Souffle
I probably would have been much to intimidated to attempt a souffle, except for a recipe that I found in a baby food cookbook, of all places. Souffles were not exactly what came to mind when I thought of easy, toddler-friendly meals, but that's what the book said. I tried it, and sure enough, it's become a favorite in our house.
The recipe was a pretty standard cheese souffle--make a white sauce, add cheese, add egg yolks, thicken, fold together with beaten egg whites. However, the mom-friendly version calls for baking it in an ungreased dish. It makes things a bit messy when you're serving it up, but it rises just fine, and you don't have to deal with the hassle of coating the dish, which I've never succeeded in doing properly, anyway. One little missed spot, and the souffle doesn't rise.
Anyway, tonight I tried out a different recipe. It calls for using hot milk in the white sauce. I'd always heard that was a big no-no, but it worked like a dream. Silky smooth without the faintest trace of a lump. But it was very, very thick. So thick I don't think you could honestly call it a sauce. So instead of thickening it with the egg yolks, this recipe said to allow the "sauce" to cool before adding the yolks. So since they didn't get cooked at this stage, the yolks actually thinned the mixture, rather than thickening it, and the resulting texture was approximately the same as with a more standard recipe.
Thus the mixture is much sturdier as it cooks, and you can actually bake it in a normally greased dish.
It was a gorgeous souffle, slow to deflate, easily slice-able, and silky-textured.
Best of all, it was all very straightforward and simple to make, with little room for disaster.
And that's always a good thing.
=)
The recipe was a pretty standard cheese souffle--make a white sauce, add cheese, add egg yolks, thicken, fold together with beaten egg whites. However, the mom-friendly version calls for baking it in an ungreased dish. It makes things a bit messy when you're serving it up, but it rises just fine, and you don't have to deal with the hassle of coating the dish, which I've never succeeded in doing properly, anyway. One little missed spot, and the souffle doesn't rise.
Anyway, tonight I tried out a different recipe. It calls for using hot milk in the white sauce. I'd always heard that was a big no-no, but it worked like a dream. Silky smooth without the faintest trace of a lump. But it was very, very thick. So thick I don't think you could honestly call it a sauce. So instead of thickening it with the egg yolks, this recipe said to allow the "sauce" to cool before adding the yolks. So since they didn't get cooked at this stage, the yolks actually thinned the mixture, rather than thickening it, and the resulting texture was approximately the same as with a more standard recipe.
Thus the mixture is much sturdier as it cooks, and you can actually bake it in a normally greased dish.
It was a gorgeous souffle, slow to deflate, easily slice-able, and silky-textured.
Best of all, it was all very straightforward and simple to make, with little room for disaster.
And that's always a good thing.
=)
2.11.2008
Most eloquent political post of the year
http://beingsarahmarie.blogspot.com/2008/02/dear-huck-love-sarah.html
Go read it. Even if you hate politics.
=)
Go read it. Even if you hate politics.
=)
2.10.2008
Good Weekend
Andrew's school held a classical education conference this weekend, and a couple of students volunteered to watch the kids, so I got to go on Saturday.
It felt so very, very good to spend the day with grown-ups.
Andrew gave his talk on the relationship between pure and applied mathematics, which went quite well.
There was much singing of hymns and folk songs, and it was astonishingly tuneful. Thinking and singing both! Ah, such food for the soul!
The main speaker, Dr. Markos, is a Lewis scholar, and had lots of good stuff to say about the role of literature, and the Tao, the Chronicles of Narnia, the myth of the Enlightenment, etc. etc. etc. We stayed afterwards for a long time talking with him, and in addition to being quite brilliant, he's a splendidly nice fellow. He teaches at HBU, which is only the other side of Houston, so I have high hopes that we'll be able to hear him again sometime.
Over the course of our conversation, Dr. Markos happened to mention Cici's as a great place to feed a family on the cheap, and so when we got home, we loaded the kids up and took them out for pizza.
The food was exactly what you'd expect from a $5 all-you-can-eat buffet, but the manager was extremely friendly and personable, and did everything he could to make us feel welcome.
It's a strange thing, but having a really friendly pizza place makes life so much sweeter. Moreso than you'd think. It's one of those little things that turns out to be a big thing, even if the food isn't all that great.
Yup. It's been a good weekend.
It felt so very, very good to spend the day with grown-ups.
Andrew gave his talk on the relationship between pure and applied mathematics, which went quite well.
There was much singing of hymns and folk songs, and it was astonishingly tuneful. Thinking and singing both! Ah, such food for the soul!
The main speaker, Dr. Markos, is a Lewis scholar, and had lots of good stuff to say about the role of literature, and the Tao, the Chronicles of Narnia, the myth of the Enlightenment, etc. etc. etc. We stayed afterwards for a long time talking with him, and in addition to being quite brilliant, he's a splendidly nice fellow. He teaches at HBU, which is only the other side of Houston, so I have high hopes that we'll be able to hear him again sometime.
Over the course of our conversation, Dr. Markos happened to mention Cici's as a great place to feed a family on the cheap, and so when we got home, we loaded the kids up and took them out for pizza.
The food was exactly what you'd expect from a $5 all-you-can-eat buffet, but the manager was extremely friendly and personable, and did everything he could to make us feel welcome.
It's a strange thing, but having a really friendly pizza place makes life so much sweeter. Moreso than you'd think. It's one of those little things that turns out to be a big thing, even if the food isn't all that great.
Yup. It's been a good weekend.
1.30.2008
Don't get to close to your computer screens...
In fact, maybe you shouldn't be reading this at all.
You do NOT want to get whatever it is that we have.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going curl back up into a ball and moan some more.
You do NOT want to get whatever it is that we have.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going curl back up into a ball and moan some more.
1.28.2008
Mr. Rogers For President,. Part VII: The Emperor has No Gold
It was so weird. While all the other candidates spouted out the answers that Republicans wanted to hear, Ron Paul was talking sense--at least on that one issue. More than that, he was the only one who was concerned not only with how he wanted the world to be, but with being scrupulously lawful in the way we go about making the world a better place. His words displayed a quality so strikingly unexpected in a politician... integrity.
So I thought it was worth listening what he had to say about economics.
Now I have to start out by saying that I disagree with Dr. Paul about the gold standard. The constitution does not say that only gold or silver can be legal tender, it merely says that individual states are not allowed to issue any other type of money. Since no such restrictions were placed on Congressional authority to regulate currency, it seems pretty clear to me that Congress is allowed to issue fiat money. It also seems clear to me that it's a good idea for them to do so. Mild inflation is fairly innocuous, and it prevents the economic disasters that come from even the tiniest bit of deflation, so I think a little bit of inflation is a wonderfully reasonable way for the federal government to fund itself.
Problem is, that's not what's happening.
I'd always wondered how we could possibly have such a huge national debt when the government could just print out money out of nothing.
It turns out there's a very simple answer.
The government doesn't print out money.
Congress has transfered its Constitutional powers over money supply to a privately owned bank, the Federal Reserve.
The government then borrows funds from the Fed... at interest. The income tax is barely sufficient to pay the yearly interest on the national debt, let alone any expenditures, and viola, the whole nation is laboring under a negative-amortization loan.
This is silly.
Moreover, it's unethical.
I think that inflation is a perfectly legitimate way to fund the federal government. It is not a legitimate way to fund private stockholders. The Bible has an awful lot to say about what God thinks of nations that allow the rich to steal from the poor, and it isn't pretty.
This system is also just about the most dangerous national security threat that I can think of.
When our money supply--and thus our ability to arm and support our military--is completely at the mercy of unsupervised private financial interests, this is an enormously frightening situation.
But in any case, the current system is stupid and immoral...
And nobody else is talking about it.
So I thought it was worth listening what he had to say about economics.
Now I have to start out by saying that I disagree with Dr. Paul about the gold standard. The constitution does not say that only gold or silver can be legal tender, it merely says that individual states are not allowed to issue any other type of money. Since no such restrictions were placed on Congressional authority to regulate currency, it seems pretty clear to me that Congress is allowed to issue fiat money. It also seems clear to me that it's a good idea for them to do so. Mild inflation is fairly innocuous, and it prevents the economic disasters that come from even the tiniest bit of deflation, so I think a little bit of inflation is a wonderfully reasonable way for the federal government to fund itself.
Problem is, that's not what's happening.
I'd always wondered how we could possibly have such a huge national debt when the government could just print out money out of nothing.
It turns out there's a very simple answer.
The government doesn't print out money.
Congress has transfered its Constitutional powers over money supply to a privately owned bank, the Federal Reserve.
The government then borrows funds from the Fed... at interest. The income tax is barely sufficient to pay the yearly interest on the national debt, let alone any expenditures, and viola, the whole nation is laboring under a negative-amortization loan.
This is silly.
Moreover, it's unethical.
I think that inflation is a perfectly legitimate way to fund the federal government. It is not a legitimate way to fund private stockholders. The Bible has an awful lot to say about what God thinks of nations that allow the rich to steal from the poor, and it isn't pretty.
This system is also just about the most dangerous national security threat that I can think of.
When our money supply--and thus our ability to arm and support our military--is completely at the mercy of unsupervised private financial interests, this is an enormously frightening situation.
But in any case, the current system is stupid and immoral...
And nobody else is talking about it.
1.25.2008
Mr. Rogers for President. Part VI: Authority
So I was pretty much convinced that the medical marijuana debate was much more than just a smokescreen, that there really were lives at stake.
Is it really conscionable to sacrifice these human beings at the altar of "sending the right message?"
Particularly considering that we don't have any problem at all allowing doctors to prescribe morphine and cocaine. It's not legal to take the drugs as a hobby, but after surgery, they give you the stuff so that you can get high instead of being in pain. Usually, I get by with ibuprophen--I think the only time when I actually took the powerful meds was after hemorrhaging when I gave birth to the twins. I'll take an awful lot of pain before I choose to ingest something that will mess with my head.
But whereas getting high is a legitimate method of pain relief for wisdom tooth patients, doctors cannot prescribe non-psychoactive doses of marijuana to prevent AIDS and cancer patients from dying of malnutrition?
There is something very wrong about this picture.
Still, I was pretty sure that states like California were out of line in passing laws that defied the authority of the federal government.
But then I listened to what Ron Paul had to say about it. And Ron Paul said that as a physician he does believe that marijuana can be medically useful in certain situations... but that it's really rather beside the point. The Constitution is very clear that such matters should be left up to the states. California should be able to allow it, Utah and Texas should be able to prohibit it, and as long as nothing crosses a state border, it just isn't any of the federal government's business at all.
I did a double take. That's definitely not the way things work in this country.
So I pulled my copy of the Constitution down from the shelf. I spent a good bit of time poring over it, searching for something that would give the federal government authority over drug laws, but it just wasn't there. The federal government has authority over currency, interstate and international commerce, military forces, post offices and roads, patents and copyrights. But the Constitution doesn't say a single thing about drug law, and the 10th amendment makes it clear that the federal government is not allowed to do anything not mentioned in the Constitution.
And then I looked at the Supreme Court majority and dissenting opinions in the 2001 case in which they decided, 6 to 3, that federal law trumped state law when it came to drugs.
O'Connor, Renquist, and Thomas dissented, saying that since backyard cannabis cultivation for personal medicinal use was neither interstate nor commercial, it could not possibly fall under the interstate commerce clause. He also gave an inspiring and eloquent argument for the importance of the federalist system, where the states serve as laboratories of justice. It's a good read.
But the majority opinion, written by Justice Stevens, states that the authority to regulate interstate commerce extends to purely non-commercial activities which have an impact on interstate markets. Stevens cited a case in which the Court decided that the federal government had the authority to regulate wheat grown for personal consumption. Apparently "regulating commerce between the several states" means that you can place controls on production in order to manipulate prices. So the government wanted to raise the price of wheat, and imposed production caps on the farmers. One farmer, concerned about the shortages that would likely arise, planted some extra for his own family's consumption, in addition to the crops for sale. The Supreme Court ruled that the federal government did indeed have jurisdiction over the non-commercial wheat crops, because they would have an impact (however trivial) on the interstate wheat market.
In other words, the authority to regulate interstate commerce brings with it the power to regulate any activities which might enable you to refrain from participation in interstate commerce.
And it is through this precedent that the Court ruled that federal drug laws trump state drug laws. Since there is a large and lucrative interstate marijuana market, and marijuana cultivation for private use would have an impact on that market, the commerce clause applies in this situation.
In other words, the Suprem Court decided that patients cannot be allowed to grow marijuana because that could impinge on profits in the illegal drug trade.
No, I'm not joking. Read it for yourself.
Is it really conscionable to sacrifice these human beings at the altar of "sending the right message?"
Particularly considering that we don't have any problem at all allowing doctors to prescribe morphine and cocaine. It's not legal to take the drugs as a hobby, but after surgery, they give you the stuff so that you can get high instead of being in pain. Usually, I get by with ibuprophen--I think the only time when I actually took the powerful meds was after hemorrhaging when I gave birth to the twins. I'll take an awful lot of pain before I choose to ingest something that will mess with my head.
But whereas getting high is a legitimate method of pain relief for wisdom tooth patients, doctors cannot prescribe non-psychoactive doses of marijuana to prevent AIDS and cancer patients from dying of malnutrition?
There is something very wrong about this picture.
Still, I was pretty sure that states like California were out of line in passing laws that defied the authority of the federal government.
But then I listened to what Ron Paul had to say about it. And Ron Paul said that as a physician he does believe that marijuana can be medically useful in certain situations... but that it's really rather beside the point. The Constitution is very clear that such matters should be left up to the states. California should be able to allow it, Utah and Texas should be able to prohibit it, and as long as nothing crosses a state border, it just isn't any of the federal government's business at all.
I did a double take. That's definitely not the way things work in this country.
