Category Archives: Uncategorized

Untapped potential

The new cat had decided she likes to sharpen her claws on the box springs of my bed. To discourage this, I applied the extra-wide double-sided tape that pet stores sell for this purpose. (Several chairs in our living room sport similar decoration because of the claw-sharpening proclivities of one of our other cats.) Although Fluffy has stopped clawing the bed, now she licks the tape. Very weird, but I don’t see how it can damage the box springs.

The other day my daughter wanted to watch TV in our room, but I told her no because I had washed the sheets and hadn’t put them back on the bed yet. She offered to do it for me if I would let her watch TV in the bedroom. My mama didn’t raise no fool, so I agreed. When I finally crawled in for the night, it was late and I was grateful that I didn’t have to make the bed first. I did note, however, that the edge of the sheet closest to the head of the bed had a narrow hem rather than the wide hem that indicates the top edge.

When I investigated in the morning, I found not only that my daughter had placed the wide-hemmed top of the sheet at the foot of the bed, but that she had also failed to tuck it in. My SO moves quite a lot in his sleep, so I was surprised that the sheet had stayed in place. I found out why when I tried to lift the end of the sheet to tuck it in: it was firmly stuck to the tape on the box springs. I laughed so hard I sat down on the floor, then decided to leave it because I liked the way it looked.

I’ve been considering the untapped interior design potential of double-sided tape: dust ruffles, place mats, table runners, antimacassars — the sky’s the limit!

Full moon with star-crossed lovers

Tonight is the full moon — always a good omen for lovers — and this full moon happens to fall on Tanabata, the Japanese Festival of Stars.

The sky emperor Tentei (known to us as Polaris) has a daughter whose skills at the loom are unsurpassed. Her name is Orihime (we call her Vega), and she weaves the finest and most beautiful cloth ever seen. From it she fashions exquisite clothing and Tentei will wear nothing that is not made by her hands.

Once long ago, Orihime grew sad when she realized that she spent so much time at her loom and needle that she would never meet someone special and marry. Upon learning of his daughter’s grief, Tentei arranged for her to meet Kengyuu (Altair to us), who cares for the cattle of heaven. The two fell in love and were soon happily married — too happily, as it turned out.

Besotted with one another, the lovers neglected their duties. The celestial cattle repeatedly turned up in all sorts of places they didn’t belong, and the sky emperor himself began to look a bit shabby as his clothing began to show signs of everyday wear and tear and he had nothing with which to replace it. Tentei felt he had no choice but to separate the pair so he placed them on either side of the great river of the sky (the Milky Way).

If Orihime and Kengyuu attend to their responsibilities with diligence, Tentei permits them to spend one night together each year: the seventh night of the seventh month. On that night, the boatman of the moon will ferry Orihime across the great river to her beloved. If, however, either of the lovers has not performed his or her duties as expected, Tentei may cause it to rain, flooding the river and making it impassable. When this happens, magpies, harbingers of joy and symbols of marital bliss, flock together to form a bridge of their wings and bodies so that these most ardent of lovers will not be denied their one night together.

Love does indeed conquer all, even the dictates of the emperor of heaven. May we remember this and pursue those passions that enliven and inflame us to the neglect of all else.

Surprise pie

My son, who is my first-born, is full of surprises. Because he is a sweet and gentle soul, they are most often joyful surprises, for which I am daily thankful.

A couple weeks ago, he surprised me by announcing that he wanted to bake a pie. It turns out he had promised a baseball teammate a pie if the team won their next game, which they did. He now had to make good on that promise and wanted to go on-line to look for a recipe.

Once the first blush of amazement wore off, I suggested that he start with the dozens of cookbooks on the kitchen shelves, several of which are devoted solely to desserts. By the next day he had found a recipe that suited his fancy and was eager to go to the grocery store for the ingredients.

“Why don’t we see what we already have?” I suggested. He read off the list of ingredients and together we located most of them in the kitchen cupboards. We made our shopping list, including some ingredients that we had but not in sufficient quantities, and headed off to the store.

