So Roger Federer, at the age of 36, just won a record-setting 20th Grand Slam title in Melbourne. He now has eight Wimbledon titles, six Australian Open titles, five U.S. Open titles, and one French Open title.
Laura and I stayed up until after 5 a.m. local time to watch the five-set match against Marin Cilic. It was scrappy at times with Cilic freezing up in the first four games of the match and Federer losing concentration in the second and fourth sets, but there was some great tennis too. Cilic seemed overwrought on occasions, while Federer was preternaturally calm. Despite the tears, and whether he wins or loses, he usually cries after a Grand Slam final, he seems to absolutely love being a pro.
Many players burn out after a few years on the tour. One would think the Federers, who for the last eight years have traipsed around the globe with small children, would be thinking of retirement, but they seem to love their lifestyle. Roger and Mirka have two sets of twins, eight-year-old girls, Myla and Charlene, and three-year-old boys, Leo and Lenny. Private jets and nannies no doubt ease the travel. The children seem happy and curious, and they apparently speak several languages. Mirka, Federer's wife, appears to provide an incredible support system. She anchors the family and coordinates their busy schedule. Federer has said that he would not continue to play if he could not have his family with him on the tour. That he has a happy life outside tennis must contribute to his enjoyment of the game.
Federer turned pro 20 years ago, in 1998, in the days of Pete Sampras, Andre Agassi, Carlos Moya, and Mark Philippoussis. As those players aged out of the tour, he was left, for some of his best years, competing with players of about his own age, including Andy Roddick, Lleyton Hewitt, and David Nalbandian, whom he usually dominated. However, a new cohort of young European players was coming up behind him. These included Rafa Nadal, Novak Djokovic, Andy Murray, Marin Cilic, Richard Gasquet, Jo-Wilfried Tsonga, and Stan Wawrinka. While the first three have enjoyed great success, won majors, and reached #1 in the world at various times, Federer appears to be outlasting them and has achieved more success than any of them since the start of 2017. Murray, Djokovic, Nadal, and Wawrinka are struggling with injuries. Murray and Wawrinka did not play the Australian Open. Djokovic lost to Hyeon Chung and is considering elbow surgery. Nadal pulled out of his match against Cilic with a knee injury. Grigor Dimitrov and Milos Raonic, who are both about ten years younger than Federer, followed, but neither one has ever won a major (yet). After a dearth of newcomers, a new generation is rising that includes Alexander Zverev, Denis Shapovalov, Hyeon Chung, Borna Coric, perhaps Nick Kyrgios, and Andrey Rublev. Perhaps some of them will be dominating the game five or ten years from now. It's possible that Nadal, who has 16 Grand Slam titles, will eventually overtake Federer's haul (Uncle Toni has predicted that he will). For now, however, Federer has won three of the last five Grand Slams and is showing no sign of slowing down.
Caroline Wozniacki won the women's final. I could not bear for either her or Simona Halep to lose. They have both been ranked #1 in the world and have both held match points in Grand Slam finals without ever winning a title. They've paid their dues, and both so deserved to win. Anyhow, it was Wozniacki who eventually prevailed in three sets over an exhausted but persistent Halep. Poor Halep! She was admitted to the hospital and treated for dehydration after the match. I hope she wins her first major soon!
Sunday, January 28, 2018
Saturday, January 27, 2018
Who Owns Women's Bodies?
I recently came across a truly barf-worthy post, Why Church Teachings on Chastity are Undeniably True, by an Anthony Esolen at Crisis Magazine. Esolen was piqued by an essay on Shakespeare's The Tempest that suggested Miranda, the 15-year-old female protagonist of the play, was sexually controlled and manipulated by her father, the magician Prospero. Esolen preaches that Miranda is "worthy of wonder" because she's "virtuous", which, of course, means that she is a virgin ('hardly surprising, given that she's been marooned on a desert island since she was three with only her father and an unfortunate slave for company). Her virginity is about the only thing that gives her value. Even the bewitched Ferdinand will only marry her if she is "maid". Miranda was chattel, property. She was owned and controlled, body, mind, and soul, by her father until he could hand her off to be owned and controlled by a husband.
Esolen believes the offending essay targets those who "would uphold a view of sexual morality one or two steps higher than, 'I get to do what I want.'" He doesn't defend Miranda from men who get to do what they want with her. And how about a "view of sexual morality" that avoids manipulating the sexuality of an underage girl? Esolen fully approves of the fact that Prospero, with the self-serving goal of regaining his dukedom, manipulates Miranda and Ferdinand into falling in love. He defends the fact that Miranda lacks freedom in this union by saying that "freedom" in this case is "understood as self-will, autonomy, the spoiled teenager's 'I want it!'" He apparently considers "self-will" and "autonomy" to be thoroughly unethical qualities in a young woman, particularly where choosing a lifetime partner is concerned. Female autonomy is to be quashed and a woman feeling "I want it!" about a prospective relationship is intolerably impertinent. Such a woman is a shrew to be tamed, and such decisions may only be made by white, male patriarchs, in this case, Prospero. Prospero somehow escapes being labeled a "spoiled teenager", even though it is his will and his self-advancement that must always prevail.
This made me think of a relatively minor experience I had when I was 13 (and looked about 10) and was having an eye exam. I was happily reading letters off a screen when the optician suddenly turned off the projector so that the room was completely dark, pulled my head extremely tightly against his face, and began hyperventilating into my uncomfortably squashed left ear. I was completely perplexed. 'Still am (hair/ear fetish?). He said nothing; neither did I. Girls were supposed to be polite and compliant, so I was. I simply waited -- frozen, silent, anxious, and confused -- just as some of Larry Nassar's victims must have waited frozen, silent, anxious, and confused.
I had imbibed the teaching that all females ought, like Miranda, to be both femme fatales and exceedingly "virtuous", while we were also constantly suspected of simultaneously being sluts and overly prim "Mother Superiors" who were unsympathetic to men. We were also prone to being accused of being "spoiled teenagers" or wanting "autonomy" if, God forbid, we ever wanted some control over our relationships or what was done to us. This didn't leave me with a lot of tools for coping with the situation. Eventually, the ordeal came to an end. The optician turned on the projector again and asked me, in a hoarse voice, to continue reading. Once the exam was over, he was again the noble professional, above reproach. I was certain that if I said anything to anybody, I would have been disbelieved, considered unstable and malicious, suspected of "leading him on", or, worst of all, have been accused of projecting my own twisted desires onto him. So, of course, I didn't say anything to anybody, just as many of Nassar's victims didn't say anything to anybody.
What Esolen doesn't realize is that the subservience and passivity he wants to see in women is what makes us become victims, while also allowing men to become exploitative puppet masters like Prospero, who, ironically, was much that he praised Miranda for not being. If I had believed that it was I, me, and not my parents or God or someone like Esolen or some weird optician who owned my body and had the power to decide what would be done with it, I would have boldly put a stop to a situation that was making me very uncomfortable. I had the right to do that, even at 13. We all own ourselves.
Esolen believes the offending essay targets those who "would uphold a view of sexual morality one or two steps higher than, 'I get to do what I want.'" He doesn't defend Miranda from men who get to do what they want with her. And how about a "view of sexual morality" that avoids manipulating the sexuality of an underage girl? Esolen fully approves of the fact that Prospero, with the self-serving goal of regaining his dukedom, manipulates Miranda and Ferdinand into falling in love. He defends the fact that Miranda lacks freedom in this union by saying that "freedom" in this case is "understood as self-will, autonomy, the spoiled teenager's 'I want it!'" He apparently considers "self-will" and "autonomy" to be thoroughly unethical qualities in a young woman, particularly where choosing a lifetime partner is concerned. Female autonomy is to be quashed and a woman feeling "I want it!" about a prospective relationship is intolerably impertinent. Such a woman is a shrew to be tamed, and such decisions may only be made by white, male patriarchs, in this case, Prospero. Prospero somehow escapes being labeled a "spoiled teenager", even though it is his will and his self-advancement that must always prevail.