So I pulled my copy of the Constitution down from the shelf. I spent a good bit of time poring over it, searching for something that would give the federal government authority over drug laws, but it just wasn't there. The federal government has authority over currency, interstate and international commerce, military forces, post offices and roads, patents and copyrights. But the Constitution doesn't say a single thing about drug law, and the 10th amendment makes it clear that the federal government is not allowed to do anything not mentioned in the Constitution.
And then I looked at the Supreme Court majority and dissenting opinions in the 2001 case in which they decided, 6 to 3, that federal law trumped state law when it came to drugs.
O'Connor, Renquist, and Thomas dissented, saying that since backyard cannabis cultivation for personal medicinal use was neither interstate nor commercial, it could not possibly fall under the interstate commerce clause. He also gave an inspiring and eloquent argument for the importance of the federalist system, where the states serve as laboratories of justice. It's a good read.
But the majority opinion, written by Justice Stevens, states that the authority to regulate interstate commerce extends to purely non-commercial activities which have an impact on interstate markets. Stevens cited a case in which the Court decided that the federal government had the authority to regulate wheat grown for personal consumption. Apparently "regulating commerce between the several states" means that you can place controls on production in order to manipulate prices. So the government wanted to raise the price of wheat, and imposed production caps on the farmers. One farmer, concerned about the shortages that would likely arise, planted some extra for his own family's consumption, in addition to the crops for sale. The Supreme Court ruled that the federal government did indeed have jurisdiction over the non-commercial wheat crops, because they would have an impact (however trivial) on the interstate wheat market.
In other words, the authority to regulate interstate commerce brings with it the power to regulate any activities which might enable you to refrain from participation in interstate commerce.
And it is through this precedent that the Court ruled that federal drug laws trump state drug laws. Since there is a large and lucrative interstate marijuana market, and marijuana cultivation for private use would have an impact on that market, the commerce clause applies in this situation.
In other words, the Suprem Court decided that patients cannot be allowed to grow marijuana because that could impinge on profits in the illegal drug trade.
No, I'm not joking. Read it for yourself.
In a little while I'll finish up my posts about why I've decided that Ron Paul is worth listening to, why I think he's more likely to be right than most, even on Iraq. I'll tell my little story, and reflect calmly and inquisitively into the thought processes that go into picking a candidate.
But for now, I write with tears streaming down my face.
I don't know which way is up anymore.
Or maybe it's just that for the first time in my life, I actually do.
I've always assumed that economics and foreign policy didn't make any sense to me because I just wasn't smart enough. Surely the smart people who run our nation understand how enforced liberty isn't really contradictory, how fiat currency is a perfectly ethical basis for a economy, after all. Surely.
So I trusted the smart people in my community, and voted for the smart people they told me to vote for.
And then, a little over six years ago, everything came crashing down. In abject horror, I watched the towers fall, and the planes, but I failed to notice that the terrorists had indeed hit their mark, that the idea of America was falling as well. They sought, through fear, to bring us to our knees, and they did.
Out of the corner of my ear, I heard the president's reports on how many terrorists had been apprehended each week, and my heart soared to know how well we were being taken care of. We were going to be okay. The president had everything under control.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the signs of the protesters, something about torture, something about oil, something about the Bill of Rights. And I shook my head in disgust at these unpatriotic souls who dared to dissent in a time of war. United we stand!
But how many have received fair trials, and how many have even been charged? How many have been tortured, and of the tortured, how many were guilty, and how many were innocent? How much evidence has been destroyed, and with it how much trust?
How long can we sit by and let this happen, how long will promises to increase the brutality be met with thunderous applause?
And now the world is wondering how long the Christians will still support Huckabee now that he has voiced his disapproval of torture.
But in this world gone mad, one man is speaking truth. One man has a lucid explanation, a likely story that neatly sorts out the tangled relationships between internal and foreign affairs, national security and economics. One man is ready to explain just where we are, just how we got here, and how to set about on the long, hard road of recovery. I don't know if he's right, but I do know that he is extremely sharp, and he is honest.
I'm still open to being convinced by McCain or Huckabee as to why their views of world are more accurate. But I need to hear some darn good answers.
Never again will I cast a vote out of ignorance.
But for now, I write with tears streaming down my face.
I don't know which way is up anymore.
Or maybe it's just that for the first time in my life, I actually do.
I've always assumed that economics and foreign policy didn't make any sense to me because I just wasn't smart enough. Surely the smart people who run our nation understand how enforced liberty isn't really contradictory, how fiat currency is a perfectly ethical basis for a economy, after all. Surely.
So I trusted the smart people in my community, and voted for the smart people they told me to vote for.
And then, a little over six years ago, everything came crashing down. In abject horror, I watched the towers fall, and the planes, but I failed to notice that the terrorists had indeed hit their mark, that the idea of America was falling as well. They sought, through fear, to bring us to our knees, and they did.
Out of the corner of my ear, I heard the president's reports on how many terrorists had been apprehended each week, and my heart soared to know how well we were being taken care of. We were going to be okay. The president had everything under control.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the signs of the protesters, something about torture, something about oil, something about the Bill of Rights. And I shook my head in disgust at these unpatriotic souls who dared to dissent in a time of war. United we stand!
But how many have received fair trials, and how many have even been charged? How many have been tortured, and of the tortured, how many were guilty, and how many were innocent? How much evidence has been destroyed, and with it how much trust?
How long can we sit by and let this happen, how long will promises to increase the brutality be met with thunderous applause?
And now the world is wondering how long the Christians will still support Huckabee now that he has voiced his disapproval of torture.
But in this world gone mad, one man is speaking truth. One man has a lucid explanation, a likely story that neatly sorts out the tangled relationships between internal and foreign affairs, national security and economics. One man is ready to explain just where we are, just how we got here, and how to set about on the long, hard road of recovery. I don't know if he's right, but I do know that he is extremely sharp, and he is honest.
I'm still open to being convinced by McCain or Huckabee as to why their views of world are more accurate. But I need to hear some darn good answers.
Never again will I cast a vote out of ignorance.
1.24.2008
Mr. Rogers for President. Part V: Nausea
Part I
Part II
Part III
Part IV
Synthetic marijuana, huh? Well, clearly marijuana must have some sort of medicinal property, then... why else would you bother imitating them? I'd never heard of marijuana doing anything except altering your state of consciousness, and maybe (or maybe not) causing brain damage. That and all the other lovely effects of smoke inhalation.
So I was curious. What else does marijuana do?
Well, apparently medical marijuana activists claim that it has all sorts of wonderful effects. And official-sounding organizations denounce these claims, and blah blah blah.
I have no idea.
But there seems to be a pretty strong consensus that low doses of marijuana are extremely effective in treating severe nausea and involuntary anorexia, such as in AIDS wasting syndrome, and cancer treatment side effects.
For the most part, nobody disputes that marijuana is effective for these conditions; instead, they argue that it is unnecessary, because there are lots of other, safer options out there.
Well, as little qualified as I may be to speculate on the effects of marijuana on interocular pressure or the progress of tumors, I do know a thing or two about nausea medications.
I thank God for the wonderful medications that took the edge off my nausea during my twin pregnancy. Although they had unpleasant side effects and came with the risk of damage to my heart and liver, they made it possible for me to keep food and fluids down most of the time--and that is a very big deal. I thank God for the enormously expensive wonder-drug that they gave me every time dehydration landed me in the ER, and I wish that it had been even remotely afordable at the time, and that it was possible to take it multiple days in a row without shutting down my digestive system. These drugs saved my life, and the lives of my sons... but nevertheless, I've spent an awful lot of time praying for a safer, more effective solution to severe nausea.
When that man in the wheelchair tells Romney that nothing else helped his nausea, I have no choice but to believe him.
Because I've been there too.
Part II
Part III
Part IV
Synthetic marijuana, huh? Well, clearly marijuana must have some sort of medicinal property, then... why else would you bother imitating them? I'd never heard of marijuana doing anything except altering your state of consciousness, and maybe (or maybe not) causing brain damage. That and all the other lovely effects of smoke inhalation.
So I was curious. What else does marijuana do?
Well, apparently medical marijuana activists claim that it has all sorts of wonderful effects. And official-sounding organizations denounce these claims, and blah blah blah.
I have no idea.
But there seems to be a pretty strong consensus that low doses of marijuana are extremely effective in treating severe nausea and involuntary anorexia, such as in AIDS wasting syndrome, and cancer treatment side effects.
For the most part, nobody disputes that marijuana is effective for these conditions; instead, they argue that it is unnecessary, because there are lots of other, safer options out there.
Well, as little qualified as I may be to speculate on the effects of marijuana on interocular pressure or the progress of tumors, I do know a thing or two about nausea medications.
I thank God for the wonderful medications that took the edge off my nausea during my twin pregnancy. Although they had unpleasant side effects and came with the risk of damage to my heart and liver, they made it possible for me to keep food and fluids down most of the time--and that is a very big deal. I thank God for the enormously expensive wonder-drug that they gave me every time dehydration landed me in the ER, and I wish that it had been even remotely afordable at the time, and that it was possible to take it multiple days in a row without shutting down my digestive system. These drugs saved my life, and the lives of my sons... but nevertheless, I've spent an awful lot of time praying for a safer, more effective solution to severe nausea.
When that man in the wheelchair tells Romney that nothing else helped his nausea, I have no choice but to believe him.
Because I've been there too.
1.23.2008
The Stakes on Torture
In this struggle against radical Islam, I believe that our respect for the dignity and liberty of the human soul is our greatest strength.
If out of expediency we turn away from that respect, we choose to seek power through cruelty rather than truth. If our cruelty is mild, then so will be our power. If that is the game we are playing, then we will surely be defeated unless we can muster up a cruelty as strong as our enemies'. I shudder at either outcome.
If we lose the ideological battles, can we hope to win the physical ones? If this ceases to be for us a war between good and evil, and becomes instead a mere power struggle, our situation is grave, because it is much more than that to them, and however we may twist our consciences, it is more than that to us as well. When we ourselves ignore the liberty and dignity of the human soul, the fervor of our cause can find no target but race and creed. We become an impotent shadow of the evil we are fighting.
If out of expediency we turn away from that respect, we choose to seek power through cruelty rather than truth. If our cruelty is mild, then so will be our power. If that is the game we are playing, then we will surely be defeated unless we can muster up a cruelty as strong as our enemies'. I shudder at either outcome.
If we lose the ideological battles, can we hope to win the physical ones? If this ceases to be for us a war between good and evil, and becomes instead a mere power struggle, our situation is grave, because it is much more than that to them, and however we may twist our consciences, it is more than that to us as well. When we ourselves ignore the liberty and dignity of the human soul, the fervor of our cause can find no target but race and creed. We become an impotent shadow of the evil we are fighting.
Relativism
Mama: Torture is bad.
Isaiah: No, porture is bad for the Mama-Chicken. I think porture is happy for the Wugger-Chicken.
My son is a child of his times, it seems.
Isaiah: No, porture is bad for the Mama-Chicken. I think porture is happy for the Wugger-Chicken.
My son is a child of his times, it seems.
Moral Issues
I'm one of those "single issue values voters" who will always choose the anti-abortion candidate. It's not that I think abortion is the only important moral issue, or even the most important one. The next president of the United States will be making all sorts of massive life and death decisions, and very few of those decisions will have anything to do with abortion at all.
But although the moral decisions the president will have to make on issues like national security, foreign relations, and economic policy may actually be more important, they're also really, really complicated. All of these things are case-by-case issues, complex decisions with all sorts of facets that must be weighed very carefully. Especially in a time of war, the president is faced with all sorts of enormously compex ethical decisions. I'm not qualified to make those decisions, and certainly no one is qualified to make those decision who flunks out on the simple questions.
The abortion question, on the other hand, is pretty simple and straightforward.
Killing babies is bad.
Period.
Anyone who believes otherwise has some very serious problems with his moral intuitions. And that's not the sort of person I want making important ethical decisions for our nation and the world.
Period.
Torture is another one of the simple questions.
Torture is bad. Period. And however "vague" the Geneva Convention might have been, I think we all know that any attempt to extract information by means of cruelty is torture.
Anyone who can't figure that one out is not qualified to be making the sorts of complex moral decisions involved in the presidency.
I am astounded at how secondary an issue this is for voters who would never dream of supporting a pro-abortion candidate.
In discussions on the candidates, I kept hearing "well, I don't like McCain because of a, b, and c, but I do respect him for his stance on torture."
Silly me, in my naivete, I thought they were just talking about the active way he's spoken out against torture, how through his own horrific experiences he's been able utterly dismantle the notion that torture can ever save lives. He knows from experience that the torturer has no means of distinguishing between true information and false information, and that the tortured has absolutely no motivation for giving accurate information rather than rattling off the names of all the players on the Red Sox.
No, they meant that unlike other prominent candidates in the Republican party, McCain would refrain from authorizing torture.
John McCain and Ron Paul call a spade a spade, and speak clearly against torture. You'd think that would be a given--I guess not. Huckabee appears to oppose torture, but he leaves an awful lot of wiggle room in his words. It's not an automatic disqualifier, but I'm a bit nervous about anyone who needs to defer to McCain's experience in order to decide that "enhanced interrogation techniques" involving simulated drowning qualify as torture. The world has truly gone mad when Huckabee's wishy-washy statements are notably praiseworthy, rather than a red flag. Perhaps he has made--or will make--clearer statements, without the loopholes. If so, that's great.
As for the others, I could care less about any other qualifications they may have. They may be superb businessmen, governors, and mayors, but they have no business running for president.
Period.
But although the moral decisions the president will have to make on issues like national security, foreign relations, and economic policy may actually be more important, they're also really, really complicated. All of these things are case-by-case issues, complex decisions with all sorts of facets that must be weighed very carefully. Especially in a time of war, the president is faced with all sorts of enormously compex ethical decisions. I'm not qualified to make those decisions, and certainly no one is qualified to make those decision who flunks out on the simple questions.