Thanks to a persistent illness that I’ve been fighting for a couple months, I was worn out by the shopping expedition. (My very enthusiastic and slightly hyperactive shopping assistants no doubt contributed to my fatigue as well.) I had to take a nap. But pie stops for no man, so we did a verbal walk-through of the recipe before I lay down on the couch in order to be available for baking consultations. Thankfully, I remembered to suggest that it’s always a good idea to place a cookie sheet under the pie in case it spills over a bit during baking.

The pie-making proceeded without incident. I hazily recall being roused to near consciousness a couple times to pronounce my blessing on the pie-in-process before I finally woke to the delicious aroma of brownie pie baking. The pie had been removed from the oven and the wisdom of my protective cookie sheet advice was loudly acclaimed, as the pie had evidently spilled over. Both kids were in the kitchen munching on the overflow and exclaiming how good it was. They even brought me some to taste, and I found it very good indeed.

Sometime later, I entered the kitchen myself to see this glorious confection. Most of the pie filling had bubbled out of the shell, leaving only a layer of brownie slightly thicker than the crust. (A post-mortem of the preparation revealed that a bit too much baking powder had been used.) No wonder the kids had been so thrilled eating the overflow! I thanked whatever guardian angel had prompted me to suggest the cookie sheet beneath the pie, shuddering at the horrendous oven cleaning I had so narrowly missed. We left for vacation two days later, having cleaned up all the cooking pans and dishes.

Fast forward to today and the inspiration for this posting: the penetrating odor of burnt sugar. We turned the oven on to preheat for a quick and lazy frozen pizza lunch and opened it several minutes later to dark, acrid clouds and the wail of the kitchen smoke detector. Once the haze had cleared, we discovered that my son had placed the cookie sheet on the rack below the one that held the pie rather than directly under the pie itself, so giant globs of overflow had baked onto the wires of the top rack.

So now the oven has been thoroughly cleaned, which is a wonder in itself, and the surprises of parenting just keep unfolding.

I’m my own worst lawn ornament

Remember a few years back when those painted plywood cutouts of people weeding were all the rage? They showed a broad bottom clad in a polka dot dress and white bloomers hovering above legs with white ankle socks and black shoes — the view from behind of someone’s grandmother bending over to pick something off the ground.

I was working in the yard today and bent over from the waist to pull a weed just as a car drove by. I realized I had my back to the street, and that I had just presented my own version of the classic lawn ornament. I was wearing black shorts and an oatmeal gray t-shirt so the effect wasn’t quite as dramatic, but I felt suddenly very self-conscious and a little silly. What does it mean when you realize you have become something you’ve laughed about for years?

I’m seriously considering investing in a polka dot house dress and some bloomers as gardening camouflage.

The write stuff

As a writer, I think I’ve discovered my metier, the genre in which I excel above all others: letters. Unfortunately, that’s kind of like taking a career aptitude test and finding that you are best suited to be a cooper. It’s not an entirely obsolete field, but there’s not much call for it these days and the job opportunities are pretty limited.

How do I know this? I’ve tried my hand at an awful lot of writing over the years; I even got paid for some of it, though never all that well. In recent years I’ve worked at it more deliberately and diligently, determined to find a way to make some kind of living at it. I’ve had no success as yet, but I’m not giving up. Heck, I’m just getting started!

I’ve learned that I don’t have a novel in me right now, at least not one anywhere near enough to the boat that I can land it. I seem to be able to write very, very short pieces — poetry, flash fiction, anecdotes — which is quite encouraging. I haven’t found a market for the stuff yet, but at least I enjoy it and feel reasonably competent about doing it. That’s more than half the battle.

Today, however, I realized in the shower (which is where all truly useful and brilliant thoughts occur to me) that the writing I love most and do the best is letter writing. I even spent my drying time analyzing why.