This made me think of a relatively minor experience I had when I was 13 (and looked about 10) and was having an eye exam. I was happily reading letters off a screen when the optician suddenly turned off the projector so that the room was completely dark, pulled my head extremely tightly against his face, and began hyperventilating into my uncomfortably squashed left ear. I was completely perplexed. 'Still am (hair/ear fetish?). He said nothing; neither did I. Girls were supposed to be polite and compliant, so I was. I simply waited -- frozen, silent, anxious, and confused -- just as some of Larry Nassar's victims must have waited frozen, silent, anxious, and confused.
I had imbibed the teaching that all females ought, like Miranda, to be both femme fatales and exceedingly "virtuous", while we were also constantly suspected of simultaneously being sluts and overly prim "Mother Superiors" who were unsympathetic to men. We were also prone to being accused of being "spoiled teenagers" or wanting "autonomy" if, God forbid, we ever wanted some control over our relationships or what was done to us. This didn't leave me with a lot of tools for coping with the situation. Eventually, the ordeal came to an end. The optician turned on the projector again and asked me, in a hoarse voice, to continue reading. Once the exam was over, he was again the noble professional, above reproach. I was certain that if I said anything to anybody, I would have been disbelieved, considered unstable and malicious, suspected of "leading him on", or, worst of all, have been accused of projecting my own twisted desires onto him. So, of course, I didn't say anything to anybody, just as many of Nassar's victims didn't say anything to anybody.
What Esolen doesn't realize is that the subservience and passivity he wants to see in women is what makes us become victims, while also allowing men to become exploitative puppet masters like Prospero, who, ironically, was much that he praised Miranda for not being. If I had believed that it was I, me, and not my parents or God or someone like Esolen or some weird optician who owned my body and had the power to decide what would be done with it, I would have boldly put a stop to a situation that was making me very uncomfortable. I had the right to do that, even at 13. We all own ourselves.
Thursday, January 25, 2018
My Brain on Paper
I think I might have executive dysfunction (traumatic brain injuries in teens?), especially when it comes to planning and organizing simple tasks. I need to clean up the house. I love to clean, but I passionately hate tidying. With the kids all growing up (or grown up) and becoming self-sufficient, I'm not particularly busy these days, so I need to justify my existence by tidying up this house. Most of it is not too bad, but the master bedroom is a tip.
So yesterday, I made a "to do" list of seven simple tasks, each of which should take no more than an hour and some of which could be completed in five minutes. I'm supposed to tick off each as I complete it. That piece of paper will serve as my executive functioning until I am done. I got halfway through the first one, which was simply clearing up the surface of the ironing board and putting it away, when I became not only distracted but almost compelled to be distracted. Suddenly I felt an immense attraction to blogging, to playing Word Cookies on my phone, to reading, and to watching Australian Open tennis. Anything rather than tidying up my room. Doing so began to feel like sacrilege against much-loved and familiar chaos.
Today, I am on a strict schedule. I am hereby banning myself from blogging and from playing Word Cookies until I've ticked off all seven tasks.
I'd like to find some way to adorn the messiness, to rehabilitate it by pronouncing it in some way attractive, but I can find no positive purpose for it. I did find an article, The Unpredictable Freedom and Sweetness of Chaos, that suggests chaos is all creative and Zen-like, but I don't think not having a clear path from the door to the bed was really what the author had in mind. And chaos and messiness are not quite the same things.
Anyhow, I am from this moment banned from my blog until those seven tasks are ticked off.
😢
So yesterday, I made a "to do" list of seven simple tasks, each of which should take no more than an hour and some of which could be completed in five minutes. I'm supposed to tick off each as I complete it. That piece of paper will serve as my executive functioning until I am done. I got halfway through the first one, which was simply clearing up the surface of the ironing board and putting it away, when I became not only distracted but almost compelled to be distracted. Suddenly I felt an immense attraction to blogging, to playing Word Cookies on my phone, to reading, and to watching Australian Open tennis. Anything rather than tidying up my room. Doing so began to feel like sacrilege against much-loved and familiar chaos.
Today, I am on a strict schedule. I am hereby banning myself from blogging and from playing Word Cookies until I've ticked off all seven tasks.
I'd like to find some way to adorn the messiness, to rehabilitate it by pronouncing it in some way attractive, but I can find no positive purpose for it. I did find an article, The Unpredictable Freedom and Sweetness of Chaos, that suggests chaos is all creative and Zen-like, but I don't think not having a clear path from the door to the bed was really what the author had in mind. And chaos and messiness are not quite the same things.
Anyhow, I am from this moment banned from my blog until those seven tasks are ticked off.
😢
Wednesday, January 24, 2018
Grandfather Stephen and Great-grandfather Alexander
For some reason, I have been thinking lately about my paternal grandfather, Stephen King Montgomery, who died before I was born, and his father, Alexander Montgomery.
Alexander had a wonderful family. He married Lisa Alberta Allom, and they had five children, Rex, Barr, Geoffrey, Stephen, and my delightful great-aunt, Lisa Geraldine, who was generally known as Storkie (her four brothers were told she'd been delivered by a stork). They started out in New Zealand and later moved to Western Australia. The four boys were all involved in some capacity in World War 1, Stephen as a medic.
Storkie taught music at Herschel, a private school for girls in Cape Town, and she ran a private piano studio from her small apartment. She had a beautiful soul. Even when she was old, alone, and dying of lung cancer, she was always kind and spunky. She died when I was 11. Rex worked in finance and helped to educate his younger siblings. He was seriously wounded by "friendly" fire during WW1 and suffered from acute PTSD for the rest of his life. Sometimes he would wake up screaming "Over the top! Over the top!" He fell head over heels in love with his future wife, Madge, and was absolutely devastated to learn she had died during the Spanish 'flu epidemic of 1919, or at least so he believed. Later he fortuitously ran into her! Of course, he was absolutely overjoyed, but Madge was irate that he had been ignoring her. Anyhow, they got married, moved to Cape Town, South Africa, lived in a beautiful house in Fish Hoek overlooking False Bay, and had two sons, David and Geoffrey. Poor Barr was a promising young lawyer but was killed in the First World War. Geoffrey and Stephen became doctors and both studied in England. Geoffrey remained in the UK, married a woman named Bettine, and had two children, Elizabeth and Andrew. Stephen married Emily Turtington, moved to Cape Town, and had two children, my father (also Stephen) and Ann. Ann now lives in Harpenden, England. She has three children, Jennifer, David, and Neil, from her first husband. She and her second husband, Geoff, gave Craig and me our wedding in 1989😃
My grandfather, Stephen, started writing out his memoirs in the last year of his life. He died at the age of 53. I've tried to transcribe his diary from his barely legible handwriting into this website:
The Memoirs of Stephen King Montgomery
He tells some wonderful stories about his father, Alexander. Alexander's father, also Alexander, went out to New Zealand as secretary to Edward Gibbon Wakefield, who was instrumental in the colonization of New Zealand and was also convicted of abducting an heiress😮 At that time, my greatgrandfather, the oldest child in the family, was eight years old. Alexander Senior later became a classics master and then headmaster at Otago High School, a private school for boys in Dunedin, Otago. Alexander Junior attended Otago High School and then Otago University and School of Mines. He was apparently an excellent student and graduated with an M.A. with honors in Chemistry and Minerology.
Alexander and Lisa Alberta moved to Tasmania, where my grandfather was born in Launceton, for a while. Alexander was a "government geologist", and one of his jobs was to investigate a gold claim at Mount Huxley in the beautiful but very wet West Coast region of Tasmania.
Alexander quickly found that the mine had been "salted". In other words, a little gold was added to ore samples where it could be found by "prospectors". The intent was to deceive potential buyers of the mine. Apparently Alexander had to be very careful not to awaken the suspicions of the salters, who plied him with fake samples. Meanwhile, he secretly collected his own samples and buried them under his tent. He later returned and dug these up in the safe presence of armed police. This was quite a scandal at the time, and Mount Huxley became known colloquially as Mount "Hoaxley".