The abortion question, on the other hand, is pretty simple and straightforward.
Killing babies is bad.
Period.
Anyone who believes otherwise has some very serious problems with his moral intuitions. And that's not the sort of person I want making important ethical decisions for our nation and the world.
Period.
Torture is another one of the simple questions.
Torture is bad. Period. And however "vague" the Geneva Convention might have been, I think we all know that any attempt to extract information by means of cruelty is torture.
Anyone who can't figure that one out is not qualified to be making the sorts of complex moral decisions involved in the presidency.
I am astounded at how secondary an issue this is for voters who would never dream of supporting a pro-abortion candidate.
In discussions on the candidates, I kept hearing "well, I don't like McCain because of a, b, and c, but I do respect him for his stance on torture."
Silly me, in my naivete, I thought they were just talking about the active way he's spoken out against torture, how through his own horrific experiences he's been able utterly dismantle the notion that torture can ever save lives. He knows from experience that the torturer has no means of distinguishing between true information and false information, and that the tortured has absolutely no motivation for giving accurate information rather than rattling off the names of all the players on the Red Sox.
No, they meant that unlike other prominent candidates in the Republican party, McCain would refrain from authorizing torture.
John McCain and Ron Paul call a spade a spade, and speak clearly against torture. You'd think that would be a given--I guess not. Huckabee appears to oppose torture, but he leaves an awful lot of wiggle room in his words. It's not an automatic disqualifier, but I'm a bit nervous about anyone who needs to defer to McCain's experience in order to decide that "enhanced interrogation techniques" involving simulated drowning qualify as torture. The world has truly gone mad when Huckabee's wishy-washy statements are notably praiseworthy, rather than a red flag. Perhaps he has made--or will make--clearer statements, without the loopholes. If so, that's great.
As for the others, I could care less about any other qualifications they may have. They may be superb businessmen, governors, and mayors, but they have no business running for president.
Period.
1.22.2008
The rose needs no adornment
The other day my wonderful husband took all three kids grocery shopping, providing me with a few hours of blissful peace and solitude--as well as a re-stocked pantry. And then he came back with flowers for me.
Yes, I'm very lucky.
Flowers brighten up a place so much, make everything so much happier. And I was pleasantly surprised to note that I didn't even have to constantly step in to prevent the wuggies from destroying them. I guess they must be growing up. They looked at the flowers, and smelled them, and that was it.
Until breakfast this morning.
September picked up her empty cereal bowl and balanced it upside-down atop one of the blooms, milk dripping down the petals and leaves.
"It's wearing a hat 'cause it's pretty!"
Yes, I'm very lucky.
Flowers brighten up a place so much, make everything so much happier. And I was pleasantly surprised to note that I didn't even have to constantly step in to prevent the wuggies from destroying them. I guess they must be growing up. They looked at the flowers, and smelled them, and that was it.
Until breakfast this morning.
September picked up her empty cereal bowl and balanced it upside-down atop one of the blooms, milk dripping down the petals and leaves.
"It's wearing a hat 'cause it's pretty!"
1.21.2008
Mr. Rogers for President. Part IV: Synthetic Nothing
Okay, this is the part where I actually start talking about the candidates.
Somewhere in the midst of this thought processes, I stumbled upon the following video:
http://youtube.com/watch?v=NY6UTnS6Z-A
Now, I always bought the conservative party line about marijuana, that its only effect was to make you high, and that even if sick people don't feel quite so miserable when they're high... well, that's hardly the best pain management solution. Medical marijuana is just the camel's nose under the tent, an attempt to legitimize recreational drug use among the sick, with the ultimate goal of legitimizing recreational drug use among the public in general.
But what Romney said was really weird, and made me stop and think.
"You have synthetic marijuana, don't you?"
Now, these medical marijuana patients spoke with just about all the candidates, and all the other candidates were able to look human suffering in the eye and give an honorable answer. The answers weren't always what the patients wanted to hear--almost all of the Republicans oppose medical marijuana--but everyone except Romney was able to interact with the patients in a respectful manner. Guiliani, for instance, said (approximate quote) "I'm not a doctor, so I can only go on what the FDA says, and the FDA does not recognize any legitimate medical use of marijuana." It's an awkward situation, but in the end, it's perfectly honorable to tell a sick man that you believe he's mistaken.
But that's not what Romney did. He didn't question whether marijuana was helping the man, he simply said that there were lots of other options legally available.
"You have synthetic marijuana, don't you?"
This struck me as very strange indeed. If, as the FDA says, there is no legitimate medical use for marijuana, why on earth would we have synthetic marijuana?
Somewhere in the midst of this thought processes, I stumbled upon the following video:
http://youtube.com/watch?v=NY6UTnS6Z-A
Now, I always bought the conservative party line about marijuana, that its only effect was to make you high, and that even if sick people don't feel quite so miserable when they're high... well, that's hardly the best pain management solution. Medical marijuana is just the camel's nose under the tent, an attempt to legitimize recreational drug use among the sick, with the ultimate goal of legitimizing recreational drug use among the public in general.
But what Romney said was really weird, and made me stop and think.
"You have synthetic marijuana, don't you?"
Now, these medical marijuana patients spoke with just about all the candidates, and all the other candidates were able to look human suffering in the eye and give an honorable answer. The answers weren't always what the patients wanted to hear--almost all of the Republicans oppose medical marijuana--but everyone except Romney was able to interact with the patients in a respectful manner. Guiliani, for instance, said (approximate quote) "I'm not a doctor, so I can only go on what the FDA says, and the FDA does not recognize any legitimate medical use of marijuana." It's an awkward situation, but in the end, it's perfectly honorable to tell a sick man that you believe he's mistaken.
But that's not what Romney did. He didn't question whether marijuana was helping the man, he simply said that there were lots of other options legally available.
"You have synthetic marijuana, don't you?"
This struck me as very strange indeed. If, as the FDA says, there is no legitimate medical use for marijuana, why on earth would we have synthetic marijuana?
1.19.2008
Oooh! Pick me, pick me!
1.15.2008
Mr. Rogers for President. Part III: Monopoly
Part I
Part II
So I started poking around, learning about hemp. Now there's an awful lot intensity and hyperbole floating around the topic, so I had to filter through an awful lot of contradictory, emotionally charged 'information.' But here's the part of the story that everyone seems to agree on:
Hemp has been around for a long time, as a staple food crop, as a fiber crop (paper, cloth, rope, etc.) and yes, as a hallucinogenic drug.
Even though they come from the same species, though, fiber hemp and drug hemp are different plants. Plants bred for high THC content yield lower-quality fibers, while plants bred for their long, strong fibers contain much less THC. In other parts of the world, where industrial hemp has been re-legalized, they have developed strains with only trace amounts of THC, but heavy amounts of CBD and other cannaboids with decidedly different effects. Smoke that stuff, and you may well get a nasty headache accompanied by severe nausea, but you won't get high. So hemp is distinct from marijuana, but inextricable related.
Anyway, fiber hemp was a very important crop in pre-industrial America. In fact, our founding fathers were hemp farmers. But as important inventions such as the cotton gin made other fibers easier to process, hemp remained extremely labor intensive, and fell by the wayside.
And here's where it gets a little more complicated and controversial. Among the numerous events of the early 20th century, the hemp decorticator was invented, bringing the hemp into the industrial age, the alcohol prohibition came and went, a process was developed for converting wood into paper pulp, and also for converting petroleum into synthetic fibers and plastics. And it was in this context that the Marijuana Tax Act was passed, and decimated the hemp industry.
Conspiracy theories abound. Was Anslinger motivated by a desire for a healthy drug-free society, or by his ties to the DuPont family? Did William Randolph Hearst publish Reefer Madness, et al (fabulous MST3K fodder, btw, though definitely not kid-appropriate) out of love for sensational stories, or in an attempt to protect his timber profits?
Who knows... and there's a sense in which it doesn't really matter. Whatever the intent, the result was to further concentrate the ability to produce wealth into the hands of the wealthy. Anyone can grow hemp. All you need is soil and sunshine, and you can produce food, fiber, and fuel. But with hemp out of the picture, if you want rope, or inexpensive durable cloth, or plastic, you are utterly dependent upon those who control the world's limited petroleum resources.
This is a troubling side effect domestically, but on a global level it was much, much worse.
After all, we don't rely on hemp as a food source. Under pressure from the US, nations such as Nepal sent their military in to destroy the crops of their poor farmers. In the mountainous regions, it is impossible to grow rice, or other staple grains--the people have always relied on hemp to provide food for their children.
We have pressured nations into slaughtering their own people.
I really don't care how well-meaning our intention... this is very bad indeed.
Part II
So I started poking around, learning about hemp. Now there's an awful lot intensity and hyperbole floating around the topic, so I had to filter through an awful lot of contradictory, emotionally charged 'information.' But here's the part of the story that everyone seems to agree on:
Hemp has been around for a long time, as a staple food crop, as a fiber crop (paper, cloth, rope, etc.) and yes, as a hallucinogenic drug.
Even though they come from the same species, though, fiber hemp and drug hemp are different plants. Plants bred for high THC content yield lower-quality fibers, while plants bred for their long, strong fibers contain much less THC. In other parts of the world, where industrial hemp has been re-legalized, they have developed strains with only trace amounts of THC, but heavy amounts of CBD and other cannaboids with decidedly different effects. Smoke that stuff, and you may well get a nasty headache accompanied by severe nausea, but you won't get high. So hemp is distinct from marijuana, but inextricable related.
Anyway, fiber hemp was a very important crop in pre-industrial America. In fact, our founding fathers were hemp farmers. But as important inventions such as the cotton gin made other fibers easier to process, hemp remained extremely labor intensive, and fell by the wayside.
And here's where it gets a little more complicated and controversial. Among the numerous events of the early 20th century, the hemp decorticator was invented, bringing the hemp into the industrial age, the alcohol prohibition came and went, a process was developed for converting wood into paper pulp, and also for converting petroleum into synthetic fibers and plastics. And it was in this context that the Marijuana Tax Act was passed, and decimated the hemp industry.
Conspiracy theories abound. Was Anslinger motivated by a desire for a healthy drug-free society, or by his ties to the DuPont family? Did William Randolph Hearst publish Reefer Madness, et al (fabulous MST3K fodder, btw, though definitely not kid-appropriate) out of love for sensational stories, or in an attempt to protect his timber profits?
Who knows... and there's a sense in which it doesn't really matter. Whatever the intent, the result was to further concentrate the ability to produce wealth into the hands of the wealthy. Anyone can grow hemp. All you need is soil and sunshine, and you can produce food, fiber, and fuel. But with hemp out of the picture, if you want rope, or inexpensive durable cloth, or plastic, you are utterly dependent upon those who control the world's limited petroleum resources.
This is a troubling side effect domestically, but on a global level it was much, much worse.
After all, we don't rely on hemp as a food source. Under pressure from the US, nations such as Nepal sent their military in to destroy the crops of their poor farmers. In the mountainous regions, it is impossible to grow rice, or other staple grains--the people have always relied on hemp to provide food for their children.
We have pressured nations into slaughtering their own people.
I really don't care how well-meaning our intention... this is very bad indeed.
1.13.2008
Mr. Rogers for President. Part II: Energy and Aimless Action
I guess it all started with the energy bill. There's a lot of stuff in there, and for the most part, I'm not really qualified to comment. I do think these are important issues, but I just don't know a whole lot about them.
However, there were two elements of the bill on which I was actually informed enough to be confused.
One issue was light bulbs (I cherish my right to safe, high quality lighting that doesn't give me headaches, even if CFLs are more energy efficient), the other was ethanol. Now, I'm very much in favor of developing alternative forms of energy... but corn? Corn? This is not good. Corn is not a long term solution for our dependence on foreign oil, since the corn industry itself is so dependent on foreign oil. You can only grow so much corn in one place without using lots and lots of fertilizers. Petroleum based fertilizers. Poisonous petroleum based fertilizers, to be precise. And when it rains, all these fertilizers run off into the water supply, and ultimately into the ocean. As good as this stuff is for corn, it's deadly for children and for fish. Corn is actually a big problem.
Because of federal policies artificially favoring corn, America consumes a lot of corn. Not just in obviously corn-based foods, but in just about every processed food. We have a big sweet tooth, and high-fructose corn syrup is the sweetener of choice. Not because it's particularly good, or efficient to produce, but because thanks to federal subsidies, it's artificially cheap.
For better or for worse, corn is at the heart of almost everything we eat. It's what they feed the chickens that provide us with Grade A Extra Large eggs and boneless skinless chicken breasts. It's what they feed the cows that give us beef and milk. Corn: it's what's for dinner.
And now we run our cars on it, too. Which wouldn't be such a problem if corn was actually a good source of ethanol energy. But it isn't. Down in Brazil they use sugar cane to make ethanol, and they get 500%-800% more fuel out of it than they use in growing and processing the cane. It's a great way to harness solar energy. Corn, on the other hand, barely breaks even. Not even the most optimistic corn enthusiast dares estimate the returns at above 125%.
Of course, the energy bill doesn't specify that it has to be corn ethanol. In fact, it specifies that some of it has to be non-corn, and gives grants to help establish processing plants to convert cellulose into ethanol. All this is fine and dandy, but in the mean time, corn is what we're set up to do, and in order to meet these new quotas, corn ethanol production will have to increase by 1500%.
The world cheered because at long last, America was finally doing something about global warming--but as far as I could tell, whatever the impact of the increased industry standards, the ethanol portion of the bill was simply going to make matters worse.
I was discouraged, confused, and dismayed.
