Deep Thoughts – Page 16

Insert thoughtful educated post here

Let’s see here. I’ve done the milestone “see how big they’re getting now!” post. I’ve done the “here’s what I’ve done with the house” lately post. I’ve done a Domestic Diva post. I haven’t had any adventures in the last two weeks, unless you consider getting lost in Boston adventurous. That means I’m due for a “Deep Thoughts” post. (Sorry to pull back the curtain.)

Just one problem.

Right. No deep thoughts.

I’ve been contemplating this issue all day, trying on topics to see which ones would work. I’ve listening to Bujold’s Vorkosigan Saga lately on audiobook and just came to the stunning revelation that Sergyar was named for Prince Serg. But aside from a psuedo-English-major essay on how Miles Vorkosigan is a namer as defined in Madeleine L’Engle’s books, I don’t think I have a lot to contribute on the topic.

I have been programming in a new language at work, but I’m still at the confused stage, so I don’t think I have anything valuable to add. Plus, a readership nourished on cute kid stories probably doesn’t want to hear my rant about WHY we can’t just have one standard universal data typing scheme so I don’t have to remember if it’s a float or number or numeric or if it’s a varchar or char or character or string or text.

I have played several new board games lately. I enjoyed Pillars of the Earth even though I lost badly. I think Roll Through the Ages is one of the best-designed two-player games I’ve played possibly ever and am sad that my six consecutive victories makes it unlikely I’ll be able to con my husband into it again soon. I liked St. Petersburg, but need to play it again to completely master the intricacies.

I just discovered to my shock and dismay that the Red Sox traded Justin Masterson while I was on Mt. Rainier and unable to use my psychic powers to protect him.

Let’s not even get in to politics, eh?

So here you have it. I have managed to write a 350 word post about how I have nothing to write about. I’ll attempt to salvage my bloggy-honor by promising that next week will be a meaningful post. And maybe I’ll do something interesting in the next 24 hours that I can tell you about tomorrow.

The Happiness Project

One of the blogs I enjoy reading is Slate’s Happiness Project. It is what it sounds like — a project documenting one person’s attempts to be happier in the living of their life.

I think if it were my project, I might pick the title the Joyfulness project. In my mind, there is a profound difference between joy and happiness. Joy is a deep emotion, which is not exclusive of pain or toil or struggle. In fact, joy is more likely in that environment than an easy one. Happiness, however, I see as a fluid and fleeting emotion; an easy-come, easy-go feeling. Joy sticks with you. Happiness is a gift, to be taken or given. Joy is won in the struggle.

Anyway, I appreciate the reminders I get from reading it to be intentional about my experience of life and to connect head-on with what matters.

Things I like

The internet can be full of negativity. Twitter feeds and Facebook updates are often either a) inscrutable b) what’s happening at ComicCon or Blogher (what happens if you want to attend both?!) or c) complaining. I confess, I’m just as guilty of this as the next girl. Well, that and coffee-related posts. I had a few whiny posts playing around in my head. They involve having to schedule time to shower and the utter insanity of my next 7 days.

Instead, though, I thought I’d give a list of some things that please me, and continue to please me.

Mt. Rainier and Adam, two of my top favorites

1) The great outdoors. Ok, this is no surprise given that half my posts this summer are OMG CAMPING! But I had forgotten or underestimated just how restorative and joyful it is to look at a horizon of mountains and trees and breathe an unhurried breath.

2) Lois McMaster Bujold What can this woman not write? And it all translates beautifully to audiobook (not universally true). This is how I’ve gotten through, uh, 6 months of pumping in the server room.

3) Sateen sheets. I already have trouble getting out of bed in the morning, but when my sheets are sooooooo soft and comfy it seems completely unfair. Then I get two boys bouncing on top of me, and I narrowly avoid a foot to the face and I get up. But man, those sheets are awesome.

4) My house/town. Every time I walk up the steps I’m happy. Every time I take a two block stroll to post some letters and make a deposit at the ATM, walking home past the crowds coming out of the local theater well… it’s an awesome home in a great location filled with the things I love best.