I found some links, including old newspaper clippings, now online, about the story:
The Mount "Hoaxley"" Fraud, Thames Star, 20 June, 1894
The Mount Huxley Swindle, Apple Isle Prospector, 22 June, 2015
Australian Mining Engineer (this references the Mount Huxley Scandal, and provides some background about Alexander's life and education).
This report, Outlines of the Geology of Tasmania, makes reference to Alexander.
I also found some old newspaper cuttings at an Australian government website that were taken from a Hobart newspaper, The Mercury.
9 June, 1894
11 June, 1894
13 June, 1894
26 June, 1894
Clearly there was some controversy about the affair, with a contradictory expert witness brought in.
Western Mail, 30June, 1894
Sydney Morning Herald, 19 June, 1894
While my grandfather writes that the three men, Isaac Bertram Barker, William Price, and Antonio Briscoe, involved in the hoax all received long prison sentences, it seems that they were actually acquitted due to lack of evidence. Both Wikipedia and this old newspaper clipping state that, while the mine was definitely salted, the Crown Solicitor, a Mr. Dobbie, felt there was insufficent evidence to prove a prima facie case against the accused. They had been accused of "conspiring to defraud from January 1, 1894, to June 1, 1894", but were released from custody.
They remained, however, the O.J. Simpson's of the mining world. When Alexander went to London to address The Royal Geographical Society, after receiving their silver medal, he was accosted by the financier behind the Mount "Hoaxley" scandal, who apparently begged him and offered him bribes to be discrete about his past shenanigans. Alexander was apparently embarrassed by the man's supplications and eventually dismissed him by advising him not to draw attention to himself again.
Alexander had a wonderful family. He married Lisa Alberta Allom, and they had five children, Rex, Barr, Geoffrey, Stephen, and my delightful great-aunt, Lisa Geraldine, who was generally known as Storkie (her four brothers were told she'd been delivered by a stork). They started out in New Zealand and later moved to Western Australia. The four boys were all involved in some capacity in World War 1, Stephen as a medic.
Storkie taught music at Herschel, a private school for girls in Cape Town, and she ran a private piano studio from her small apartment. She had a beautiful soul. Even when she was old, alone, and dying of lung cancer, she was always kind and spunky. She died when I was 11. Rex worked in finance and helped to educate his younger siblings. He was seriously wounded by "friendly" fire during WW1 and suffered from acute PTSD for the rest of his life. Sometimes he would wake up screaming "Over the top! Over the top!" He fell head over heels in love with his future wife, Madge, and was absolutely devastated to learn she had died during the Spanish 'flu epidemic of 1919, or at least so he believed. Later he fortuitously ran into her! Of course, he was absolutely overjoyed, but Madge was irate that he had been ignoring her. Anyhow, they got married, moved to Cape Town, South Africa, lived in a beautiful house in Fish Hoek overlooking False Bay, and had two sons, David and Geoffrey. Poor Barr was a promising young lawyer but was killed in the First World War. Geoffrey and Stephen became doctors and both studied in England. Geoffrey remained in the UK, married a woman named Bettine, and had two children, Elizabeth and Andrew. Stephen married Emily Turtington, moved to Cape Town, and had two children, my father (also Stephen) and Ann. Ann now lives in Harpenden, England. She has three children, Jennifer, David, and Neil, from her first husband. She and her second husband, Geoff, gave Craig and me our wedding in 1989😃
My grandfather, Stephen, started writing out his memoirs in the last year of his life. He died at the age of 53. I've tried to transcribe his diary from his barely legible handwriting into this website:
The Memoirs of Stephen King Montgomery
He tells some wonderful stories about his father, Alexander. Alexander's father, also Alexander, went out to New Zealand as secretary to Edward Gibbon Wakefield, who was instrumental in the colonization of New Zealand and was also convicted of abducting an heiress😮 At that time, my greatgrandfather, the oldest child in the family, was eight years old. Alexander Senior later became a classics master and then headmaster at Otago High School, a private school for boys in Dunedin, Otago. Alexander Junior attended Otago High School and then Otago University and School of Mines. He was apparently an excellent student and graduated with an M.A. with honors in Chemistry and Minerology.
Alexander and Lisa Alberta moved to Tasmania, where my grandfather was born in Launceton, for a while. Alexander was a "government geologist", and one of his jobs was to investigate a gold claim at Mount Huxley in the beautiful but very wet West Coast region of Tasmania.
Alexander quickly found that the mine had been "salted". In other words, a little gold was added to ore samples where it could be found by "prospectors". The intent was to deceive potential buyers of the mine. Apparently Alexander had to be very careful not to awaken the suspicions of the salters, who plied him with fake samples. Meanwhile, he secretly collected his own samples and buried them under his tent. He later returned and dug these up in the safe presence of armed police. This was quite a scandal at the time, and Mount Huxley became known colloquially as Mount "Hoaxley".
I found some links, including old newspaper clippings, now online, about the story:
The Mount "Hoaxley"" Fraud, Thames Star, 20 June, 1894
The Mount Huxley Swindle, Apple Isle Prospector, 22 June, 2015
Australian Mining Engineer (this references the Mount Huxley Scandal, and provides some background about Alexander's life and education).
This report, Outlines of the Geology of Tasmania, makes reference to Alexander.
I also found some old newspaper cuttings at an Australian government website that were taken from a Hobart newspaper, The Mercury.
9 June, 1894
11 June, 1894
13 June, 1894
26 June, 1894
Clearly there was some controversy about the affair, with a contradictory expert witness brought in.
Western Mail, 30June, 1894
Sydney Morning Herald, 19 June, 1894
While my grandfather writes that the three men, Isaac Bertram Barker, William Price, and Antonio Briscoe, involved in the hoax all received long prison sentences, it seems that they were actually acquitted due to lack of evidence. Both Wikipedia and this old newspaper clipping state that, while the mine was definitely salted, the Crown Solicitor, a Mr. Dobbie, felt there was insufficent evidence to prove a prima facie case against the accused. They had been accused of "conspiring to defraud from January 1, 1894, to June 1, 1894", but were released from custody.
They remained, however, the O.J. Simpson's of the mining world. When Alexander went to London to address The Royal Geographical Society, after receiving their silver medal, he was accosted by the financier behind the Mount "Hoaxley" scandal, who apparently begged him and offered him bribes to be discrete about his past shenanigans. Alexander was apparently embarrassed by the man's supplications and eventually dismissed him by advising him not to draw attention to himself again.
Tuesday, January 23, 2018
Paige, Greeley, and Michener
So today I am up in Greeley visiting Paige at the University of Northern Colorado. This morning was bright, sunny, and cold, and I had a pleasant drive up along the Front Range and then east through snow-covered fields. Paige has a cozy room in Dickeson Hall on pretty President's Row. We had a wonderful lunch in Tobey-Kendel dining hall, where we had a good half-dozen main meals to choose from, along with a selection of soups and desserts and a fabulous salad bar. I suspect our meal there was much better (and cheaper!) than the one we'll have tonight at Paige's favorite restaurant up here, Pellegrini's.
While Paige is in good spirits, there's been a minor drama over finding her and her harp a practice room in the music building. The few that are big enough to fit the harp often have pianos in them, and they are frequently in use. There is a beautiful blue and gold harpsichord (apparently produced in 2014) and an enormous Steinway in the big room where she stores her harp. That room would be ideal, but it is almost always in use by a very dedicated piano/harpsichord student. The school tried putting up a sign on one of the bigger practice rooms saying harpists had priority, but another student apparently got offended and kept taking the sign down. Finally, the school has assigned a dedicated harp studio, but Paige doesn't yet have a key. She needs to take some initiative in getting one (the process is a pain, but manageable), after which the situation should be resolved. Paige showed me around the music building today, and I think the new studio will be perfect for her. I understand that the new Campus Commons, which will open later this year, will have more practice rooms, which should alleviate the problem somewhat.