I was also curious. Hadn't I heard somewhere that industrial hemp could be used to make ethanol? And that it grows amazingly fast, without depleting the soil or requiring the use of fertilizers?
So I started poking around. Why don't we grow hemp?
However, there were two elements of the bill on which I was actually informed enough to be confused.
One issue was light bulbs (I cherish my right to safe, high quality lighting that doesn't give me headaches, even if CFLs are more energy efficient), the other was ethanol. Now, I'm very much in favor of developing alternative forms of energy... but corn? Corn? This is not good. Corn is not a long term solution for our dependence on foreign oil, since the corn industry itself is so dependent on foreign oil. You can only grow so much corn in one place without using lots and lots of fertilizers. Petroleum based fertilizers. Poisonous petroleum based fertilizers, to be precise. And when it rains, all these fertilizers run off into the water supply, and ultimately into the ocean. As good as this stuff is for corn, it's deadly for children and for fish. Corn is actually a big problem.
Because of federal policies artificially favoring corn, America consumes a lot of corn. Not just in obviously corn-based foods, but in just about every processed food. We have a big sweet tooth, and high-fructose corn syrup is the sweetener of choice. Not because it's particularly good, or efficient to produce, but because thanks to federal subsidies, it's artificially cheap.
For better or for worse, corn is at the heart of almost everything we eat. It's what they feed the chickens that provide us with Grade A Extra Large eggs and boneless skinless chicken breasts. It's what they feed the cows that give us beef and milk. Corn: it's what's for dinner.
And now we run our cars on it, too. Which wouldn't be such a problem if corn was actually a good source of ethanol energy. But it isn't. Down in Brazil they use sugar cane to make ethanol, and they get 500%-800% more fuel out of it than they use in growing and processing the cane. It's a great way to harness solar energy. Corn, on the other hand, barely breaks even. Not even the most optimistic corn enthusiast dares estimate the returns at above 125%.
Of course, the energy bill doesn't specify that it has to be corn ethanol. In fact, it specifies that some of it has to be non-corn, and gives grants to help establish processing plants to convert cellulose into ethanol. All this is fine and dandy, but in the mean time, corn is what we're set up to do, and in order to meet these new quotas, corn ethanol production will have to increase by 1500%.
The world cheered because at long last, America was finally doing something about global warming--but as far as I could tell, whatever the impact of the increased industry standards, the ethanol portion of the bill was simply going to make matters worse.
I was discouraged, confused, and dismayed.
I was also curious. Hadn't I heard somewhere that industrial hemp could be used to make ethanol? And that it grows amazingly fast, without depleting the soil or requiring the use of fertilizers?
So I started poking around. Why don't we grow hemp?
Mr. Rogers for President. Part I: Aphoria
It's a strange thing indeed. Just a few short weeks ago, I remember saying that electibility was the biggest factor in my voting decision. While I favored Romney, I'd be happy if with any of the Republican candidates, just so long as they could win the general election. Except, of course, for Rudy Guiliani or Ron Paul.
And here I am this morning, positively quivering with excitement. 2008 is a year like no other. This year I have the opportunity to vote for Ron Paul. It'd be a miracle if he won the nomination--his support base is just far too bipartisan for that. But right now, I'm thinking that even so, I'd rather spend my primary vote in support of the ideals that Ron Paul stands for, than in selecting the Republican contender for the presidency. Any one of the candidates would be better than Clinton or Obama--may the best man win.
But as for me, I think the best man is Ron Paul.
A few weeks ago, I pretty much looked at each of the candidates as a smorgasboard of opinions, with the intention of voting for the candidate who agreed with me to the greatest degree.
But then I heard the candidate with whom I shared the most views, saying something that I thought I agreed with... and suddenly nothing made sense anymore.
Is it really wise for me to vote for someone who agrees with me in my ignorance?
Perhaps I should vote for someone more likely to be right than I am.
And here I am this morning, positively quivering with excitement. 2008 is a year like no other. This year I have the opportunity to vote for Ron Paul. It'd be a miracle if he won the nomination--his support base is just far too bipartisan for that. But right now, I'm thinking that even so, I'd rather spend my primary vote in support of the ideals that Ron Paul stands for, than in selecting the Republican contender for the presidency. Any one of the candidates would be better than Clinton or Obama--may the best man win.
But as for me, I think the best man is Ron Paul.
A few weeks ago, I pretty much looked at each of the candidates as a smorgasboard of opinions, with the intention of voting for the candidate who agreed with me to the greatest degree.
But then I heard the candidate with whom I shared the most views, saying something that I thought I agreed with... and suddenly nothing made sense anymore.
Is it really wise for me to vote for someone who agrees with me in my ignorance?
Perhaps I should vote for someone more likely to be right than I am.
1.12.2008
Wherein I discover that a "G" rating is entirely too vague.
In celebration of the twins' fourth birthday, we took the kids to see the new Veggie movie.
You'd think that surely that would be safe to show your toddlers.
It's made by Christians, and it's rated G, for crying out loud. And nothing gets a G rating. Aren't most Pixar animations PG for some reason or other?
So we took our toddlers.
We were all very excited as we sat down in the theater. The wuggies were rather loud in joyous exultation at the prospect of watching a movie about pillaging vegetables, but then again, so was the rest of the audience--the place was packed out with toddlers and their accompanying adults.
It started out just fine. But then the part with the actual pirates came in.
Why, why, why didn't I have the sense to realize that I pirate movie could not possibly be toddler appropriate, no matter who made it?
Was the movie good? Was it funny? I have no idea. I (and nearly every other adult in the audience) spent the whole show trying to calm down a panic-struck child, whose precious heart was fluttering against my arms like a trapped bird. I waited far to long to take him out, because at every instant I was sure that the tension was just about to break, he could see it resolve and just be funny. Except that then they would start spinning down a drain, or giant rock-monsters would suddenly appear.
It was an utter fiasco, and we were far from alone in our mistake. The whole theater was full of whimpering, hyperventilating children.
You know, I really think that the rating system needs a new category--PG-3. Squeaking clean and entirely suitable for all person who understand that the evil pirate isn't really going to slice the cucumber. Or something like that.
You'd think that surely that would be safe to show your toddlers.
It's made by Christians, and it's rated G, for crying out loud. And nothing gets a G rating. Aren't most Pixar animations PG for some reason or other?
So we took our toddlers.
We were all very excited as we sat down in the theater. The wuggies were rather loud in joyous exultation at the prospect of watching a movie about pillaging vegetables, but then again, so was the rest of the audience--the place was packed out with toddlers and their accompanying adults.
It started out just fine. But then the part with the actual pirates came in.
Why, why, why didn't I have the sense to realize that I pirate movie could not possibly be toddler appropriate, no matter who made it?
Was the movie good? Was it funny? I have no idea. I (and nearly every other adult in the audience) spent the whole show trying to calm down a panic-struck child, whose precious heart was fluttering against my arms like a trapped bird. I waited far to long to take him out, because at every instant I was sure that the tension was just about to break, he could see it resolve and just be funny. Except that then they would start spinning down a drain, or giant rock-monsters would suddenly appear.
It was an utter fiasco, and we were far from alone in our mistake. The whole theater was full of whimpering, hyperventilating children.
You know, I really think that the rating system needs a new category--PG-3. Squeaking clean and entirely suitable for all person who understand that the evil pirate isn't really going to slice the cucumber. Or something like that.
Singled out.
Today is the birthday of all the wuggies...
except one.
She still gets to eat cake and ice cream, she still gets to come with us to see the new VeggieTales movie. Her day will be filled with lots of fun things as we celebrate her brothers.
But it's not her birthday.
And this is very hard to understand.
except one.
She still gets to eat cake and ice cream, she still gets to come with us to see the new VeggieTales movie. Her day will be filled with lots of fun things as we celebrate her brothers.
But it's not her birthday.
And this is very hard to understand.
1.09.2008
Long time, no see.
It's been a while, and I apologize.
Folks keep asking me what happened to my blog.
Christmas break happened.
We had a lovely time as a family, a cozy quiet Christmas, a spectacular neighborhood fireworks display for New Years, and delightful trips to the zoo and children's museum.
And oh, it was wonderful, with Dadders around and doing so much around the house and with the kids, I actually had time to string a few thoughts together. Oh the bliss! I'd almost forgotten just how much I like thinking.
Which should have translated into lots of blogging, except that it was Christmastime, and although I wished I had all sorts of Christmassy thoughts, I just didn't. I was thinking about politics, and energy crises, and economics, and wars and rumors of wars, etc. etc. etc.
And that's not what I wanted my blog to be about--not at Christmastime, anyway. It was bad enough that I was yammering my husband's ear off. No need to disturb your holidays too.
But now the wise men have come before the Christ Child, laying down their gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh, and the star is tucked away in a box in the garage.
'Tis the season for politics.
So don't say you haven't been warned.
Folks keep asking me what happened to my blog.
Christmas break happened.
We had a lovely time as a family, a cozy quiet Christmas, a spectacular neighborhood fireworks display for New Years, and delightful trips to the zoo and children's museum.
And oh, it was wonderful, with Dadders around and doing so much around the house and with the kids, I actually had time to string a few thoughts together. Oh the bliss! I'd almost forgotten just how much I like thinking.
Which should have translated into lots of blogging, except that it was Christmastime, and although I wished I had all sorts of Christmassy thoughts, I just didn't. I was thinking about politics, and energy crises, and economics, and wars and rumors of wars, etc. etc. etc.
And that's not what I wanted my blog to be about--not at Christmastime, anyway. It was bad enough that I was yammering my husband's ear off. No need to disturb your holidays too.
But now the wise men have come before the Christ Child, laying down their gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh, and the star is tucked away in a box in the garage.
'Tis the season for politics.
So don't say you haven't been warned.
12.20.2007
Smoke coming out of my ears... or maybe it's smog.
http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20071219/ap_on_go_pr_wh/energy_future;_ylt=AnlEEUp1mRhSGytqFy5jXuyyFz4D
I care about the environment.
And I get rather annoyed when conservatives mock the idea that we should maybe make an effort to live more sustainability.
But this is not sustainability, this is smoke and mirrors.
Instead of buying fossil fuels from our enemies and pumping them straight into our SUVs, let's just buy fossil fuels from our enemies and smear them all over the ground so that they run off into our drinking water and poison our babies. Not to mention killing off fish in the Gulf of Mexico.
And once this fuel is in our gas tanks, it's hardly clean.
The jury's still out on ethanol. It may well turn out to be better than gasoline. We should definitely allow it to compete in the free markets.
But it's hard to see the justification for legislating artificial support for it like this.
Am I completely missing something here?
I care about the environment.
And I get rather annoyed when conservatives mock the idea that we should maybe make an effort to live more sustainability.
But this is not sustainability, this is smoke and mirrors.
Instead of buying fossil fuels from our enemies and pumping them straight into our SUVs, let's just buy fossil fuels from our enemies and smear them all over the ground so that they run off into our drinking water and poison our babies. Not to mention killing off fish in the Gulf of Mexico.
And once this fuel is in our gas tanks, it's hardly clean.
The jury's still out on ethanol. It may well turn out to be better than gasoline. We should definitely allow it to compete in the free markets.
But it's hard to see the justification for legislating artificial support for it like this.
Am I completely missing something here?
12.19.2007
The rain is trickling down the window pane,
and blurs my view of everything outside.
Unsure if light and truth still yet remain,
I must keep hope the sun will cease to hide.
Throughout the storm I hear the creaking groan
of branches burdened by the howling wind.
I feel no other truth save that alone,
and cling to storms as hope that storms may end.
Eventually the clouds will part away,
the sun will glitter through the tear-stained glass.
The afternoon will show once more as day--
I know that storms will never cease to pass.
Without this token, hope I cannot keep;
the truthful noise that fits my heart to weep.
and blurs my view of everything outside.
Unsure if light and truth still yet remain,
I must keep hope the sun will cease to hide.
Throughout the storm I hear the creaking groan
of branches burdened by the howling wind.
I feel no other truth save that alone,
and cling to storms as hope that storms may end.
Eventually the clouds will part away,
the sun will glitter through the tear-stained glass.
The afternoon will show once more as day--
I know that storms will never cease to pass.
Without this token, hope I cannot keep;
the truthful noise that fits my heart to weep.
12.15.2007
Ode to a Tortured Instrument
Dear piano, you are sorely out of tune.
You mangle all the tunes I try to play.
I hope that we can fix you someday soon,
For you are getting worse with each new day.
The Beethoven sonatas aren't so bad--
they crash and roar and tumble all about.
The intonation makes me rather sad,
But there's a sense in which a shout's a shout.
For softer music, it is not the same.
Poor Pachelbel's sweet cannon cannot fight.
Despite its grandiose misnoming name,
your E-unnat'ral crushes out its might.
And so, dear piano, please don't be offended,
but I'll be glad when tunelessness has ended.
You mangle all the tunes I try to play.
I hope that we can fix you someday soon,
For you are getting worse with each new day.
The Beethoven sonatas aren't so bad--
they crash and roar and tumble all about.
The intonation makes me rather sad,
But there's a sense in which a shout's a shout.
For softer music, it is not the same.
Poor Pachelbel's sweet cannon cannot fight.
Despite its grandiose misnoming name,
your E-unnat'ral crushes out its might.
And so, dear piano, please don't be offended,
but I'll be glad when tunelessness has ended.
12.14.2007
12.09.2007
Warning: May result in loss of confidencee
When a beauty product warns you to "avoid eye contact," isn't that kind of a bad sign?
Okay, that's my absurdly trivial thought for the day.
Okay, that's my absurdly trivial thought for the day.