1. A letter has no plot. It has purpose, which may be singular or plural, but it doesn’t have to conform to content expectations the way a story or essay does. A letter can develop in a linear fashion, but it can just as easily meander or jump around.

2. A letter’s structure is chiefly physical in nature. It has certain functional parts (salutation, body, closing, signature) that take specific forms defined by cultural convention and dictated by purpose.

3. A letter has no specified length. I have written letters that were ten pages long, double-sided, and letters that were two paragraphs of two or three sentences each.

4. A letter is personal. It may be formal or intimate, but it is always a direct and personal communication. That’s why form letters bother us so much: they intentionally violate the essential nature of the letter as a form of communication.

Alas, even were letter writing not so unfashionable as it is these days, it would hardly offer much opportunity for income or gainful employment. I clearly haven’t yet found an answer in my pursuit of a successful writing career, but I do feel as though I’ve uncovered an important clue. I don’t quite know what to make of it; I guess I’ll just keep working at it until something falls into place or the next clue appears. I do hope, however, that happens sooner rather than later.

Caveat lector (part 2)

(continued from previous posting)

The main content of the message was a statement read by a high school principal before a football game in 2000. (The full text with background information can be found at http://www.snopes.com/politics/religion/mcloud.asp.) The prefatory comments in the forwarded version I received concludes with the statement, “…and if anyone who gets this is offended by it, I’m not at all sorry.” The use of belligerence before presenting an argument is a rhetorical device designed to intimidate the audience, predisposing them to go along with whatever follows lest they be at odds with the one who sent them the message.

The author of the statement, Mr. Jody McCloud, was protesting a Supreme Court ruling that under certain circumstances, prayers read over the PA system of a public school violated the establishment clause of the First Amendment. This ruling meant that a school tradition of long standing had be changed, and Mr. McCloud was quite exercised about it. Unfortunately, he was so upset about the effect of the ruling on cherished tradition that he missed the point of the ruling, which was that the U.S. Constitution guarantees citizens the right to live in a nation whose government institutions do not promote the views of any one religious belief over another. Because a public school is a government institution, this right clearly has precedence over the practices and preferences of any private group of citizens, even if they constitute an overwhelming majority within the community.

Mr. McCloud mistakenly surmised that the ruling was based on the desire to avoid offending anyone. While this may be a helpful approach in many social interactions, it is far too whimsical to form the basis of law. Mr. McCloud’s statement did illustrate this point very effectively, citing six instances in which apparent adherence to the ruling and the law behind it would be manifestly offensive to him.

The examples named in the statement further illustrate the degree to which Mr. McCloud misunderstood the Supreme Court’s ruling, because none of them are issues on which even members of his own religious affiliation agree. A large number of fellow Christians vehemently disagree with his stated positions, and many of them would be offended by the way in which he framed the issues and articulated his views.

The real strength of Mr. McCloud’s statement was the way he ended it, acknowledging that civil society functions through rules intended for the good of all, and that our responsibility as members of society is to follow those rules, even when they do not sit well with us personally. He fairly pointed out that the ruling did not prohibit personal, non-corporate expressions of religious devotion, and he shrewdly got in a prayer of his own, followed by a sharp little barb of sarcasm.

Even though Mr. McCloud failed to grasp the meaning of the Supreme Court’s decision and was clearly unhappy about the ruling, he agreed nevertheless to uphold the law of the land. The first two-thirds of his statement were devoted to voicing his outrage, however, which produced the unfortunate rhetorical effect of overshadowing his own genuinely patriotic decision. The commentary that concludes the e-mail message capitalizes on this effect, inaccurately characterizing Mr. McCloud’s statement of loyal opposition as a defiant gesture against the hidden forces of evil and injustice that are at work in the federal government.