Whenever I cross the South Platte River en route to Greeley, I think about James Michener's novel, Centennial. I enjoyed the book and the miniseries, which the family watched on DVD a few years ago. While Michener's town of Centennial was fictional, the book shows a map with the town in Weld County on an existing bend in the South Platte. Paige and I hope to kayak down there at some point, thereby following in the footsteps of Pasquinel, Lame Beaver, and McKeag. Michener is one of UNC's favorite alumni. While Michener attended Swarthmore College for his undergraduate degree (he graduated summa cum laude in English and History in 1929), he went on to get an MA in Education from UNC (then known as the Colorado State College of Education) in 1937. He stayed on until 1941 to teach at UNC and at its associated very progressive laboratory school, College High School, where he worked with director Dr. William Wrinkle. He was apparently a popular and well-respected teacher, and he published a number of articles on education, including two on the relationship between music and social studies ("Music and Social Studies" in 1937, and "Bach and Sugar Beets" in 1938). His evolution from teacher to writer seems a natural one as his books are so edifying and instructive. In 1997, during the last year of his life when he was 90 years old, Michener donated $500,000 to UNC so that its Michener library, which opened in 1972, could become the main repository of his manuscripts, notes, and letters. It already housed the materials he used to write Centennial, and now also displays a set of his false teeth😮 Apparently some other universities were asked to give up materials Michener had previously donated to them so that all of his research materials could be kept in a single location. Michener had a productive and busy life. He worked very hard from childhood on. At the age of 11, he apparently spent a summer working from 7am to 5pm six days a week, and he handed all his earnings over to his Quaker mother (he was adopted). He leaves a legacy of over 40 well-researched books. I have his autobiography, The World is My Home, on Kindle and am about halfway through.
Update, 1/24/18: I got home safely last night. For some reason, traffic was unusually light. Paige and I had a very pleasant dinner at Pellegrini's. I still maintain that main meals, salads, and soups are much better at the UNC dining hall, but I concede that Pellegrini's desserts are vastly tastier, if not as healthy (the dining hall offered carrot cake, vegan chocolate brownies, and peanut butter and nut bars for lunch yesterday). At Pellegrini's, we had a cosy table with comfy armchairs right next to a roaring fire, which was very welcome as the temperature dropped precipitously yesterday evening. Paige had two of her favorite Pineapple Martinis, and our waitress was kind enough to give her their recipe!
Pineapple Martini:
1 oz. Malibu rum
1 oz. Hpnotiq liqueur
1 oz. pineapple juice
I got Paige a cocktail mixer set for Christmas and was rewarded with a wonderful cocktail, sometimes enjoyed listening to harp music, every evening over the winter break. We've had Mai Tais, Tequila Sunrises, Blue Hawaiians, Margaritas, and Pina Coladas. 'Just one cocktail per day😀 Next on the agenda are Pineapple Martinis and Brandy Alexanders.
Saturday, January 20, 2018
Russ
Our friend and the father of Laura's best friend Lauren passed away from non-Hodgkin's lymphoma on December 26, 2017. Originally the family wanted to have the funeral on his birthday, January 18, but they decided instead to have it today to make it easier for people to attend.
The service was held at the Church for All Nations in Colorado Springs at 10am this morning. It was a beautiful celebration of Russ's life. People spoke of him with such enormous love and reverence. The most touching tribute came from his son, Kenny, who described Russ as "a great man" and "his hero". He said his father provided him with a sanctuary of safety and security during his childhood. On one occasion, Russ rescued a neighbor from an attack by pit bulls. All described Russ as immensely loving, easy-going, fun, funny, and wise, a man who always found ways to brighten the lives of the people around him. A co-worker, who knew Russ for 15 years, said he never heard him say a single derogatory word about anyone. Every speaker wept.
Diana, Russ's wife, celebrated Russ's birthday by bringing a wonderful cake to the ceremony, which we all enjoyed after the service. Then we were given balloons, which we released outdoors.
Russ was an unassuming, unpretentious man who clearly had a major impact on everyone whose lives he touched. He didn't strive for traditional greatness; instead, he beautifully enriched and illuminated the lives of those closest to him. He made the people who knew him happy. Who could ask to do more? Rest in peace, Russ, and best wishes to the beautiful family you leave behind. You will be missed. And you will live on in the way you inspire all who knew you.
The service was held at the Church for All Nations in Colorado Springs at 10am this morning. It was a beautiful celebration of Russ's life. People spoke of him with such enormous love and reverence. The most touching tribute came from his son, Kenny, who described Russ as "a great man" and "his hero". He said his father provided him with a sanctuary of safety and security during his childhood. On one occasion, Russ rescued a neighbor from an attack by pit bulls. All described Russ as immensely loving, easy-going, fun, funny, and wise, a man who always found ways to brighten the lives of the people around him. A co-worker, who knew Russ for 15 years, said he never heard him say a single derogatory word about anyone. Every speaker wept.
Diana, Russ's wife, celebrated Russ's birthday by bringing a wonderful cake to the ceremony, which we all enjoyed after the service. Then we were given balloons, which we released outdoors.
Russ was an unassuming, unpretentious man who clearly had a major impact on everyone whose lives he touched. He didn't strive for traditional greatness; instead, he beautifully enriched and illuminated the lives of those closest to him. He made the people who knew him happy. Who could ask to do more? Rest in peace, Russ, and best wishes to the beautiful family you leave behind. You will be missed. And you will live on in the way you inspire all who knew you.
Cognitive Dissonance among Alt-right Catholics
Scanning a few articles and comments on alt-right Catholic blogs lately, I am surprised by their Breitbart-style nativism, their cognitive dissonance, and, yes, their (oh, the horror!) moral relativism. Their views, in terms of disrespecting the dignity of the human person, are fanatically anti-Catholic.
These were the punitive theocrats of the Clinton era who were reaching for the smelling salts ("Think of the children!") when Clinton had a consensual affair with an apparently eager and willing intern. They are scandalized by Harvey Weinstein's misdeeds. However, these same people manage to convince themselves that Trump's claims of sexual assault ("Grab them by the pussy!") are an admirable symptom of being a virile alpha male. They unquestioningly believe every claim against Clinton, yet they insist Trump's many accusers are lying and that his own bragging about sexually assaulting women, caught on tape, was merely "locker room talk". Some suggest that the women themselves initiated the situations. And they try to justify their support for Roy Moore's predations, when he was a man in his thirties, on teenaged girls by saying that Joseph was much older than Mary when the two married. As if that makes the sexual assualt of a 16-year-old somehow acceptable.
I recall being scolded by more than one of these people for opposing Pope John Paul II's rigidly conservative beliefs about birth control and his reactionary attitudes toward the spirit of Vatican II. I was told I should have a "spirit of obedience" toward the "Magisterium" and that I was arrogant and uppity for presuming to believe that the dictates of my own conscience could be given a feather's weight against the pronouncements of (all genuflect) the pope. Now some of these same people are praying for the death of Pope Francis because he believes in climate change😮
One of their major shibboleths is immigration. Some of them claim that 2 John 9-11 justifies refusing entry into the U.S. to Muslims (for some reason, all other non-Christian religions get a pass) because, according to this epistle, one "partakes in an evil deed" by inviting someone who does not have "the doctrine of Christ" into one's home (or even if one wishes the person "God speed"). The interpretation of one was that it is a "mortal sin" to allow any Muslim into "his country". What about "welcoming the stranger" and the parable of the Good Samaritan? Why these xenophobes think they are somehow upholding "the doctrine of Christ" when they are so hostile to much of the human race, is beyond me.