12.05.2007
And as he was setting out on his journey, a man ran up and knelt before him and asked him, "Good Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?" And Jesus said to him, "Why do you call me good? No one is good except God alone. You know the commandments: Do not murder, do not commit adultery, do not steal, do not bear false witness, do not defraud, honor your father and mother." And he said to him, "Teacher, all these things I have kept from my youth." And Jesus, looking at him, loved him, and said to him, "You lack one thing: go, sell all that you have and give it to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven: and come, follow me." Disheartened by the saying, he went away sorrowful, for he had great possessions.In reading this passage, I was struck by the contrast between Peter and the rich young ruler. There's a sense in which they're really in the same position. Both are basically good people, but incapable of self-sacrifice. Oh, to be sure, as Peter quickly brings up in the very next verse, he left everything and followed Jesus. But just how difficult is it for the poor Galilean fisherman to leave everything and follow the one who can multiply loaves and fishes? Peter had nothing to lose.
And Jesus looked around and said to his disciples, "How difficult it will be for those who have wealth to enter the kingdom of God!" And the disciples were amazed at his words. But Jesus said to them again, "Children, how difficult it is to enter the kingdom of God! It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich person to enter the kingdom of God." And they were exceedingly astonished, and said to him, "Then who can be saved?" Jesus looked at them and said, "With man it is impossible, but not with God. For all things are possible with God."
Mark 10:17-27
He was rich in physical vitality, though, and that was a wealth he could not sacrifice. When it came down to it, he could not watch one hour with the Master, let alone risk his life. By the time the cock crowed, he had denied him thrice.
Peter was no more capable of losing what he had than was the rich man. The fundamental difference between them was self-knowledge.
The rich young ruler knew his soul well. He knew exactly what he could and could not do, rightly assessed himself, and sadly walked away.
Peter, on the other hand, simply threw himself recklessly at Jesus, committing himself to things far beyond the limitations of his small soul. Jumping out of the boat to walk on water, only to start sinking, turning to Jesus to save him once again. His faith was less than he believed, but he never stopped throwing himself at Jesus, failing and trying and failing again, with no regard for his capabilities.
And in the end, Peter did have the commitment and devotion that he was always reaching for, but only after Christ had risen from the dead.
With man it is impossible, but with God, all things are possible.
And the it was the reckless fisherman who became the rock on which Christ built his Church.
Perhaps the path to holiness lies not in virtue or strength of character, but in the decision to forget completely the state of one's soul, and fling oneself recklessly upon Christ.
12.04.2007
Water Tank Engines?
While everyone was drying off after bathtime, Nathan was startled a sudden gurgling noise.
"What's that?"
Then, after a closer listen, he answered his own question.
"Oh! It's the drain! Thomas the Drain!"
"What's that?"
Then, after a closer listen, he answered his own question.
"Oh! It's the drain! Thomas the Drain!"
11.30.2007
11.29.2007
11.28.2007
Preparing for Christmas
When I was small, Christmas was larger than life, looming luminously over half the year with a splendor so exquisite that it almost hurt.
But as I grew, Christmas seemed to stay the same. Just like my first bicycle, so large in my memory and so small standing at my feet, what had seemed so huge and magnificent never appeared to be quite as I remembered.
Christmas was still grand and wonderful, but I suppose I began to get used to it.
And now at last I have children of my own who are eagerly anticipating Christmas. It's not my first Christmas as a mother, or even my first Christmas with children old enough to understand, but it is the first Christmas where they're old enough to anticipate. This afternoon I was feeling very daunted, thinking that now I'm the one who has to make Christmas happen, and I'm just not quite sure if I'm capable of putting together a Christmas worthy of their anticipation.
But then, as I buckled down to the task of getting the house clean enough to be worthy of Christmas, I threw on some Christmas music. And it was Christmas.
And I realized that I don't have to make it Christmas after all. Christmas is real, and more resplendent and glorious than I ever could have imagined. All that is needful is with the help of baubles and lights and gingerbread, to make it small enough that a child's heart can contain the bliss.
But as I grew, Christmas seemed to stay the same. Just like my first bicycle, so large in my memory and so small standing at my feet, what had seemed so huge and magnificent never appeared to be quite as I remembered.
Christmas was still grand and wonderful, but I suppose I began to get used to it.
And now at last I have children of my own who are eagerly anticipating Christmas. It's not my first Christmas as a mother, or even my first Christmas with children old enough to understand, but it is the first Christmas where they're old enough to anticipate. This afternoon I was feeling very daunted, thinking that now I'm the one who has to make Christmas happen, and I'm just not quite sure if I'm capable of putting together a Christmas worthy of their anticipation.
But then, as I buckled down to the task of getting the house clean enough to be worthy of Christmas, I threw on some Christmas music. And it was Christmas.
And I realized that I don't have to make it Christmas after all. Christmas is real, and more resplendent and glorious than I ever could have imagined. All that is needful is with the help of baubles and lights and gingerbread, to make it small enough that a child's heart can contain the bliss.
11.27.2007
Mysteries of the Heart
I would have brushed it off as a bunch of bunk if I hadn't seen the link over at Scriptorium Daily. And maybe it still is a little fringe-y. Certainly not without its controversy. Still, it's really interesting.
You see, sometimes heart transplant patients undergo pretty significant personality changes. Which isn't really all that surprising, since a heart transplant is a rather huge event in a person's life. Near death experience followed by a newfound physical vigor--well, it'd be surprising if it didn't effect some sort of change in a person's soul.
Still, some of those changes are downright freakish... and consistent with the donor's characteristics. Thus the hypothesis that maybe--just maybe--the brain isn't the only place where we store thoughts, feelings and memories.
The implications are astonishingly profound, and so of course there's a lot of scepticism. Strangely enough, however, it was the SkepDic article that convinced me to take the idea seriously.
You see, according to the SkepDic, all the silliness is traceable back to Aristotle. We have all these absurd notions associating the heart with love and emotion because Aristotle wrongly postulated that the heart was the location of all our thoughts and feelings, while the brain was simply a fan to keep the heart nicely ventilated. Or something like that. I'm really not quite sure. Aristotle wrote plenty enough that's still important in it's own right, that I haven't exactly gotten around to reading those portions of his work that have been completely outdone by his followers. I'm just glad he started asking good questions, and glad others came along and found likelier answers.
So Aristotle thought that the heart was where it was all at, and the brain was just a pump to cool the heart. Modern medicine thinks that everything happens in the brain, and the heart is just a pump to feed the brain.
Come to think of it, it all sounds rather the same, and come to think of it, the poets have never believed either one. Poetry and experience have always told us that the head is the seat of rationality, the heart the seat of emotion, the intestines the seat of courage and fear. And I seem to recall the liver and the kidneys coming into play somewhere, but I never took it remotely seriously, because of course nowadays everyone knows that it all comes down to brain waves.
Not that I ever believed that we were reducible to brain waves. But I guess I always thought that our souls were connected to our brains, and our brains were connected to our bodies, and that the my experience of my body was something of an illusion, everything being mediated by my brain. But come to think of it, in the intermingling of soul-ish activities, I always experience ideas as trickling down into practice, and emotions welling up into my conscious thought.
What if my soul permeates the whole of my body?
This changes everything.
You see, sometimes heart transplant patients undergo pretty significant personality changes. Which isn't really all that surprising, since a heart transplant is a rather huge event in a person's life. Near death experience followed by a newfound physical vigor--well, it'd be surprising if it didn't effect some sort of change in a person's soul.
Still, some of those changes are downright freakish... and consistent with the donor's characteristics. Thus the hypothesis that maybe--just maybe--the brain isn't the only place where we store thoughts, feelings and memories.
The implications are astonishingly profound, and so of course there's a lot of scepticism. Strangely enough, however, it was the SkepDic article that convinced me to take the idea seriously.
You see, according to the SkepDic, all the silliness is traceable back to Aristotle. We have all these absurd notions associating the heart with love and emotion because Aristotle wrongly postulated that the heart was the location of all our thoughts and feelings, while the brain was simply a fan to keep the heart nicely ventilated. Or something like that. I'm really not quite sure. Aristotle wrote plenty enough that's still important in it's own right, that I haven't exactly gotten around to reading those portions of his work that have been completely outdone by his followers. I'm just glad he started asking good questions, and glad others came along and found likelier answers.
So Aristotle thought that the heart was where it was all at, and the brain was just a pump to cool the heart. Modern medicine thinks that everything happens in the brain, and the heart is just a pump to feed the brain.
Come to think of it, it all sounds rather the same, and come to think of it, the poets have never believed either one. Poetry and experience have always told us that the head is the seat of rationality, the heart the seat of emotion, the intestines the seat of courage and fear. And I seem to recall the liver and the kidneys coming into play somewhere, but I never took it remotely seriously, because of course nowadays everyone knows that it all comes down to brain waves.
Not that I ever believed that we were reducible to brain waves. But I guess I always thought that our souls were connected to our brains, and our brains were connected to our bodies, and that the my experience of my body was something of an illusion, everything being mediated by my brain. But come to think of it, in the intermingling of soul-ish activities, I always experience ideas as trickling down into practice, and emotions welling up into my conscious thought.
What if my soul permeates the whole of my body?
This changes everything.
11.26.2007
At a dragonfly's pace
This weekend, I learned from an extremely reliable source--a string cheese wrapper--that the life of a typical dragonfly spans 24 hours.
And I wonder... does the dragonfly realize just how short his life is?
Or is a day nearly so short to him as it is to us? Is that day, in fact, a lifetime to him?
And is our life really significantly longer?
Maybe 80 years isn't much time at all, except at a dragonfly's pace.
And I wonder... does the dragonfly realize just how short his life is?
Or is a day nearly so short to him as it is to us? Is that day, in fact, a lifetime to him?
And is our life really significantly longer?
Maybe 80 years isn't much time at all, except at a dragonfly's pace.
11.25.2007
Angels
Today could have been a very bad day. We were flying on the busiest travel day of the year, which also turned out to be the foggiest day in several years. And so it was that our quick little Portland/Seattle commuter flight turned into quite a "clouds of the northwest" tour, as the pilot circled the airport in hopes that it would clear up, and then headed over across the mountains to some tiny airport that wasn't fogged out. I don't remember the name of the place, but I do believe it was about as close to the middle of nowhere as an airport can be. Amazingly enough, this refuge from the fog actually was the final destination of one of the passengers, so it turned out beautifully for her. For us, though, it meant that by the time we made it to Seattle, our connecting flight to Houston had left several hours ago, and suddenly we were a party of five on standby on the busiest travel day of the year.
Today could have been a very bad day--but it wasn't. Today, on this busiest, craziest, most stressful airport day of the year, every airport employee we encountered went above and beyond to make sure everything went smoothly. From the lady at check-in who stepped right in and took care of the carseats, to the lady who rearranged the seating on the flight we squeezed onto, so that we weren't split up to badly, to the wonderful shuttle driver.
Today was a long day, a full day, but thanks to these wonderful people, it was a good day.
And I'm thankful.
Today could have been a very bad day--but it wasn't. Today, on this busiest, craziest, most stressful airport day of the year, every airport employee we encountered went above and beyond to make sure everything went smoothly. From the lady at check-in who stepped right in and took care of the carseats, to the lady who rearranged the seating on the flight we squeezed onto, so that we weren't split up to badly, to the wonderful shuttle driver.
Today was a long day, a full day, but thanks to these wonderful people, it was a good day.
And I'm thankful.
11.24.2007
11.23.2007
Cousins
It's an absolute madhouse.
But oh, the bliss of knowing that our progeny are only responsible for 3/5 of the toddler-related chaos.
Parenting loves company.
But oh, the bliss of knowing that our progeny are only responsible for 3/5 of the toddler-related chaos.
Parenting loves company.
11.22.2007
Happy Thanksgiving
Praise be to the Father who has provided for us so abundantly, tables heavy laden with good food, warm shelter from the crisp winter air, and dear friends and family with whom to enjoy these blessings!
Hope your day was warm and wonderful and full of scrumptious turkey.
Hope your day was warm and wonderful and full of scrumptious turkey.
11.21.2007
Perspective
We would have gotten a direct flight, had one been available.
All things being equal, we probably would have avoided trying to navigate a plane change with three toddlers.
But oh, it made for a wonderful day for the wuggies. Instead of just riding on one plane--treat enough!--they got to go on TWO planes. A great big jumbo jet and a tiny little prop plane that we even got to board from outside.
Oh the bliss, the ecstatic joy on those dear little faces.
You know what? Destination all aside (and oh, everyone is having a grand old time!) I think that was actually a perfectly grand way to spend a day.
But now, if you'll excuse me, it's time for bed.
All things being equal, we probably would have avoided trying to navigate a plane change with three toddlers.
But oh, it made for a wonderful day for the wuggies. Instead of just riding on one plane--treat enough!--they got to go on TWO planes. A great big jumbo jet and a tiny little prop plane that we even got to board from outside.
Oh the bliss, the ecstatic joy on those dear little faces.
You know what? Destination all aside (and oh, everyone is having a grand old time!) I think that was actually a perfectly grand way to spend a day.
But now, if you'll excuse me, it's time for bed.
11.20.2007
Singing as we wind our way through the grocery store...
"Three bottles of car on the wall, three bottles of car--take one down, pass it around, three bottles of car!"
11.19.2007
Sufficient to the day is the laundry thereof
Which makes packing... complicated.
Time to load up that washing machine.
Time to load up that washing machine.
11.18.2007
Hobbies
We were in the parking lot this afternoon when September gave a delighted little giggle. "A birdie! It's a birdie!"
This prompted her affectionate father to remark that surely our little girl was destined to grow up into an avid bird watcher.
At which point Isaiah (being very eager for his lunch) burst out saying "Wugger's gonna be a hot-dog watcher.
This prompted her affectionate father to remark that surely our little girl was destined to grow up into an avid bird watcher.
At which point Isaiah (being very eager for his lunch) burst out saying "Wugger's gonna be a hot-dog watcher.