The fact that everyone in the stadium that day prayed did not fly in the face of the establishment clause or the Supreme Court’s ruling on it; all that praying was in fact made possible by the First Amendment and exemplified the very actions it was designed to protect. The e-mail pretends to promulgate Mr. McCloud’s heartfelt expression of religious belief and commitment, but it violates his integrity and that of his message by attending only to his indignation and ignoring the clever solution he devised to satisfy the spiritual needs of those he served without violating the law. Instead of celebrating the resourcefulness of a patriot showing devotion to his faith and the traditions of his community, the e-mail uses his story to further its own ends.

The final line of the e-mail reads, “Praise God that His remnant remains!” This is another implicit rhetorical threat directed at the audience, suggesting that to disagree with the interpretation presented in the e-mail is to identify with those who are not among God’s elect. If that doesn’t prevent feedback and critical response, nothing will!

As evidence of how well the rhetorical devices in this e-mail work, on my first reading I completely missed the paragraph in Mr. McCloud’s statement about following and enforcing rules with which one does not agree. It wasn’t until I began this detailed analysis that I realized that Mr. McCloud had honored both the letter and the spirit of the law in his statement. Set up by the prefatory comments (remember, my version included an explicit willingness to be offensive to recipients) and influenced by Mr. McCloud’s laundry list of oppressive examples, my mind didn’t register the paragraph beginning with “Nevertheless.”

Caveat lector indeed!

Caveat lector (part 1)

An old e-mail chestnut showed up in my inbox today, one of those tiresome pieces of overblown demagoguery that seem to have a ghoulish life of their own. This particular tirade has been haunting the internet for almost a decade, where it apparently feeds off the self-righteous indignation of people who fear they will become marginalized in a pluralistic society. Because they usually subscribe to points of view that have dominated Western culture in recent memory, the dynamics of a more egalitarian arrangement present an uncomfortably steep learning curve.

This particular e-mail came from a person whom I both admire and care about, which created a quandary for me. The shoddy rhetoric typical of such harangues makes them more annoying than chain letters, which tend to be sentimental and/or superstitious and therefore easy to dismiss. As a public service to my fellow webizens, I want to point out the glaring gaps in logic and encourage the person who sent me such drivel to thoughtfully examine anything inflammatory before forwarding it to everyone in her address book. To date, this strategy has not succeeded in educating any e-mail correspondents in the arts of critical thinking, but it has felicitously gotten me removed from more than one mailing list.

Because I regularly see the person who sent me the message that started this discourse, I deleted the message rather than reply. This was a good decision from a personal relationship point of view, but it didn’t satisfy my need to take a stand against the careless dissemination of such blatant hokum. I decided I could direct my efforts to a slightly larger audience by exposing the deeply flawed argument of the message in question here on my blog.

(continued in next posting)

To dunk or not to dunk

While attending a worship service last week, I found a typo in the bulletin. I can’t help myself; it’s what I do. It was the sort of typo that is clearly created by that two-edged sword of blessing and bane, spell check.

The bulletin had directions for communion: “after receiving the bread, you may either drink from the first chalice or instinct in the second chalice.” Once I finished snickering over what it might mean to instinct in a chalice, a little linguistic red flag popped up in my mind: is it proper to use “intinct” as a verb?

After the worship service, I went on-line in search of evidence of usage. The vast majority of occurrences were typos, where “intinct” appeared instead of “instinct.” The few non-typo examples were ecclesiastical. The noun form, “intinction,” appears with far greater frequency, even in ecclesiastical texts.

Nothing remained but to turn to that arbiter of all things English, the OED, which says that the use of “intinct” as a verb is obsolete and historically associated with coloring and dyes. Ecclesiastical use of the noun form, “intinction,” is not attested until 1872. The edition of the OED I consulted was published in 1971, so the ecclesiastical resurrection of the verb form usage must be a very recent phenomenon.

This is what happens when you send English majors to a church assembly.

On truth and fiction

A friend recently told me about something odd that once happened to her in a writing class. The assignment was an exercise in showing rather than telling: write a short piece in which one character discovers that his or her spouse is having an affair, without anyone explicitly saying so. Inspired by a comment the instructor made to a male student in the class, my friend wrote a piece in which a man finds out that his wife’s involvement with her business partner, another woman, extends beyond the strictly professional.