5) Northwest Art. I just love looking at it. It seems mysterious and ancient and reminds me of my long-childhood daydreams. Did you know that the NW was once called New Albion? If I’d known that when I was, say, 12, I might possibly have died from overexcitement. Two great tastes that taste great together.

6) Advice columns. I can’t get enough of them. My favorite was when two letter writers sent the same problem (from their opposite perspectives) to Anne Landers and Dear Abby on the same day.

7) The internet. It’s great time-sink, but it helps me feel connected and informed. Plus, I don’t think I ever would’ve written, despite wanting to, without the maybe-audience of teh intarwebs.

8 ) America’s Test Kitchen. Their recipe books are fantastic. I love how they not only contain really good recipes, but they define their criteria for good and explain the different things they tried to combat the different problems that arose. So now I have not only a great recipe but an understanding of what I can do if I ever want to branch out on my own.

9) The concept of tea. I still have this fantasy about the perfect pot of tea, the quiet moments, the stillness and listening, the poetry. Even when so many of my other daydreams have abandoned me, this one somehow remains.

10) Christmas. It never gets old. I never get past it. It is always a hallowed, golden time to me — full of light, possibility and the sensation of being set apart. I start wishing it was Christmas in about June.

What about you? What’s something in your life that continues to bring you pleasure?

My village

On Tuesday, my husband and I conscripted my brother into childcare and went to donate blood at the annual memorial blood drive for Vicky Graham. Vicky died of cancer a year or two after we joined the church. The blood drive is an especially appropriate way of remembering her, because during her fight infusions of platelets were one of the things that helped her feel better and get stronger. Vicky’s dad Whitey was standing at the entrance to the drive when we pulled up. We chatted, he signed us in and gave us stickers and little squeezy-balls. He thanked us for remembering Vicky.

As I was drinking my post-donation beverage, Whitey waved goodbye and said that his lovely wife was there to pick him up and he’d see us later.

Thursday night, when I came downstairs from putting Thane to bed, I saw my husband standing stricken with a phone to his ear. Whitey died Thursday afternoon from a massive heart attack.

When I think of Whitey’s dying, I think of work. There are Christians — I am one — who tend towards an intellectual approach to their faith. I think theology and Biblical study. Whitey was a Christian whose faith was done with his hands. He spearheaded the church’s ministry with the Dwelling Place, serving a meal to the hungry. Several times a year he cooked a meal for the church — Easter Breakfast, Fall luncheon. He was behind “Soup”er Bowl Sunday, and the Blankets and Tools drive. He was the lone guy on Deacons. He served with me on the Hospitality Committee. In my church bag, I noticed an envelope from him, my name scrawled on it. It was one of many projects we were working on together. He was a man who did things in accordance with what he believed.

He was also a father, many times over. He and Jean had three children: Vickie, Alex and Andrew. He and Jean had over 200 children. They were, are, foster parents. One of the last things he told me about was Alex and Andrew making foster-child Daryll laugh — Daryll is about Thane’s age. Whitey and Jean offered short term and long term homes to children in dire circumstances. They prayed every year for the children who “aged out” of the system and were sent alone into the world. Those children were always welcomed back at the Graham household.

When death comes long and slow, you have time to prepare. Gradually the tasks that person undertook are put aside in illness. I’ve seen that before. When death is a sudden visitor, you realize just how much you relied on a person. Whitey was supposed to give the sermon this Sunday while our pastor was on vacation. In an unusual fit of preparedness, he had already finished writing it, and it was read to us. It was about his faith, how his journey with Christ had progressed, and about what it had meant to him to be in community with us. It was an affirmation about how much he loved us. How strangely profound to hear from a man who had had every intention of delivering it himself.

Tomorrow, I will play “Lord of the Dance” at Whitey’s funeral. In September, I will find someone to prepare the Fellowship Lunch that was always his domain. In March, I will buy yellow roses and play “Lord of the Dance” for Vickie and Whitey. His example will remind me to be not only a thinking Christian and a feeling Christian, but an acting Christian.