11.17.2007
This afternoon, I we experienced a very odd tantrum.
Isaiah greatly objected to our plans for the afternoon, which would not have been so very strange, had our plans been less vague.
But I never expected to hear such a distraught little voice earnestly crying "No! I don't want to have fun! I don't want to have fun!"
Isaiah greatly objected to our plans for the afternoon, which would not have been so very strange, had our plans been less vague.
But I never expected to hear such a distraught little voice earnestly crying "No! I don't want to have fun! I don't want to have fun!"
11.16.2007
Faerie Stories
"Makin' maple candy, Mama?"
"No, I'm making a sourdough starter. Even though you can't see them, there are all sorts of little animals all around us, smaller than mosquitos or ants..."
"And a man?"
"Much, much smaller than a man. And we're going to try to catch some. And then they'll eat some of the flour, and they'll blow bubbles in the dough so it will be nice and puffy when we make bread."
Sometimes the strangest fairy tales of all are the ones really believe.
"No, I'm making a sourdough starter. Even though you can't see them, there are all sorts of little animals all around us, smaller than mosquitos or ants..."
"And a man?"
"Much, much smaller than a man. And we're going to try to catch some. And then they'll eat some of the flour, and they'll blow bubbles in the dough so it will be nice and puffy when we make bread."
Sometimes the strangest fairy tales of all are the ones really believe.
Bob the Builder Shoes
A few months ago, I went shoe-shopping with September, and her sweet little heart was set on Bob the Builder shoes.
And so I dutifully scoured the little girls shoe aisle for Bob the Builder shoes.
Not surprisingly, I didn't find any. There may very well have been lots of Bob the Builder shoes just a few feet over in the little boys shoe aisle, but I wasn't about to open up that can of worms. Much as Tembo wanted Bob the Builder shoes, I wanted her to have something at least a little bit girly.
I was just about to sadly announce that they didn't have any Bob the Builder shoes, and wouldn't she like to try on this nice pair of T-straps, when Tembo gave a little cry of delight and discovery. She'd found them.
Bob the Builder shoes.
That's what we call them, and she's very proud of them indeed. They're Bob the Builder shoes, and don't you dare suggest otherwise.
And so I dutifully scoured the little girls shoe aisle for Bob the Builder shoes.
Not surprisingly, I didn't find any. There may very well have been lots of Bob the Builder shoes just a few feet over in the little boys shoe aisle, but I wasn't about to open up that can of worms. Much as Tembo wanted Bob the Builder shoes, I wanted her to have something at least a little bit girly.
I was just about to sadly announce that they didn't have any Bob the Builder shoes, and wouldn't she like to try on this nice pair of T-straps, when Tembo gave a little cry of delight and discovery. She'd found them.
Bob the Builder shoes.
That's what we call them, and she's very proud of them indeed. They're Bob the Builder shoes, and don't you dare suggest otherwise.
11.15.2007
Christmas Wish
Over breakfast, Meepo was telling me that he wants Scrooge to bring him a new back yard for Christmas.
One with ducks, and bears. And no lions, just monkeys.
One with ducks, and bears. And no lions, just monkeys.
11.14.2007
Works for Me Wednesday: Practice Makes Perfect
We're working hard on manners here in Wuggyville. For some time now, the wuggies have been saying the "magic word" ...when prompted. Oh, they would make the sweetest, most polite little requests, cute enough to melt your heart, but only after I would remind them that Mama doesn't listen to whining.
It had me stumped for a long time. Teaching them to say "please" and "thank you" was a piece of cake. Teaching them to do it the first time was another story altogether.
Anyway, I've got it figured out now, and it's oh-so-simple. They just need practice, that's all. Lots and lots of practice. If they ask me nicely the first time, then I answer them right away. If not, then it's time to practice, practice, practice. If they ask nicely the first time, then I'm quite satisfied with sweetly polite toddler-talk, but if I have to prompt them, then it has to be word perfect, and repeated several times. This can take a while. When you're only two years old, sometimes your "Mama, may I please" gets sort of tangled up with your "have a cup of milk," and it takes a while to get it all sorted out. SoI was originally thinking of this as a deterrent-- they would have an incentive to do it right the first time so as to avoid the drill, and get straight to the cup of milk or whatnot. But they actually love it. At this age they love nothing more than memorization, so it's a fun game for them. What's more, they really do want to know how to communicate their needs properly, and they're eager little learners.
Three days in, and I'm noticing a marked difference already.
Works for me!
And oh, there are very few things in life that are sweeter than the sound of your little son saying, "Mama, may I please have some snuggles."
It had me stumped for a long time. Teaching them to say "please" and "thank you" was a piece of cake. Teaching them to do it the first time was another story altogether.
Anyway, I've got it figured out now, and it's oh-so-simple. They just need practice, that's all. Lots and lots of practice. If they ask me nicely the first time, then I answer them right away. If not, then it's time to practice, practice, practice. If they ask nicely the first time, then I'm quite satisfied with sweetly polite toddler-talk, but if I have to prompt them, then it has to be word perfect, and repeated several times. This can take a while. When you're only two years old, sometimes your "Mama, may I please" gets sort of tangled up with your "have a cup of milk," and it takes a while to get it all sorted out. SoI was originally thinking of this as a deterrent-- they would have an incentive to do it right the first time so as to avoid the drill, and get straight to the cup of milk or whatnot. But they actually love it. At this age they love nothing more than memorization, so it's a fun game for them. What's more, they really do want to know how to communicate their needs properly, and they're eager little learners.
Three days in, and I'm noticing a marked difference already.
Works for me!
And oh, there are very few things in life that are sweeter than the sound of your little son saying, "Mama, may I please have some snuggles."
11.13.2007
Transplanted
Houston is a strange sort of place, and we're still strangers. But the strange thing is, everyone else is something of a stranger, too. Not just to us, but to the place itself.
It was bittersweet leaving our dear community in Los Angeles, but we knew it was inevitable. Even if we hadn't left, people were leaving all around us, and many more would soon go too. It was only a matter of time. The very nature of our community was transient. A stage of life on the way to something else.
And that is precisely how Houston, as a city, feels. It's not really home to anyone. Nobody lives here because they want to live in Houston, they live here because Hewlitt-Packard is here, and NASA, and the oil companies. And because Hewlitt-Packard, and NASA, and the oil companies pay enough to send their children to nice private schools.
There are lots of reasons to live in Houston, but Houston itself doesn't seem to be one of them.
It's a weird contrast to Los Angeles. Lost Angeles (I'll let the typo remain) is the promised land and hell all rolled into one. Some love it, some hate it, but it's always one or the other, and usually both. Los Angeles may induce apathy, but never toward itself.
Houston, on the other hand... well, I suppose it makes sense. There's a certain sort of person who dreams of living in the big city, and there's a certain sort of person who dreams of living in Texas. Houston, being both, is satisfactory to neither.
So folks settle for Houston, and make the best of it. The city feels remarkably calm and clean compared to Los Angeles. I hear such horrible things about the inner city, but where's the graffiti? Houston just isn't nearly so rough around the edges, and it feels a little soulless by comparison. Soul-less... but very pleasant and attractive.
Strangely, the one place in the city that looks most loved, most truly home to its residents, is the artsy-hippie community nestled in the notorious fifth ward. But that place is well loved precisely because of it's transient gypsy happy-wanderer feel. They may stay for the rest of their lives, but even so they're really just passing through.
It's just like all the rest of Houston, just a little more explicit, that's all. The rest of the city approaches with a much different aesthetic, but in the end, everybody's just passing through, and making the best of the time they spend in Houston.
And I think that's okay.
Because whether we're thinking about it or not, we're all just wandering wayfarers on this earth.
And I think it might be a little bit easier to live lightly in a place that knows its place.
It was bittersweet leaving our dear community in Los Angeles, but we knew it was inevitable. Even if we hadn't left, people were leaving all around us, and many more would soon go too. It was only a matter of time. The very nature of our community was transient. A stage of life on the way to something else.
And that is precisely how Houston, as a city, feels. It's not really home to anyone. Nobody lives here because they want to live in Houston, they live here because Hewlitt-Packard is here, and NASA, and the oil companies. And because Hewlitt-Packard, and NASA, and the oil companies pay enough to send their children to nice private schools.
There are lots of reasons to live in Houston, but Houston itself doesn't seem to be one of them.
It's a weird contrast to Los Angeles. Lost Angeles (I'll let the typo remain) is the promised land and hell all rolled into one. Some love it, some hate it, but it's always one or the other, and usually both. Los Angeles may induce apathy, but never toward itself.
Houston, on the other hand... well, I suppose it makes sense. There's a certain sort of person who dreams of living in the big city, and there's a certain sort of person who dreams of living in Texas. Houston, being both, is satisfactory to neither.
So folks settle for Houston, and make the best of it. The city feels remarkably calm and clean compared to Los Angeles. I hear such horrible things about the inner city, but where's the graffiti? Houston just isn't nearly so rough around the edges, and it feels a little soulless by comparison. Soul-less... but very pleasant and attractive.
Strangely, the one place in the city that looks most loved, most truly home to its residents, is the artsy-hippie community nestled in the notorious fifth ward. But that place is well loved precisely because of it's transient gypsy happy-wanderer feel. They may stay for the rest of their lives, but even so they're really just passing through.
It's just like all the rest of Houston, just a little more explicit, that's all. The rest of the city approaches with a much different aesthetic, but in the end, everybody's just passing through, and making the best of the time they spend in Houston.
And I think that's okay.
Because whether we're thinking about it or not, we're all just wandering wayfarers on this earth.
And I think it might be a little bit easier to live lightly in a place that knows its place.
11.12.2007
Bragging Rights
My lowly little blog is google's top-ranking page on alphabetical excuses.
Come to think of it, I'm not quite sure whether that's a good thing or a bad thing.
Come to think of it, I'm not quite sure whether that's a good thing or a bad thing.
11.11.2007
Who has seen the wind?
Leaves have been swirling down all day, and as we walked to the park this afternoon, the treetops swayed gently.
"Look, there's fans in the trees!"
And I wonder... did the wind hold more mystery for those who grew up before central AC?
"Look, there's fans in the trees!"
And I wonder... did the wind hold more mystery for those who grew up before central AC?
11.10.2007
Only at Big! Lots!
Big! Lots! is a wonderfully absurd place. It's where the almost-good-ideas-but-not-quite end up. Decorative knick-knacks that are almost decorative, but not quite decorative for anyone to buy full price. And orange and white socks, that are perfectly fine and wonderful except for the fact that I never would have picked them out specifically. And I guess nobody else would have either, because there they are at Big! Lots! There are all sorts of things at Big! Lots!, and the inventory is perpetually fluctuating, but the number one item seems to be bottles of olive oil with an assortment of herbs, fruit rinds, and dried vegetables. My guess is that it's probably just an art form that's particularly easy to imitate with no understanding whatsoever. Who knows. I have absolutely no knowledge of the art of olive oil flower arrangements, but I figure there must be a lot of near misses, since Big! Lots! is full of them. And near misses is what Big! Lots! does best.
I've found a lot of really great stuff at Big! Lots! Sometimes I know full well what's wrong with an item, and that the flaw is something I can live with. In those cases I'm thrilled to be pieces to be getting such a bargain. But there isn't necessarily anything wrong with any given item, and that's what gives me a little anxiety. You see, sometimes I really actually like something I find at Big! Lots! And it could very well be that this particular item was simply part of a liquidation, and is every bit as wonderful as it seems. Or it could be that I'm totally missing something.
Sometimes it becomes quite clear after I've purchased the item. The DVD player that was such a great bargain? No fast forward or rewind. And no returns on electronics. Oops.
The carpet steamer, on the other hand, has served me well for going on two years, and has been absolutely indispensable on more occasions than I care to recount. What was it doing at Big! Lots! for $20? I guess I'll never know, but it seems fairly clear that it was through no fault of its own.
Other items just remain an open question. Does it mean that I have horrendous taste if I really love those $2 wall sconces? But I never worry about it too much, because if I have horrendous taste in wall sconces, so be it, and if I'm going to inadvertantly purchase ugly sconces, I'd rather waste $2 than $30. But I'm actually pretty confident in my assessment of them, so I think I'll just leave it at that.
Anyway, as I was in the checkout line this afternoon with my very normal broom (at least I think it's normal) and my (hopefully) normal washcloths, I found myself examining the construction of the checkout lanes. I had a lot of time to examine it carefully, because Halloween is already over, and folks are starting to get a little frantic about their Christmas shopping. As the signs in the toy department say, "you can never buy too much at Big! Lots!"
The checkout lanes were constructed out of what I assume must be particle board, covered in formica. Quite typical and normal.
Now most of the time, formica is either in a solid color, or printed so as to look like some posher substance, such as actual wood, or perhaps granite or marble.
But at Big! Lots! complete and total honesty reigned. The formica was printed so as to appear to be...
Particle board.
Only at Big! Lots! Only at Big! Lots!
I've found a lot of really great stuff at Big! Lots! Sometimes I know full well what's wrong with an item, and that the flaw is something I can live with. In those cases I'm thrilled to be pieces to be getting such a bargain. But there isn't necessarily anything wrong with any given item, and that's what gives me a little anxiety. You see, sometimes I really actually like something I find at Big! Lots! And it could very well be that this particular item was simply part of a liquidation, and is every bit as wonderful as it seems. Or it could be that I'm totally missing something.
Sometimes it becomes quite clear after I've purchased the item. The DVD player that was such a great bargain? No fast forward or rewind. And no returns on electronics. Oops.
The carpet steamer, on the other hand, has served me well for going on two years, and has been absolutely indispensable on more occasions than I care to recount. What was it doing at Big! Lots! for $20? I guess I'll never know, but it seems fairly clear that it was through no fault of its own.