After this piece was read as part of the class critique process, my friend says that her classmates assumed she must be a lesbian and hit on her steadily until the end of the semester — men and women alike. As it happened, my friend was newly divorced and not interested in a relationship with anyone of any gender or orientation, so this was an especially annoying development. The experience further made my friend extremely cautious about sharing her writing within a group of any kind — what if she wrote about a character who was a serial killer or a user of illegal drugs? Who knows what kind of crazy things her fellow writers might assume about her!

I told her I always assume that everyone is bisexual, though I prefer the term ambisextrous (it sounds less clinical and more fun). I figure I can’t go wrong — I’m neither surprised nor caught in an awkward position when someone expresses or reveals a sexual preference. She found this delightfully funny, and I hope it reassured her that not everyone leaps to judgment about an author, especially when it comes to fiction.

I didn’t ask her how long ago or where this happened, though clearly it didn’t take place during her undergraduate days at a respected southern Bible college. Nevertheless I was startled that students in this day and age (relatively speaking) would draw a conclusion like that from such scant and flimsy evidence. I was even more surprised that students in a fiction writing class, of all places, would imagine such a direct correlation between an author and the details of her writing.

My non-literal way of reading must be even further out of the mainstream than I realized. Maybe all the hysteria surrounding Harry Potter or The DaVinci Code, for example, accurately reflects the state of the American mind rather than the lunatic fringe. If so, then perhaps the educational system aimed a bit wide of the mark in the late 20th century with its focus on standardized testing and quantifiable results. Public responses to literary offerings may be a far more informative measure of educational success than grade point averages and test scores.

Angels and Demons gets two thumbs up

Saw the film Angels and Demons this weekend and loved it! Liked it better than the book, in fact. The scope and setting worked so much better (for me, at least) on the big screen than it did in text because the story is much more visual than Dan Brown’s other works. Except for a couple threats and a riddle, the clues in this tale are physical and visual: sculptures, buildings, maps, etc. The story revolves around a literal trail of physical locations and features rather than a metaphorical trail of abstract concepts and shades of meaning, as was the case in The DaVinci Code.

I’m the kind of reader who visualizes individual scenes but not the broader geographical setting of a story. In fact, maps are too abstract for me to use unless I can connect them with the physical reality they represent. This was a real handicap for me when reading the novel, as the plot depends so heavily on the specific geography of Rome. In the film, I could see the city and the physical relationship between the various sites where the plot unfolded. Even though the protagonist, Robert Langdon, consults a map of the city fairly early in the story, the audience doesn’t actually get to see a map until we’ve visited several sites with Langdon. That worked beautifully for me, because by that point I had some physical sense of the place and could translate that to the map.

Another reason this story worked better in film than in text is the rich detail of the setting. Rome in and of itself is a feast for the eyes, and the Vatican is a living allegory: everything that exists or occurs within its walls carries a profound weight of meaning. A single shot could set up a scene in this deeply symbolic location that might take four pages of description in the novel. Indeed, the filmed scene was very likely to include far more detail than the written scene would permit, which I appreciated immensely due to my predilection for the metaphorical and my eclectic education.

Finally, there is the element of time. The action portion of the story takes place within a little more than four hours, and Langdon is in a race against time. Film is a great medium for building and capitalizing on this kind of tension, as it must compress the entire story, regardless of its length, into two hours, give or take a few minutes. A certain amount of detail was stripped from the original story to accomplish this, but much of that detail, such as the sadism of the assassin, was used to generate tension in the medium of the novel. It was not needed for that purpose in the film and would have actually had the opposite effect of bogging down the story.

The film was fast-paced and engaging, well-written and well-acted, and beautifully realized on the screen. In other words, a perfect summer entertainment for adults whose sensibilities are not too delicate — violence is both shown and suggested, and its consequences are shown but not dwelt upon.