There is no end to the list of people they hate: Muslims, "feminazis", "libtards", "snowflakes", Hillary, "the secular left", gays, Pope Francis, immigrants, "Mexicans" (meaning Latinos), and so forth. As unattractive as I find these people, I don't want to fall into the trap of feeling about them what they feel about Muslims. I wonder what is going on with them to make them so angry and rejecting? Are they looking for scapegoats because they feel inadequate? Are they likely to have some sort of character disorder(s)? Is it fair to be intolerant of the intolerant? I'm remembering one of Russ's favorite sayings now: "Everybody matters!" Even people who hate half the human race? Well, yes, but how does one address their hostility?
These were the punitive theocrats of the Clinton era who were reaching for the smelling salts ("Think of the children!") when Clinton had a consensual affair with an apparently eager and willing intern. They are scandalized by Harvey Weinstein's misdeeds. However, these same people manage to convince themselves that Trump's claims of sexual assault ("Grab them by the pussy!") are an admirable symptom of being a virile alpha male. They unquestioningly believe every claim against Clinton, yet they insist Trump's many accusers are lying and that his own bragging about sexually assaulting women, caught on tape, was merely "locker room talk". Some suggest that the women themselves initiated the situations. And they try to justify their support for Roy Moore's predations, when he was a man in his thirties, on teenaged girls by saying that Joseph was much older than Mary when the two married. As if that makes the sexual assualt of a 16-year-old somehow acceptable.
I recall being scolded by more than one of these people for opposing Pope John Paul II's rigidly conservative beliefs about birth control and his reactionary attitudes toward the spirit of Vatican II. I was told I should have a "spirit of obedience" toward the "Magisterium" and that I was arrogant and uppity for presuming to believe that the dictates of my own conscience could be given a feather's weight against the pronouncements of (all genuflect) the pope. Now some of these same people are praying for the death of Pope Francis because he believes in climate change😮
One of their major shibboleths is immigration. Some of them claim that 2 John 9-11 justifies refusing entry into the U.S. to Muslims (for some reason, all other non-Christian religions get a pass) because, according to this epistle, one "partakes in an evil deed" by inviting someone who does not have "the doctrine of Christ" into one's home (or even if one wishes the person "God speed"). The interpretation of one was that it is a "mortal sin" to allow any Muslim into "his country". What about "welcoming the stranger" and the parable of the Good Samaritan? Why these xenophobes think they are somehow upholding "the doctrine of Christ" when they are so hostile to much of the human race, is beyond me.
There is no end to the list of people they hate: Muslims, "feminazis", "libtards", "snowflakes", Hillary, "the secular left", gays, Pope Francis, immigrants, "Mexicans" (meaning Latinos), and so forth. As unattractive as I find these people, I don't want to fall into the trap of feeling about them what they feel about Muslims. I wonder what is going on with them to make them so angry and rejecting? Are they looking for scapegoats because they feel inadequate? Are they likely to have some sort of character disorder(s)? Is it fair to be intolerant of the intolerant? I'm remembering one of Russ's favorite sayings now: "Everybody matters!" Even people who hate half the human race? Well, yes, but how does one address their hostility?
Wednesday, January 17, 2018
Flying the Nest ...
So Paige and Daniel went back to school recently -- Daniel last Monday, and Paige yesterday. They had both come home for the Martin Luther King Jr. Day weekend. I miss them both😢
Emma and I drove up to Golden with Daniel on Monday, and we did our old one-two with a stop at Sweet Tomatoes in Lone Tree followed by a trip to the Denver Museum of Nature and Science. Emma was keen to see the Ultimate Dinosaurs exhibit, which was on its last day. From there it was a less than 20-minute drive via I-70 over to Golden. Emma loved Daniel's spacious apartment at the Colorado School of Mines and wishes Grinnell College had something similar.
Paige drove up yesterday. Before she left, she started her application to the University of Northern Colorado honors program. She has a 4.0 GPA and , between community college and university, has over 200 credit hours now. She only needs 120 to graduate, although she still needs to fill a couple of distribution requirements. She will apparently be able to graduate at the end of this year, but she might want to stay for the spring semester of 2019 in order to tie up some loose ends and perhaps get a second major. As part of upper division honors, she would need to complete a creative or research project. She is thinking about composing a musical illustration of an Irish myth.
Laura is thinking about transferring to a four-year, perhaps CU Boulder, CSU Fort Collins, or Earlham College in Indiana. The first two are big (30,000+ students) public research universities in the Rocky Mountain Foothills; Earlham is a tiny liberal arts college. Both Boulder and Fort Collins are beautiful cities that rank, according to National Geographic, in the top 10 happiest cities in the nation (Boulder at #1; Fort Collins at #4). Laura has many ideas about what to study and is currently leaning toward dietetics. If she goes that route, CSU would probably be the better choice for her.
And then Emma will be off to Grinnell in the fall. Just three months from now, she will become a legal adult, or "a dolt" as my kids would say when they were little. All four kids will then be "dolts".
We have two commencements coming up:
1) Daniel's commencement for his undergraduate degree in engineering physics will take place on May 11, starting at 9am, at the School of Mines in Golden.
2) Emma's high school commencement will take place on May 19 at noon at the Denver Botanic Gardens
Emma and I drove up to Golden with Daniel on Monday, and we did our old one-two with a stop at Sweet Tomatoes in Lone Tree followed by a trip to the Denver Museum of Nature and Science. Emma was keen to see the Ultimate Dinosaurs exhibit, which was on its last day. From there it was a less than 20-minute drive via I-70 over to Golden. Emma loved Daniel's spacious apartment at the Colorado School of Mines and wishes Grinnell College had something similar.
Paige drove up yesterday. Before she left, she started her application to the University of Northern Colorado honors program. She has a 4.0 GPA and , between community college and university, has over 200 credit hours now. She only needs 120 to graduate, although she still needs to fill a couple of distribution requirements. She will apparently be able to graduate at the end of this year, but she might want to stay for the spring semester of 2019 in order to tie up some loose ends and perhaps get a second major. As part of upper division honors, she would need to complete a creative or research project. She is thinking about composing a musical illustration of an Irish myth.
Laura is thinking about transferring to a four-year, perhaps CU Boulder, CSU Fort Collins, or Earlham College in Indiana. The first two are big (30,000+ students) public research universities in the Rocky Mountain Foothills; Earlham is a tiny liberal arts college. Both Boulder and Fort Collins are beautiful cities that rank, according to National Geographic, in the top 10 happiest cities in the nation (Boulder at #1; Fort Collins at #4). Laura has many ideas about what to study and is currently leaning toward dietetics. If she goes that route, CSU would probably be the better choice for her.
And then Emma will be off to Grinnell in the fall. Just three months from now, she will become a legal adult, or "a dolt" as my kids would say when they were little. All four kids will then be "dolts".
We have two commencements coming up:
1) Daniel's commencement for his undergraduate degree in engineering physics will take place on May 11, starting at 9am, at the School of Mines in Golden.
2) Emma's high school commencement will take place on May 19 at noon at the Denver Botanic Gardens
Our Very Fecund Platies
Mama Platy appears to be the Michelle Duggar of the platy world. She has produced three batches of offspring in about two months. Since the gestation period is around 28 days, she must be getting pregnant again almost immediately after giving birth. She is the only adult female in the tank with two males (the more aggressive is named Jim Bob), who are continually chasing her around. No wonder the poor thing keeps tweeting #metoo!
Babies #1 and #2 have been joined by two more babies, so we're up to at least (it's hard to spot the tiny ones) four fry from three different "litters". The first two are females, so they will probably also start reproducing soon. I hope the two tiny ones survive. I think they're just past the point of looking like food flakes.
Update, 2/1/18: I haven't seen the tiny babies for the past four or five days. I suspect they've been cannibalized😥
There's some discussion going on about starting a saltwater aquarium in our 500 gallon tank in the basement. Saltwater species are a little more challenging to care for. I've always loved moon jellyfish, although they need a constantly flowing current.
It would probalby be much easier and cheaper just to get one of these:
Or maybe this one:
Babies #1 and #2 have been joined by two more babies, so we're up to at least (it's hard to spot the tiny ones) four fry from three different "litters". The first two are females, so they will probably also start reproducing soon. I hope the two tiny ones survive. I think they're just past the point of looking like food flakes.