A jumble of me

I just finished writing a note to a friend from college — a friend I met during Freshman orientation. He’s one of the few people I met at college before I met the man I would marry. We used to take long night walks around Harkness Green and talk about where we had come from, where we thought we were going (we were both wrong) and what a big world it was.

The note, much belated, is really to his daughter. In it I speak for my sons. I don’t think those 18 year olds watching the Hale-Bopp comet on Harkness Green could even conceive of such a thing.

When I picked Thane up from nursery on Sunday, I was greeted with the words “You’re in deep trouble”. He’s not 8 months old yet. He’s pulling up to standing and crawling FAST. Let the childproofing be in earnest!

On Saturday I got to go to a graduation party for two kids I’d taught Sunday School/confirmation/youth group to. It was an awesome party, and a wonderful time to hang out with people I really like, talking about our shared experiences and future hopes. Also, other people played with my sons and seemed to enjoy themselves.

Here are some pictures

We’re starting to use a new technology – Flex – at work. Knowing I learn best when I (duh) concentrate on learning, I scheduled a training class for myself. I asked if anyone wanted to come. The entire technical team — including DBAs — did. So we are having a three day onsite training course starting tomorrow. I keep wondering how I managed to pull this off. But I did. So I will be BUSY in the heart of this week. That’s a polite way of saying, “No I haven’t fallen on the face of the Earth but you probably won’t be hearing from me.” And when next you do, I’ll be a “Flexpert”.

And then I took Friday off. We’re going camping. Yes, in a tent. Yes, overnight. Yes, with Grey and Thane.

I CAN’T WAIT. I love camping.

I think that’s the important stuff!

Fire

Finally, FINALLY I managed to get that 20 minutes to myself last night. (Actually, it was a whole hour! Luxury!) And I fulfilled my daydream and spent it in an armchair reading the Odyssey. I’m enjoying it. I’ve never read the Odyssey before (cue wails of astonishment from my East Coast educated brethren) and I’m reading it very slowly and intentionally.

The bit that caught my attention last night was a metaphor. I find it interesting to discover the root of some long-familiar phrases and metaphors. I find it equally interesting to discover which ones have not survived to be reused. One that really caught my attention was this:

“Then, as one who lives alone in the country, far from any neighbor, hides a brand as fire-seed in the ashes to save himself from having to get a light elsewhere, even so did Ulysses cover himself up with leaves;” (Book 5) (Also, my translation is better)

I had never really thought of this before. It evokes this vast loneliness. If you are far from neighbors and your fire goes out past relighting, what a dark and dire world it must be! I sometimes complain of the way nursing ties me tight to this schedule. In some ways this fire-holding must be worse. You must have something to burn. You must awaken, return, whatever is needed to keep the fire alight. I’m not sure how hard it would be to reignite the fire if you fail to keep it going, but obviously it is a barrier. On the other hand, how refreshing it must be to live with other people — to have a family who can share this responsibility, to have neighbors who can also be counted upon to have kept their fires alight.

It brings to me a new light to the idea of community, and what community meant.

Keep those home-fires burning, friends.

Odysseus

So I’m reading “The Odyssey” at a pace best described as glacial. I’m on Book 5, where Odysseus has sex with a goddess but doesn’t really enjoy it.

Anyway, many of you will know that my degree is in Medieval studies. What I really studied was early music and literature. I read Chaucer and Song of Roland and Spencer and Milton and Shakespeare and Chretien de Troyes and pretty much whatever I could get my hands on. (OK, that’s not entirely true. I’ve had “Piers Plowman” sitting on my bookshelf since Jr. Year and I still can’t bring myself to read it.)