Other items just remain an open question. Does it mean that I have horrendous taste if I really love those $2 wall sconces? But I never worry about it too much, because if I have horrendous taste in wall sconces, so be it, and if I'm going to inadvertantly purchase ugly sconces, I'd rather waste $2 than $30. But I'm actually pretty confident in my assessment of them, so I think I'll just leave it at that.
Anyway, as I was in the checkout line this afternoon with my very normal broom (at least I think it's normal) and my (hopefully) normal washcloths, I found myself examining the construction of the checkout lanes. I had a lot of time to examine it carefully, because Halloween is already over, and folks are starting to get a little frantic about their Christmas shopping. As the signs in the toy department say, "you can never buy too much at Big! Lots!"
The checkout lanes were constructed out of what I assume must be particle board, covered in formica. Quite typical and normal.
Now most of the time, formica is either in a solid color, or printed so as to look like some posher substance, such as actual wood, or perhaps granite or marble.
But at Big! Lots! complete and total honesty reigned. The formica was printed so as to appear to be...
Particle board.
Only at Big! Lots! Only at Big! Lots!
11.09.2007
Pray without ceasing
As I stepped onto the treadmill this afternoon, I realized to my dismay that I'd forgotten to bring a book. I'd started the strengthening phase of my chiropractic treatment, and while I found most of the exercises to be challenging and enjoyable, 8 minutes of a moderately brisk walking gait on the treadmill was horrendously dull.
So I thought I'd redeem the time saying the Jesus prayer.
But just like every time I try to think about something, I ended up thinking about the nature of thought, layered right on top of what I was trying to think. And every time I would try to pull the entirety of my thoughts back to the prayer, I would start thinking about the process of thought, and how weird it is to have layers of thought, and how do you pull your thoughts onto one thing anyway?
And then it all made sense. I'd never quite understood how we could possibly "pray without ceasing." Did that mean that we shouldn't do anything else? Or do we somehow have to train ourselves to always be multi-tasking, always praying while we're talking or thinking or doing at the same time.
But there on the treadmill, thinking these thoughts as I tried to drag my full attention back to my whispered prayer, I realized that I don't need to train myself in some sophisticated mental skill to be able to do that. There is often a subtext running underneath my intentional thoughts. Thoughts about who I am and what I'm doing and what my purpose is. It's never been an issue of training myself to do that, rather, I'm constantly struggling to get myself to shut up. The thoughts I don't think about are seldom edifying.
But maybe I don't need to silence the subtext after all. Maybe this is the very capacity with which I can pray without ceasing. Maybe prayer without ceasing doesn't involve training myself to somehow obtain a bizarre new mental skill, but rather involves filling up with truth all the mental space currently devoted to telling myself lies, or worse yet, truths devoid of proper focus.
The Way of the Pilgrim is making a whole lot more sense to me now.
I think I finally see, too, why this particular prayer is so often used for breath prayer. It quickly establishes the proper focus of everything--Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God--and then establishes who I am in relation to Him--have mercy on me, a sinner. And really, that's what I need to know to keep my bearings. And for all its clarity and simplicity, it's something that I really do need to hear about 7 times a minute.
So I thought I'd redeem the time saying the Jesus prayer.
But just like every time I try to think about something, I ended up thinking about the nature of thought, layered right on top of what I was trying to think. And every time I would try to pull the entirety of my thoughts back to the prayer, I would start thinking about the process of thought, and how weird it is to have layers of thought, and how do you pull your thoughts onto one thing anyway?
And then it all made sense. I'd never quite understood how we could possibly "pray without ceasing." Did that mean that we shouldn't do anything else? Or do we somehow have to train ourselves to always be multi-tasking, always praying while we're talking or thinking or doing at the same time.
But there on the treadmill, thinking these thoughts as I tried to drag my full attention back to my whispered prayer, I realized that I don't need to train myself in some sophisticated mental skill to be able to do that. There is often a subtext running underneath my intentional thoughts. Thoughts about who I am and what I'm doing and what my purpose is. It's never been an issue of training myself to do that, rather, I'm constantly struggling to get myself to shut up. The thoughts I don't think about are seldom edifying.
But maybe I don't need to silence the subtext after all. Maybe this is the very capacity with which I can pray without ceasing. Maybe prayer without ceasing doesn't involve training myself to somehow obtain a bizarre new mental skill, but rather involves filling up with truth all the mental space currently devoted to telling myself lies, or worse yet, truths devoid of proper focus.
The Way of the Pilgrim is making a whole lot more sense to me now.
I think I finally see, too, why this particular prayer is so often used for breath prayer. It quickly establishes the proper focus of everything--Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God--and then establishes who I am in relation to Him--have mercy on me, a sinner. And really, that's what I need to know to keep my bearings. And for all its clarity and simplicity, it's something that I really do need to hear about 7 times a minute.
11.08.2007
Shut-eye
This afternoon the wuggies and I did a fun little exercise designed to develop memory skills, or some such thing. Much along the lines of the standard baby shower game, I showed them a platter with four objects. Then I told them to close their eyes while I removed one of the objects. When they opened their eyes again, they had to tell me which object was missing.
In the end, Nathan did answer correctly once, but Isaiah was only interested in finding other objects that ought to go on the platter. September meanwhile, repeated everything I said, with lots of cheering sprinkled in. If they didn't quite understand it, however, they more than made up for it with enthusiasm, and when my game was over, they each created their own spinoffs.
Isaiah arranged a number of toys on the platter, and asked me to come talk about them.
And Nathan told me to close my eyes, while he went to his room to bring out a surprise.
I did. I shouldn't have, but I did. It was just for a few seconds, but I closed my eyes.
And so did he, apparently, because the next thing I knew, he had walked right into his brother. At least, I think that's what happened. My eyes were shut.
At any rate, Isaiah appeared to be uninjured, but Nathan had a bloody nose. I was scared silly, but after just a few minutes of gentle pressure to the bridge of his nose, the bleeding stopped.
At this point, Nathan leaned back in my arms, and looked mournfully up at me.
"I've got no more blood. It's all gone."
If his rambunctious behavior for the rest of the day is any indication, there is still plenty of blood flowing around him, right where it's supposed to be. All's well that ends well.
But it's going to be a very long time before I bring up any games involving the closing of the eyes.
Except for bedtime. And come to think of it, I'm quite looking forward to that one after today.
In the end, Nathan did answer correctly once, but Isaiah was only interested in finding other objects that ought to go on the platter. September meanwhile, repeated everything I said, with lots of cheering sprinkled in. If they didn't quite understand it, however, they more than made up for it with enthusiasm, and when my game was over, they each created their own spinoffs.
Isaiah arranged a number of toys on the platter, and asked me to come talk about them.
And Nathan told me to close my eyes, while he went to his room to bring out a surprise.
I did. I shouldn't have, but I did. It was just for a few seconds, but I closed my eyes.
And so did he, apparently, because the next thing I knew, he had walked right into his brother. At least, I think that's what happened. My eyes were shut.
At any rate, Isaiah appeared to be uninjured, but Nathan had a bloody nose. I was scared silly, but after just a few minutes of gentle pressure to the bridge of his nose, the bleeding stopped.
At this point, Nathan leaned back in my arms, and looked mournfully up at me.
"I've got no more blood. It's all gone."
If his rambunctious behavior for the rest of the day is any indication, there is still plenty of blood flowing around him, right where it's supposed to be. All's well that ends well.
But it's going to be a very long time before I bring up any games involving the closing of the eyes.
Except for bedtime. And come to think of it, I'm quite looking forward to that one after today.
11.07.2007
Initiative and Independence
I'm not quite sure whether to be proud of my little son for blowing his nose all by himself, and meticulously wiping down the piano without even being asked...
or to chide him sternly for using the same tissue for both tasks.
or to chide him sternly for using the same tissue for both tasks.
11.06.2007
One of the many delights of motherhood is rediscovering everything. Centrifugal force! Gravity! Color! Words!
This evening over dinner, Nathan was waxing poetical about his milk. How good it makes him feel, how comforting it is ("it hold holds me"), and how white it is.
Orange juice was Isaiah's beverage of choice, and being equally pleased with the contents of his cup, he felt the need to chime in with his own description.
"My orange juice is r... My orange juice is ye...."
Realization spread over his face like the glow of sunrise. "My orange juice is orange! Orange orange juice."
And so it is that tonight I am wondering once again...
Which came first, the color or the fruit?
This evening over dinner, Nathan was waxing poetical about his milk. How good it makes him feel, how comforting it is ("it hold holds me"), and how white it is.
Orange juice was Isaiah's beverage of choice, and being equally pleased with the contents of his cup, he felt the need to chime in with his own description.
"My orange juice is r... My orange juice is ye...."
Realization spread over his face like the glow of sunrise. "My orange juice is orange! Orange orange juice."
And so it is that tonight I am wondering once again...
Which came first, the color or the fruit?
11.05.2007
In which September's continuing obsession with her piggie becomes ever more evident
I want to write a story about Grandma and Grandpa and piggie. Piggie in the water. Grandpa and Grandma saw... what did they see?
Wanna tost it.
Wanna tost it.
Sunday School, from Nathan's perspective.
I play toys in Sunday School, and the Bible story. They teach me about the Bible story, and Jesus. Mom and Daddy went to Bible story. Mom and Daddy went to church.
I want to post it now so Gramma and Grampa can see it.
I want to post it now so Gramma and Grampa can see it.
11.04.2007
Feel and Learn
I can't believe they expect me to pay extra for diapers that are less absorbent, less comfortable for my precious little ones.
It's a stroke of marketing genius worthy of Tom himself.
And the truly awful thing is, I'm actually buying it.
Please pass the whitewash.
It's a stroke of marketing genius worthy of Tom himself.
And the truly awful thing is, I'm actually buying it.
Please pass the whitewash.
11.03.2007
Impatience
"Choco milk, pease?"
"You can have some chocolate milk as soon as I'm done putting the dishes away."
"I want chocolate milk now!"
"Hold your horses, sweetie."
"But I don't want to hold my horses. I want to hold my chocolate milk."
"You can have some chocolate milk as soon as I'm done putting the dishes away."
"I want chocolate milk now!"
"Hold your horses, sweetie."
"But I don't want to hold my horses. I want to hold my chocolate milk."
11.02.2007
Meepo's first book report
All the Book.
Charlotte's Web goes to the fair, and the spider.
The man puts water on the pig.
The man puts food to the pig.
That's it.
Charlotte's Web goes to the fair, and the spider.
The man puts water on the pig.
The man puts food to the pig.
That's it.
11.01.2007
Sensibleness
I will not obsess about houses.
I will not obsess about houses.
I will not obsess about houses.
I will not obsess about houses.
I will not obsess about houses.
Suburbia? Urban condo? Urban neighborhood? Country?
We're pretty committed to settling down in the Houston area, but that leaves us with a lot of choices. Choices that make a pretty big difference in what sort of family we will be, and choices that need to be made sometime in the next year, before our rental lease is up.
But maybe we don't have to choose. This week we found the house of our dreams, suburban and urban and country all rolled into one. It faces away from the street, has a severe mildew problem, and there is exactly 6 feet of vertical space between floor and ceiling on the lower level, etc, etc, etc... other than that, it's perfect.
Build a house? Buy a house? Fix a house?
I'm getting rather dizzy.
I hear my grandmother's voice through all this, and one of the songs she would always teach us at her Good News Clubs. "One step at a time, only one step at a time. That is the way the Lord will lead us, one step at a time...."
And if there's a straightforward one-step-at-a-time path through the tangled mass of real estate decisions, really, everything else must be remarkably simple.
I do believe I'm on my way to become quite sensible.
If I can just stop obsessing about houses, that is.
I will not obsess about houses.
I will not obsess about houses.
I will not obsess about houses.
I will not obsess about houses.
Suburbia? Urban condo? Urban neighborhood? Country?
We're pretty committed to settling down in the Houston area, but that leaves us with a lot of choices. Choices that make a pretty big difference in what sort of family we will be, and choices that need to be made sometime in the next year, before our rental lease is up.
But maybe we don't have to choose. This week we found the house of our dreams, suburban and urban and country all rolled into one. It faces away from the street, has a severe mildew problem, and there is exactly 6 feet of vertical space between floor and ceiling on the lower level, etc, etc, etc... other than that, it's perfect.
Build a house? Buy a house? Fix a house?
I'm getting rather dizzy.
I hear my grandmother's voice through all this, and one of the songs she would always teach us at her Good News Clubs. "One step at a time, only one step at a time. That is the way the Lord will lead us, one step at a time...."
And if there's a straightforward one-step-at-a-time path through the tangled mass of real estate decisions, really, everything else must be remarkably simple.
I do believe I'm on my way to become quite sensible.
If I can just stop obsessing about houses, that is.
10.31.2007
Works for Me Wednesday: Sublimely Easy Pot Roast
Last night's pot roast took me about 5 minutes to assemble, and it was among the best I've ever tasted. Certainly by far the best I've ever made.
1 4-5 lb. chuck roast
1 large portobello mushroom
salt
pepper
Rub roast generously with salt and pepper. Place in crock pot. Cut mushroom into cubes, place around roast. Cook on low until supper time. I cooked mine for 10 hours, but we could have eaten it much earlier and it still would have been good. Crock pots are flexible that way.
Maybe next time I'll do more mushrooms. They were sooo good.
Serve with a yummy salad and it definitely works for me!
1 4-5 lb. chuck roast
1 large portobello mushroom
salt
pepper
Rub roast generously with salt and pepper. Place in crock pot. Cut mushroom into cubes, place around roast. Cook on low until supper time. I cooked mine for 10 hours, but we could have eaten it much earlier and it still would have been good. Crock pots are flexible that way.
Maybe next time I'll do more mushrooms. They were sooo good.