Update, 2/1/18: I haven't seen the tiny babies for the past four or five days. I suspect they've been cannibalized😥
There's some discussion going on about starting a saltwater aquarium in our 500 gallon tank in the basement. Saltwater species are a little more challenging to care for. I've always loved moon jellyfish, although they need a constantly flowing current.
It would probalby be much easier and cheaper just to get one of these:
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| Synthetic Jellyfish Aquarium from Hammacher Schlemmer |
Or maybe this one:
Sunday, January 14, 2018
Celebration! 🎆🎊🎶🎉🎈
After a wonderful meal, we came home for chocolate cake.
 |
| "Dem Gaydos Kids da Bomb Diggity" |
And, yes, I have learned a new expression😉
As usual, the cats figured out we were celebrating something and stopped by to demand their standard "special treat" (tinned food, as opposed to their usual boring old kibble). Then the dogs felt left out, so they had to have treats too.
We concluded the evening with an old Columbo episode. 'Still love Colombo.
Saturday, January 13, 2018
Platies and Baby Platies
So we have a 10-gallon fishtank currently residing in our kitchen. Paige got it for her dorm room and lugs it back and forth between home and school. We have four adult fish: a silver lyretail molly, and three platies, a male redwag platy and two micky mouse platies, one male and one female.
The female mickey mouse platy appears to have produced some babies, of which two have survived (platies are notorious for eating their fry). Paige thinks both babies are female. One can sex them by examining the anal fin. In the female, it's fan-shaped; in the male, the anal fin, or gonopodium, is tube-shaped.
Here is the bigger baby with one of the adult platies:
The tiny baby is prudently reclusive, but I managed to get a photo of her. As you can see, she doesn't have much color and is rather diaphonous.
The gestation period is apparently 28 days and the babies can't reproduce until they're about four months old, so I think Mama must have produced the littler baby in a second litter. I'm just surprised because the two babies don't look as much as 28 days apart in age. Maybe the second one is just a runt. In any case, we are likely to end up with lots of inbred platies.
I don't know if Mama is pregnant again. There doesn't seem to be any clear way to tell, although apparently if there are male and female platies in a tank, it's very likely that all of the females will be pregnant. As the females get very close to delivery, they get a dark spot near their anal fins and their stomachs "square up".
Platties are viviparous or live-bearing. Here is some video of a platy giving birth.
The female mickey mouse platy appears to have produced some babies, of which two have survived (platies are notorious for eating their fry). Paige thinks both babies are female. One can sex them by examining the anal fin. In the female, it's fan-shaped; in the male, the anal fin, or gonopodium, is tube-shaped.
Here is the bigger baby with one of the adult platies:
 |
| Our bigger baby platy with an adult |
The tiny baby is prudently reclusive, but I managed to get a photo of her. As you can see, she doesn't have much color and is rather diaphonous.
 |
| The tiny baby |
The gestation period is apparently 28 days and the babies can't reproduce until they're about four months old, so I think Mama must have produced the littler baby in a second litter. I'm just surprised because the two babies don't look as much as 28 days apart in age. Maybe the second one is just a runt. In any case, we are likely to end up with lots of inbred platies.
I don't know if Mama is pregnant again. There doesn't seem to be any clear way to tell, although apparently if there are male and female platies in a tank, it's very likely that all of the females will be pregnant. As the females get very close to delivery, they get a dark spot near their anal fins and their stomachs "square up".
Platties are viviparous or live-bearing. Here is some video of a platy giving birth.
Being Sisyphus
Sisyphus was a figure in Greek mythology, the king of Ephyrus (Corinth), which he founded, the spouse of the nymph Merope, and the father of four children, Glaucus, Ornytion, Almus, and Thersander. He was not a nice guy. He violated the Xenia, the Ancient Greek concept of hospitality, which was something like the Catholic notion of welcoming the stranger. In that respect, he was an ancient version of Donald Trump or Steve Bannon. In fact, to show off what a badass he was, he killed travelers and guests to his kingdom. Then he piqued Zeus by tattling to the river god Asopus that Zeus had carried of his daughter, the Naiad-nymph Aigina. In return for that information, Asopus created a spring that provided a continuous supply of fresh water to Corinth. The enraged Zeus then asked Thanatos, the demonic representation of death, born of Nyx, the night, and Erebos, the darkness, to chain Sisyphus and take him to the Underworld. The cunning Sisyphus tricked Thanatos and managed to chain him instead, which serendipitously had a positive result -- it prevented any mortal from dying and going to the Underworld. However Ares, the god of war, got all butthurt because wars just weren't as much fun when you couldn't slay your enemies, so Ares managed to trap Sisyphus and hand him over to Thanatos, who carted him off to Tartarus, the most terrible prison in the Underworld. Wheeler-dealer Sisyphus then asked his wife Merope not to bury his corpse, which somehow ended up on the banks of the River Styx, the boundary between the Underworld and the realm of the living. He used that information to persuade Persephone, queen of the Underworld, to let him go back to the living world to arrange a decent burial for himself and to punish Merope. Persephone, not on board with sisterhood, allowed this. As soon as he got out of the Underworld, Sisyphis, needless to say, refused to return. Eventually Hermes, who could move freely between worlds, dragged him back.
Zeus, by now thoroughly exasperated with Sisyphus, devised a special punishment for him. Sisyphus was doomed for all eternity to roll a boulder up a hill. As soon as the boulder reached the top, it would roll back down and Sisyphus would have to trudge down and push it back up again.
In some respects, my housewifely role resembles the damnation of Sisyphus. Every morning I get up, feed the puppies, clean up their nightly excretions, and swill out the hallway with bleach (they're not perfect at using their piddlepads). I unpack and repack the dishwasher. I pick up in the kitchen and give the floor a quick mop. The following morning, the house looks exactly the same as it did the previous one, so I do it all again. And the next, and the next. 'Snot fair. Unlike Sisyphus, I haven't killed any guests or travelers. I didn't even commit the horrible transgression of naming my son Glaucus (I gave my son a very nice name). And yet, being a housewife, I am in some small ways living the life of Sisyphus.
Sisyphus's boulder, unlike our puppies, did not poop or pee on anything. It remained clean. On the other hand, it wasn't soft and cuddly and cute and fun. And Sisyphus didn't have the satisfaction of coming upon an unsavory mess and leaving the area sparkling clean and sterile. Puppies: 2; boulder: 1. I s'pose ...
I would like to add some creativity and productivity to my life. With my youngest starting college next fall, I need to do more. I am thinking of applying to be a math teacher to either middle or high school students. I have other interests too, but it might not currently be practical to elevate those to goals.
Zeus, by now thoroughly exasperated with Sisyphus, devised a special punishment for him. Sisyphus was doomed for all eternity to roll a boulder up a hill. As soon as the boulder reached the top, it would roll back down and Sisyphus would have to trudge down and push it back up again.
In some respects, my housewifely role resembles the damnation of Sisyphus. Every morning I get up, feed the puppies, clean up their nightly excretions, and swill out the hallway with bleach (they're not perfect at using their piddlepads). I unpack and repack the dishwasher. I pick up in the kitchen and give the floor a quick mop. The following morning, the house looks exactly the same as it did the previous one, so I do it all again. And the next, and the next. 'Snot fair. Unlike Sisyphus, I haven't killed any guests or travelers. I didn't even commit the horrible transgression of naming my son Glaucus (I gave my son a very nice name). And yet, being a housewife, I am in some small ways living the life of Sisyphus.
Sisyphus's boulder, unlike our puppies, did not poop or pee on anything. It remained clean. On the other hand, it wasn't soft and cuddly and cute and fun. And Sisyphus didn't have the satisfaction of coming upon an unsavory mess and leaving the area sparkling clean and sterile. Puppies: 2; boulder: 1. I s'pose ...