During this whole time I idly wondered how these brilliant writers of yore shared this vast and unified command of Greek mythology. Shakespeare, Donne, Milton … they all refer to the same pantheon and clearly expect their readers to be familiar as well. They didn’t have Bullfinches mythology. (Where did that come from anyway?) They didn’t have some Greek Bible laying out the theology. They had some Aristotle and his philosiphia… basically, I idly wondered for a long time about this but never bothered to think hard about it or, you know, look it up or ask someone.

I suspect you see where this is going.

Duh.

Homer.

I really should’ve known that.

What about you? What’s something that played an important role in an area where you are theoretically an expert, but you just never figured out some incredibly obvious connection? Have you ever had something like this crop up with you?

On First Looking into Chapman’s Homer
Much have I travell’d in the realms of gold,
And many goodly states and kingdoms seen;
Round many western islands have I been
Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold.
Oft of one wide expanse had I been told
That deep-browed Homer ruled as his demesne;
Yet did I never breathe its pure serene
Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold:
Then felt I like some watcher of the skies
When a new planet swims into his ken;
Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes
He star’d at the Pacific — and all his men
Look’d at each other with a wild surmise —
Silent, upon a peak in Darien.

John Keats

Thoughts on pandemic flu

It seems as though, at least for now, Swine Flu is not “the big one”. Lot’s of people are complaining about how the media has hyped it up and sensationalized it, how there are already tens of thousands of deaths a year due to regular flu, and how this was all really a tempest in a teacup.

My perspective on the issue is rather different.

The kind of flu pandemic we are worried about will be one to which we have no prior immunity. This means that more people will get sick and people who do get sick will be sicker. For the regular flu, most adults have some previous carry-over immunity.
On a related note, MOST of the time, there is a vaccine available for the regular flu. That helps spread out the rate of transmission, means fewer people are infected and the infections are less serious, and can help halt transmission. For a scary-new pandemic flu, that will not be true.
In the 1918 flu pandemic, which killed more than twice the number of people killed in WWI (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1918_flu_pandemic), the people who were mostly likely to die were the strong, healthy adults. With the regular flu, the people most likely to die are the very young and the very old. (Really, if you think that everyone was overreacting, read the Wikipedia article on 1918 and think again.)
With the 1918 flu, up to 5% of infected individuals died. That pandemic cost us Gustav Klimpt and Bill Yawkey (of Yawkey way) as well as 70 to 100 million other mother’s children.
I have heard, although I can’t find support for this, so it may just be false memory, that some victims of the 1918 pandemic died within 12 hours of showing symptoms.
If infection rates are very high, our superior medical technology won’t help THAT much. We only have so many ventilators and doctors. Our emergency rooms normally run at or over capacity. If 20% of the population is sick, you cannot count on a hospital bed, ventilator and focussed attention.

So do I think the response we just had to the flu was an overreaction? Absolutely not. We aren’t out of the woods yet on this one right now — it might take a nasty turn. We certainly aren’t out of the woods on this virus. As the 1918 flu pandemic happened, the first wave was mild, the second brutally lethal.

Even if it happens to pass that this mutation never takes a turn for the nastier — which God willing it won’t — the efforts we have spent have NOT been in vain. In the first place, there was no way of knowing whether this would be a big deal or not ahead of time. The world needed to act as though it was going to be as bad as 1918 and hope that it would be wrong on the “overreacting” side. Who knows? Maybe if we hadn’t slowed it down or stopped it, there was some person in whom it was going to mix with another virus or mutate and take that nasty turn. These actions MAY have prevented it.

But most importantly, chances are good that some day the world will face a viral pandemic like the 1918 flu. This episode has provided us with an excellent chance to practice. I would not be surprised, for example, for people to realize we need more early tracking all over the globe. I also wouldn’t be surprised if plans were changed. For instance, it quickly became clear that the pace of global travel meant clamping down on infected areas was useless. Lots of the transmission was from people in richer countries who had vacationed in Mexico. When you mean shut the borders, do you really mean strand your 19 year old daughter in Cancun and don’t let her come home from her spring break?

So no. I’m sure the media enjoyed the ratings, but they didn’t make this up or play it for all it was worth for no reason. We were not — still are not — sure how this will all fall out. And a influenza pandemic remains a very real and very scary risk.