Serve with a yummy salad and it definitely works for me!
10.27.2007
Acclimation
Winter has come upon us... fast.
I think the weather changes might have seemed a little faster than they really were, if only because we'd finally gotten used to Texas. We're just tooling along as usual, trying to keep the house as cool as we can without going broke, and then poof, one day I wake up to the chattering of my own teeth. Still wrapped in blankets, I trundle over to the thermostat.
72 degrees.
Normal temperatures are going to take some getting used to.
I think the weather changes might have seemed a little faster than they really were, if only because we'd finally gotten used to Texas. We're just tooling along as usual, trying to keep the house as cool as we can without going broke, and then poof, one day I wake up to the chattering of my own teeth. Still wrapped in blankets, I trundle over to the thermostat.
72 degrees.
Normal temperatures are going to take some getting used to.
10.26.2007
Storytime Continues
I'm having a blast serving as typist to my budding authors. It wasn't my intention to keep posting everything they dictate, but my firstborn is something of an exhibitionist. The moment we were finished, he told me I needed to post it. And... well... I enjoyed it, anyway! =)
Timmo in the Paper
Monsters are going to eat the town. Somebody's gonna stop the monsters. Somebody's gonna stop the dragons, too. The dragons are gonna eat the houses, and the people must stop the dragons. Dinosaurs are gonna eat the paper. Lions drink Ensure.
Timmo in the Paper
Monsters are going to eat the town. Somebody's gonna stop the monsters. Somebody's gonna stop the dragons, too. The dragons are gonna eat the houses, and the people must stop the dragons. Dinosaurs are gonna eat the paper. Lions drink Ensure.
10.25.2007
Grandpa's House
By Isaiah Johnston
Grandpa's house is in Supai. We go to the helicopter in Supai. Grandpa lives in Grandpa's house, and Grandma's gonna live in it, too. I go to the water in Supai, too. There's a beach. I go to the beach too. There's water in Supai.
Grandpa's house is in Supai. We go to the helicopter in Supai. Grandpa lives in Grandpa's house, and Grandma's gonna live in it, too. I go to the water in Supai, too. There's a beach. I go to the beach too. There's water in Supai.
Just Me and My Dump Truck
By Nathan Johnston
To Grandma and Grandpa
Just me in the car with Mommy and Daddy. The critter is going to Crob. He looks out the window, and so he draws a window, and so he draws a car. And so he draws a van. Just me in my car. And Mama and Daddy drives the car first. Just me in my dump truck. The dump truck's for Grandma and Grandpa. Grandpa has a dump truck, and Daddy has a bulldozer. A bulldozer for Daddy. And so he drives a backhoe. Just me and my real truck. Just me in my car.
To Grandma and Grandpa
Just me in the car with Mommy and Daddy. The critter is going to Crob. He looks out the window, and so he draws a window, and so he draws a car. And so he draws a van. Just me in my car. And Mama and Daddy drives the car first. Just me in my dump truck. The dump truck's for Grandma and Grandpa. Grandpa has a dump truck, and Daddy has a bulldozer. A bulldozer for Daddy. And so he drives a backhoe. Just me and my real truck. Just me in my car.
10.24.2007
Works for Me Wednesday: Garlic
I love garlic. I loved garlic before I discovered its amazing infection-fighting properties, but now it's become an absolute staple. Eat enough raw garlic and you're breath will be so bad the bacteria just rolls over and dies. That's my theory, anyway. Not that I'm dispensing medical advice in any way shape or form. But oh my, garlic has sure been there for me when I've gotten sick while traveling or over the weekend.
But that's not what works for me. Although it does! It does! I'm just not even remotely qualified to recommend it. What works for me this Wednesday morning is getting the peels off.
This week I discovered the easiest way to peel garlic. I don't peel it all, I just start slicing. And the peel just falls right off, of it's own accord. Viola! So simple. Works for me!
But that's not what works for me. Although it does! It does! I'm just not even remotely qualified to recommend it. What works for me this Wednesday morning is getting the peels off.
This week I discovered the easiest way to peel garlic. I don't peel it all, I just start slicing. And the peel just falls right off, of it's own accord. Viola! So simple. Works for me!
10.23.2007
Budgeting
Nathan didn't want to wear his big boy underwear this morning. He wanted a diaper.
"But Mama, I don't want to pee in my underwear!"
"That's right. You don't pee in your underwear, you're going to pee in the potty."
"I don't want to pee in the potty. "
"Well, I don't want to buy you diapers anymore. Do you have any idea how many books we could buy for what we spend on diapers every month?"
"The library has books. Let's just go to the library."
"But Mama, I don't want to pee in my underwear!"
"That's right. You don't pee in your underwear, you're going to pee in the potty."
"I don't want to pee in the potty. "
"Well, I don't want to buy you diapers anymore. Do you have any idea how many books we could buy for what we spend on diapers every month?"
"The library has books. Let's just go to the library."
10.18.2007
Excuses, excuses
Lately we've been working with the wuggies on mealtime manners. Particularly the "may I please be excused" part that really ought to come before the hopping off to go play with trains part.
Anyway, this evening I was glad that Isaiah asked to be excused without any prompting... still, I really did want him to wait for an answer before running off.
"Honey, you need to wait for Mama or Dadders to say you can get up. Why don't you get back in your chair and we'll try it again."
"May I be 'scoosed please?
"You need to get back in your chair first."
"May I be 'scoosed please?"
With each repetition he scooted himself just a smidgen further toward his chair, each time hoping that maybe we'd consider that enough. But we didn't, and so after a few repetitions he was in his chair again. Once there, he just grinned up at us happily.
"Didn't you have something you wanted to say, Isaiah?"
Grinning from ear to ear, he proudly surveyed his audience, and made his grand pronouncement.
"Noah's Ark. Noah's ark and the animals."
Anyway, this evening I was glad that Isaiah asked to be excused without any prompting... still, I really did want him to wait for an answer before running off.
"Honey, you need to wait for Mama or Dadders to say you can get up. Why don't you get back in your chair and we'll try it again."
"May I be 'scoosed please?
"You need to get back in your chair first."
"May I be 'scoosed please?"
With each repetition he scooted himself just a smidgen further toward his chair, each time hoping that maybe we'd consider that enough. But we didn't, and so after a few repetitions he was in his chair again. Once there, he just grinned up at us happily.
"Didn't you have something you wanted to say, Isaiah?"
Grinning from ear to ear, he proudly surveyed his audience, and made his grand pronouncement.
"Noah's Ark. Noah's ark and the animals."
10.17.2007
Purpose
Nathan thinks we should get a dog named Hatch. We'll feed him bones ("and vitamins!" his brother adds) and take him for walks.
Most importantly, though, we'll fill the house with sheep for him to herd.
Most importantly, though, we'll fill the house with sheep for him to herd.
10.16.2007
Good day. Bad day.
Yesterday was a great day. It was the day our new piano arrived. It's in bad need of a tune, but it's so pretty, and even when it's out of tune, I'm very happy with the tone and touch. I can't wait to get it tuned!
Yesterday was also the day that the I told the delivery men to put the piano over by the window, forgetting that the window was over by the back door, the piano would get bashed every time they opened the door. Once Andy got home, scooting it over 9 inches solved everything, but do you have any idea how impossible it is for one petite woman to scoot a piano anywhere at all?
Yesterday was not the day that Andrew's lenses broke, but it was the day he had to go to work with one lens, thus making it the day I insisted on piling the kids into the car and driving him to work, and also the day we picked him up after work and drove him to LensCrafters. LensCrafties might be the better name, as they quote one price over the phone, twice that in person, and won't let you buy lenses without the frames. Maybe the second price quote included the frames? Either way, it was confusing, and more than we wanted to pay.
But the mall also had an EyeMasters, and so we each got a complete set of glasses for less than LensCrafter's more conservative quote for the lenses alone. In the hypothetical world where they would let us do that, of course. So all in all, it was a good day for glasses.
This would have been a full, exhausting day anyway, even if the kids hadn't flushed something down the toilet.
But at least that something appears to have been nothing more than a full roll of toilet paper. It all seems to have passed through, so we don't have to worry about unclogging the pipes. Which is a very good thing, the flood is quite enough trouble, thankyouverymuch.
Yesterday, it rained, and that pretty much sums it up. The air was sparkling fresh, the roads were borderline flooded, the lightning storm was spectacularly beautiful, and we were soaking wet.
But hey, we got a free car wash.
Yesterday was also the day that the I told the delivery men to put the piano over by the window, forgetting that the window was over by the back door, the piano would get bashed every time they opened the door. Once Andy got home, scooting it over 9 inches solved everything, but do you have any idea how impossible it is for one petite woman to scoot a piano anywhere at all?
Yesterday was not the day that Andrew's lenses broke, but it was the day he had to go to work with one lens, thus making it the day I insisted on piling the kids into the car and driving him to work, and also the day we picked him up after work and drove him to LensCrafters. LensCrafties might be the better name, as they quote one price over the phone, twice that in person, and won't let you buy lenses without the frames. Maybe the second price quote included the frames? Either way, it was confusing, and more than we wanted to pay.
But the mall also had an EyeMasters, and so we each got a complete set of glasses for less than LensCrafter's more conservative quote for the lenses alone. In the hypothetical world where they would let us do that, of course. So all in all, it was a good day for glasses.
This would have been a full, exhausting day anyway, even if the kids hadn't flushed something down the toilet.
But at least that something appears to have been nothing more than a full roll of toilet paper. It all seems to have passed through, so we don't have to worry about unclogging the pipes. Which is a very good thing, the flood is quite enough trouble, thankyouverymuch.
Yesterday, it rained, and that pretty much sums it up. The air was sparkling fresh, the roads were borderline flooded, the lightning storm was spectacularly beautiful, and we were soaking wet.
But hey, we got a free car wash.
10.12.2007
Adjusted Expectations
There's no way I would have gone to him, except that Tony said he was amazing, and Tony's a pretty sane, level headed sort of guy. I can't imagine that he would recommend a New Age quack.
Still, the website talked an awful lot about reflexes... so I was a little nervous.
Lo and behold, he did a thorough exam of my reflexes, but nothing kooky at all. All very straightforward, just a check to make sure there was nothing wrong with any of my reflexes, everything clear, okay, let's move on. He didn't decide where to adjust my back based on a series of arm wrestling competitions, instead simply relying on the x-rays and his manual exam of my back. Which I'm told is terribly imprecise--mere alignment is no subsitute for arm wrestling and oija boards--but I feel very safe. All the more so because this chiropractor chooses to refrain from beating on the really thoroughly stuck spots. His approach is to simply straighten out everything that will move easily, and save the rest for next time. As opposed to fixing everything and expecting that it will all undo itself within a few hours.
It was all so very, very sensible and straightforward.
And I'm about 2 inches taller now.
Still, the website talked an awful lot about reflexes... so I was a little nervous.
Lo and behold, he did a thorough exam of my reflexes, but nothing kooky at all. All very straightforward, just a check to make sure there was nothing wrong with any of my reflexes, everything clear, okay, let's move on. He didn't decide where to adjust my back based on a series of arm wrestling competitions, instead simply relying on the x-rays and his manual exam of my back. Which I'm told is terribly imprecise--mere alignment is no subsitute for arm wrestling and oija boards--but I feel very safe. All the more so because this chiropractor chooses to refrain from beating on the really thoroughly stuck spots. His approach is to simply straighten out everything that will move easily, and save the rest for next time. As opposed to fixing everything and expecting that it will all undo itself within a few hours.
It was all so very, very sensible and straightforward.
And I'm about 2 inches taller now.
10.11.2007
10.10.2007
First Day of School
It came! It came! They shipped the package on Monday (even though it was a holiday) and said it should be here in 3-5 business days. But two days later, here it is, and we're all very excited.
So this afternoon we started in on the pre-k/kindergarten curriculum from Sonlight. I did Sonlight for one year in high school, and fell head over heels in love. I'm rather jealous of my sister, since she was able to do it from 3rd grade on. Just one year was enough to sell me on great books education.
Not that they classify themselves as "Great Books." I guess they're really more of a "good books" program. It's not all classics, it's just all really great, really age-appropriate books. Everything you learn is woven in and out of lots of really fantastic books.
It's a lot like Torrey, even though the emphasis is very different. Torrey attempts to train students to transform our culture, so the focus is on the classics, and digging deep into the roots of Western civilization. Sonlight, on the other hand, is very concerned with foreign missions, and so the curriculum emphasizes world cultures. But underneath it all, both programs have the same approach to knowledge as something real and whole. And that matters a whole lot.
John Gatto says that the main thing kids learn at school is school itself, and I think he's right. This curriculum is all about teaching kids that education is interconnected, full of dialogue, and deeply meaningful.
I'm excited. This is going to be a blast.
So this afternoon we started in on the pre-k/kindergarten curriculum from Sonlight. I did Sonlight for one year in high school, and fell head over heels in love. I'm rather jealous of my sister, since she was able to do it from 3rd grade on. Just one year was enough to sell me on great books education.
Not that they classify themselves as "Great Books." I guess they're really more of a "good books" program. It's not all classics, it's just all really great, really age-appropriate books. Everything you learn is woven in and out of lots of really fantastic books.
It's a lot like Torrey, even though the emphasis is very different. Torrey attempts to train students to transform our culture, so the focus is on the classics, and digging deep into the roots of Western civilization. Sonlight, on the other hand, is very concerned with foreign missions, and so the curriculum emphasizes world cultures. But underneath it all, both programs have the same approach to knowledge as something real and whole. And that matters a whole lot.
John Gatto says that the main thing kids learn at school is school itself, and I think he's right. This curriculum is all about teaching kids that education is interconnected, full of dialogue, and deeply meaningful.
I'm excited. This is going to be a blast.
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