I would like to add some creativity and productivity to my life. With my youngest starting college next fall, I need to do more. I am thinking of applying to be a math teacher to either middle or high school students. I have other interests too, but it might not currently be practical to elevate those to goals.
Monday, January 8, 2018
Sharks, whales, and dolphins
A whale biologist in the Cook Islands had an amazing encounter with a 50,000-pound humpback whale, which she believes protected her from a predatory tiger shark. Not everyone believes marine mammals are quite so altruistic, as this article about dolphins indicates, but then there are some beautiful stories, such as this one about a diver who was protected from an Atlantic hammerhead shark by four dolphins that he apparently knew. This story is about a surfer, Todd Endris, who was attacked by a 12-15 foot great white shark at Marina State Park off Monterey, CA. He was badly injured and ended up losing half of his blood. He says that a pod of dolphins circled him, keeping the shark at bay and giving him time to get back on his board and make for the shore. Here is the story in his own words.
My dude, Daniel!
My hair stylist, Bobbi, told me that her son called her the other day in a state of excitement to brag about his daughter. He proudly announced, "I know all parents think their children are geniuses, but ..." Bobbi interrupted to say, "Oh, I never thought that." I may be as fond and deluded as the next parent ('ceptin' Bobbi) about my spawn, but I think my boy Daniel is just the bomb diggity.
He is so unassuming and self-effacing that we sometimes overlook all that he is achieving. He is a straight A student in one of the most difficult programs (engineering physics) at one of the most challenging schools with one of the most crushing workloads in the nation (Mines.) The average incoming ACT of Mines students is now 32, they seem to be an extremely studious bunch, and yet the average GPA is just under 3.0, which illustrates the arduous nature of the coursework. Daniel has been involved in researching smart lasers for the past year or so. In the midst of his last set of finals, he put together a paper for publication. Apparently he's the lead author. I had thought he was just a flunky for a professor who was driving the project, but it appears he's managing it himself and doing most of the creative work. As of this spring semester, his research hours have been increased to eight per week (he gets paid, I think, $14 per hour, which will give him a nice little allowance, as well as giving him some valuable experience.) Additionally, he's already taking graduate level classes. He excelled on the verbal and quantitative sections of the GRE. In fact, his numbers would be above average for a Ph.D. candidate in math, physics, or engineering at any of the Ivies, Stanford, or MIT. He has never taken an ACT or SAT before because he started at community college, was recruited into UCCS, and then applied as a transfer to Mines, and Mines only looks at one thing for transfer students -- their academic transcripts. He plans to take a masters at Mines next, after which he'll perhaps apply to Ph.D. programs. He's not sure yet what he wants to study for his masters. Options seem to be applied physics, optics/lasers, and electrical engineering (with or without some additional computer science.) The latter would set him up well for a career in robotics. He has also talked about astrophysics, although there seem to be more career opportunities in engineering than in physics research.
In addition to being so very smart, he's incredibly humble, sweet, kind, and sensitive. How did I get so lucky as to have a son like this?
I went up to Golden with him today to help him move into a two-bedroom apartment at Mines Park, an apartment complex run by the Colorado School of Mines. It's an attractive complex of two- and three-story buildings, spread out with lots of open space and plenty of parking, and it's set up against the foothills. He will share it with another student, Sam. Yesterday we borrowed Paige's Toyota Sienna to take up some of his furniture. We moved in a chest of drawers and a futon that converts into a queen-sized bed. Thankfully the room has a built-in desk with good lighting and some shelves, so we were able to bring home the rickety little desk he was using last year. Today we went up with a new desk chair, a microwave oven, some cleaning supplies, and some other household items.
Once we had everything set up, we went out to Romano's Macaroni Grill for dinner. On our way home, we picked up some food. Daniel will probably get most of his meals at the dining hall, which is just a 5 minute walk away, but he has plenty of snacks on hand and should never go hungry. His apartment is cozy and comfortable. I think he'll be happy there:-)
He is so unassuming and self-effacing that we sometimes overlook all that he is achieving. He is a straight A student in one of the most difficult programs (engineering physics) at one of the most challenging schools with one of the most crushing workloads in the nation (Mines.) The average incoming ACT of Mines students is now 32, they seem to be an extremely studious bunch, and yet the average GPA is just under 3.0, which illustrates the arduous nature of the coursework. Daniel has been involved in researching smart lasers for the past year or so. In the midst of his last set of finals, he put together a paper for publication. Apparently he's the lead author. I had thought he was just a flunky for a professor who was driving the project, but it appears he's managing it himself and doing most of the creative work. As of this spring semester, his research hours have been increased to eight per week (he gets paid, I think, $14 per hour, which will give him a nice little allowance, as well as giving him some valuable experience.) Additionally, he's already taking graduate level classes. He excelled on the verbal and quantitative sections of the GRE. In fact, his numbers would be above average for a Ph.D. candidate in math, physics, or engineering at any of the Ivies, Stanford, or MIT. He has never taken an ACT or SAT before because he started at community college, was recruited into UCCS, and then applied as a transfer to Mines, and Mines only looks at one thing for transfer students -- their academic transcripts. He plans to take a masters at Mines next, after which he'll perhaps apply to Ph.D. programs. He's not sure yet what he wants to study for his masters. Options seem to be applied physics, optics/lasers, and electrical engineering (with or without some additional computer science.) The latter would set him up well for a career in robotics. He has also talked about astrophysics, although there seem to be more career opportunities in engineering than in physics research.
In addition to being so very smart, he's incredibly humble, sweet, kind, and sensitive. How did I get so lucky as to have a son like this?
I went up to Golden with him today to help him move into a two-bedroom apartment at Mines Park, an apartment complex run by the Colorado School of Mines. It's an attractive complex of two- and three-story buildings, spread out with lots of open space and plenty of parking, and it's set up against the foothills. He will share it with another student, Sam. Yesterday we borrowed Paige's Toyota Sienna to take up some of his furniture. We moved in a chest of drawers and a futon that converts into a queen-sized bed. Thankfully the room has a built-in desk with good lighting and some shelves, so we were able to bring home the rickety little desk he was using last year. Today we went up with a new desk chair, a microwave oven, some cleaning supplies, and some other household items.
Once we had everything set up, we went out to Romano's Macaroni Grill for dinner. On our way home, we picked up some food. Daniel will probably get most of his meals at the dining hall, which is just a 5 minute walk away, but he has plenty of snacks on hand and should never go hungry. His apartment is cozy and comfortable. I think he'll be happy there:-)
Saturday, January 6, 2018
A Good Day!
So today was a really fun, happy day for everyone in my family. Craig and Laura are in Chicago with Kay and having a fabulous time. Daniel took the GRE and did very well. 'Good to have that behind him. Emma played tennis earlier and is heading out to Colorado Springs with Daniel for a birthday celebration for her friend, Keelie (Keelie was going to have a sleepover party this evening, but one of the four girls who was to attend is sick, so she canceled.) Paige and I went up to the Denver Museum of Nature and Science to see the Ultimate Dinosaurs exhibit, along with a planetarium show, Passport to the Universe, which was narrated by Tom Hanks. Paige and I had a late lunch at Sweet Tomatoes on the way home and watched the Star Trek episode The Trouble with Tribbles this evening.
Craig, Laura, and Kay went out with Kay's friend, Bette, and learned that Bette's daughter is friends with the wife of Joe Principe, the bassist for Emma's favorite band, Rise Against. There seems to be some sort of possibility that Emma might be able to meet the band, or at least meet Joe Principe.
My fitness and weight loss program, which I started over Christmas, is going well. I've dropped one dress size and generally feel healthier. I got up to 90 minutes on the elliptical last Wednesday, and it didn't get boring because I watched three lectures from The Great Courses, two on oceanography and one on zoology, while working out. I'm finding pushups and situps slightly less tortuous. And while I am gaining a little muscle definition and have lost a little weight, I stilll need to jettison a quarter of my current body weight. This will probably be a one year process.