NOTE: This page has a great breakdown on flu deaths in regular circumstances:
http://www.wrongdiagnosis.com/f/flu/deaths.htm

Robot Papa

Grey is still very much processing his grandfather’s death. There’s a certain spot on our commute home that must remind him of Michael, because he often talks about him as we pass it. This was last night’s conversation:

Grey: Mommy, is Papa STILL dead? (Sounding aggrieved that Papa hasn’t gotten over this “dead” thing yet.)
Mommy: Yes Grey, Papa is still dead.
Grey: When he going to stop being dead?
Mommy: Not in this world as we know it, Grey. (Note: I know too much about theology. The less confusing answer is that he isn’t, but I believe in the resurrection and the life everlasting, so I go with confusing.)
Grey: Why he dead?
Mommy: Well, he had lived his life. He was a baby, then he was a boy, then he was a young man, then he was a grownup, then he was an old man. Then he got sick and he died. (Subtext: don’t worry, kiddo. Neither you nor we are going anywhere soon, God willing.)

** pause for thinking **

Grey: I have an idea! (He holds up his finger to show that yes! An idea!)
Grey: We could make a ROBOT Papa!
Mommy: **nearly drives off the road giggling**

If only we could make a Robot Papa, son. You’ll just have to make do with your memories.

Would Robot Papa help Grey write stories?

Shouldering the generational load

I’m 30 years old.

I’ve been married 8.5 years and working professionally (not coincidentally) for about the same time. I’ve been a member of my church for 8 years. My husband and I are solely responsible for the health and welfare of two small children.

Some days it feels like I will be crushed under the weight of my responsibilities.

I have this image of what it’s like. I imagine the world sitting on top of these generational rollers, moving along. Gradually, the world rolls off one generation and on to the next, until for a few moments (years, decades) one generation carries the brunt of the load, with some small portion of the weight being borne by the coming and going generations. After a long lead in, my generation is beginning to feel the full weight of that world which will ride on our shoulders for the next two or three decades.

Our society is set up around the idea that there are “the proper authorities”. The first aid flipsheet on my ‘fridge says “then call 911” after nearly every entry. We’re supposed to talk to our doctors before doing exercise or trying a new diet. We’re supposed to talk to our financial advisors before we decide where to invest. We’re supposed to report downed wires and suspected child abuse to proper authorities. At work we’re supposed to notify our managers if someone is harrassing us. For nearly any difficult, sticky or dangerous task for our entire life we’ve been told to tell the proper authorities.

We might be forgiven for thinking there is some super race, set apart, of proper authorities. Clearly, this isn’t the case. At some point, the buck stops and there isn’t anyone up the chain of ability or command to call. Recently, I’ve come to realize that in some areas, I am the proper authorities. I’m the ones my sons should come to when something is difficult. At work, I may make binding decisions for the company. (Ok, ok so those decisions largely revolve around whether to order the Intense Dark Roast or the French Roast this time, but still….) At church, I sit on the board which truly is “Them” as in “They should do something about the website” or “They need to make sure that all the teachers have background checks” or “They should put in a defibrillator”. I would also be the “They” in “They should’ve known” or “Why didn’t they plan for that” or “What were they thinking?”

No one but a nonagenarian would argue that 30 is exceedingly young. President Obama is older than I am still, but the president is no longer of a different, older generation. His girls are only a few years older than my boys. He may have some gray in his hair but frankly? So do I. (THAT is a whole other post!) We cannot argue inexperience, or youth. There isn’t some vast group of wise grownups who is checking our work and making sure we don’t make mistakes that mess everything up.

There is a story about a boy who lifted a baby ox every day from the day it was born. In this way, he became incredibly strong and could easily still lift the ox when it grew to it’s full size. (As the mother of fast-growing children let me opine: HA!) It feels to me today as though my responsibilities have recently undergone a growth spurt and my muscles are slow to strengthen in response.