Craig, Laura, and Kay went out with Kay's friend, Bette, and learned that Bette's daughter is friends with the wife of Joe Principe, the bassist for Emma's favorite band, Rise Against. There seems to be some sort of possibility that Emma might be able to meet the band, or at least meet Joe Principe.
My fitness and weight loss program, which I started over Christmas, is going well. I've dropped one dress size and generally feel healthier. I got up to 90 minutes on the elliptical last Wednesday, and it didn't get boring because I watched three lectures from The Great Courses, two on oceanography and one on zoology, while working out. I'm finding pushups and situps slightly less tortuous. And while I am gaining a little muscle definition and have lost a little weight, I stilll need to jettison a quarter of my current body weight. This will probably be a one year process.
Wednesday, January 3, 2018
Happiness
A friend of mine said today that happiness is not a "long-term phase," but transient, experienced only fleetingly during special and privileged moments, and that it is something one has to work hard and deliberately to attain. This has me thinking. I guess everyone is different in the quantity and quality of happiness they experience and why they experience it. What contributes to our happiness is probably very different from one person to the next.
I can't really relate to my friend's experience of being mostly "not happy.". I find happiness to be generally abiding, even when it is temporarily engulfed by passing anxiety, disappointment, sadness, anger, grief, or irritation. Perhaps there is some sort of spiritual underpinning to this. While I don't really believe in a traditional God (or, at least, I'm completely theologically confused,) I like to believe there is some force of benevolence in the universe with which I occasionally connect. I get all the arguments about belief in God being an evolutionary construct and that such belief causes us to create our own God or gods to meet our psychological needs for comfort, relevance, and eternal life, but I still truly believe there is "something" out there and that, sappy and Pollyanna-ish as it sounds, it is a concentrated purity of goodness and love.
I was very lucky to have experienced a "golden" five-year period in my life when I was in my twenties, and perhaps that set me on a happy trajectory. It was a fairy-tale period of adventure and exhiliration. I moved to Europe and felt tremendous, wide-eyed excitement at all that was so new and different. There was so much to learn, experience, and savor, not only through travel, but also through contact with wonderful new cultures that were very much more humane, tolerant, and compassionate than what I had left behind. I guess I was very unsophisticated when I arrived in Europe, but every new tourist attraction was a tremendous thrill. I started my own company, worked in Germany and Switzerland, and fell in love with a kind and wonderful man. My beloved aunt and uncle gifted me a magical wedding at their 15th century home in England. I am still in disbelief at their generosity. My career, rather to my astonishment, blossomed and bloomed. The gift of those "golden years" of incredible good fortune has colored my life with hope and delight ever since.
There was happiness thereafter ... a move to California, my four wonderful children who are the loves of my life, a move to Colorado, some great friends, trips, pets, hobbies, classes, books ... And while life has not always been easy since those days, it has been satisfying and fulfilling. Before that golden period, I had some wretched experiences and felt deep unhappiness on many occasions, but even then, I still believed I would be able to escape and move on to brighter horizons. I was also blessed to have some amazing people come into my life. I think books were another source of great joy to me. They provided alternate worlds where anything was possible. And nature was always a gift. Thinking of the forests, misty beach scenes, dolphins, seagulls, coral reefs, snowstorms, lakes, rivers, flowers, prairies, trees, mountains, and thunderstorms I have seen makes me happy.
So I don't really know where happiness comes from or why some of us are blessed with it and some not. I know I have had incredible injections of good luck at certain times in my life, and I will be forever grateful for those. To feel one has been successful, at least for part of one's life, is a great gift. In my case, I think I probably have a congenital disposition to be happy. There is so much I just, for no particular reason, enjoy. I love looking out the window at the pine trees outside. I love seeing squirrels. I love reading. I love the sky. I love my kids. I love watching my Great Courses videos. I even enjoy complaining (I find humor in it.) I guess I have pretty low standards for finding things to be happy about, and I'm happy about that.
I can't really relate to my friend's experience of being mostly "not happy.". I find happiness to be generally abiding, even when it is temporarily engulfed by passing anxiety, disappointment, sadness, anger, grief, or irritation. Perhaps there is some sort of spiritual underpinning to this. While I don't really believe in a traditional God (or, at least, I'm completely theologically confused,) I like to believe there is some force of benevolence in the universe with which I occasionally connect. I get all the arguments about belief in God being an evolutionary construct and that such belief causes us to create our own God or gods to meet our psychological needs for comfort, relevance, and eternal life, but I still truly believe there is "something" out there and that, sappy and Pollyanna-ish as it sounds, it is a concentrated purity of goodness and love.
I was very lucky to have experienced a "golden" five-year period in my life when I was in my twenties, and perhaps that set me on a happy trajectory. It was a fairy-tale period of adventure and exhiliration. I moved to Europe and felt tremendous, wide-eyed excitement at all that was so new and different. There was so much to learn, experience, and savor, not only through travel, but also through contact with wonderful new cultures that were very much more humane, tolerant, and compassionate than what I had left behind. I guess I was very unsophisticated when I arrived in Europe, but every new tourist attraction was a tremendous thrill. I started my own company, worked in Germany and Switzerland, and fell in love with a kind and wonderful man. My beloved aunt and uncle gifted me a magical wedding at their 15th century home in England. I am still in disbelief at their generosity. My career, rather to my astonishment, blossomed and bloomed. The gift of those "golden years" of incredible good fortune has colored my life with hope and delight ever since.
There was happiness thereafter ... a move to California, my four wonderful children who are the loves of my life, a move to Colorado, some great friends, trips, pets, hobbies, classes, books ... And while life has not always been easy since those days, it has been satisfying and fulfilling. Before that golden period, I had some wretched experiences and felt deep unhappiness on many occasions, but even then, I still believed I would be able to escape and move on to brighter horizons. I was also blessed to have some amazing people come into my life. I think books were another source of great joy to me. They provided alternate worlds where anything was possible. And nature was always a gift. Thinking of the forests, misty beach scenes, dolphins, seagulls, coral reefs, snowstorms, lakes, rivers, flowers, prairies, trees, mountains, and thunderstorms I have seen makes me happy.
So I don't really know where happiness comes from or why some of us are blessed with it and some not. I know I have had incredible injections of good luck at certain times in my life, and I will be forever grateful for those. To feel one has been successful, at least for part of one's life, is a great gift. In my case, I think I probably have a congenital disposition to be happy. There is so much I just, for no particular reason, enjoy. I love looking out the window at the pine trees outside. I love seeing squirrels. I love reading. I love the sky. I love my kids. I love watching my Great Courses videos. I even enjoy complaining (I find humor in it.) I guess I have pretty low standards for finding things to be happy about, and I'm happy about that.
The Manitou Incline
So these three sweet girls went on an adventure today. They decided to do the Manitou Incline!
The Incline is a short trail, less than a mile, in the foothills of Colorado Springs, but it is STEEP! It gains 2,000 feet in elevation, has 2,744 steps, and has an average grade of 45%. As a result, climbing it is considered an extreme experience. Many elite athletes, such as our local Olympians, train there.
If one makes it to the top, one is rewarded by this view over Colorado Springs:
To get down again, one is advised to take the bottom four miles of the Barr Trail rather than trying to clamber DOWN the Incline. So Laura, Emma, and their buddy made it all the way to the top without too much difficulty. They are quite an inspiration!
The Incline is a short trail, less than a mile, in the foothills of Colorado Springs, but it is STEEP! It gains 2,000 feet in elevation, has 2,744 steps, and has an average grade of 45%. As a result, climbing it is considered an extreme experience. Many elite athletes, such as our local Olympians, train there.
If one makes it to the top, one is rewarded by this view over Colorado Springs:
To get down again, one is advised to take the bottom four miles of the Barr Trail rather than trying to clamber DOWN the Incline. So Laura, Emma, and their buddy made it all the way to the top without too much difficulty. They are quite an inspiration!
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