Sat - June 16, 2007
Everybody gets a computer day
A few months ago, we picked up a Vtech toy laptop at a consignment sale for $5
(it's still got the price sticker on it). At the time, we knew it would be
irresistible to Archer, with its many math activities. And hey, the price was
right.
In the past couple of weeks, Cady Gray has
decided that it's her "computer," and she works on it for hours on end. It's
really too advanced for her, although she can do some of the spelling and word
recognition activities. But even the Level 1 math games are way beyond her
(addition starts with problems like 71+8). So she sits there and says "what's
the answer?" over and over again, until someone takes pity and her and tells her
what to push. More times than not, it's Archer, but he has a hard time being
patient with her inevitable mistakes and wants to take over and do it himself.
And there's some fundamental injustice in the fact that he's being asked not to
touch his own toy.
So Noel worked out a compromise. Every time we go to Target, he runs straight to the Vtech Tote & Go Laptop and plays with it as long as we'll let him. Noel promised him that he could have it for his very own computer. Since then he's been asking us every day if we can go to Target and get his computer.
Today was the designated day, and sure enough, Cady Gray spent the whole morning doing equations on her computer, even demanding to take it in the car to the library and lunch, and to her bed at naptime. Midafternoon it was time for me to take them to Target with three missions in mind:
1. Get Archer's computer. ("The one with the mouse," he kept reminding me.)
2. Get Daddy a Father's Day present. I asked them as we drove to think of things Daddy likes to do, and here's what they came up with:
a. "Dad likes to work on his computer." (True.)
b. "Dad likes to fix dinner." (Not sure how much he likes it -- so maybe.)
c. "Daddy likes baseball." (This was Cady Gray's contribution. When I asked them what sports Dad likes to watch on TV, Archer went off on a tangent about how "gold has a score that goes from zero to negative three," and "basketball has a score that goes from zero to one hundred." But when I asked what Dad's favorite sport is, Cady Gray piped up "baseball!" with no hesitation.)
d. "Daddy likes to listen to music." (True.)
3. Get Dad a Father's Day card. This ended up taking about two seconds, as Archer and Cady Gray both scattered in the card aisle, bringing cards to me and flinging them in my hands with absolutely no deliberation.
We were focused in our shopping, although it was a challenge to the kids to keep an eye out for something Dad might want. Eventually Archer spotted something. "I think Dad will like a timer," he suggested. What he pulled off the wall wasn't a timer, but it was in our "it's the thought that counts" price range, and it was chosen by Archer, all by himself.
Archer was quite patient (as we'd warned him he'd have to be) as we brought his "brand new computer" home, opened up the box, cut away all the packing ties, and finally presented him with a working toy. Predictably, Cady Gray spent the next 45 minutes hovering over his shoulder watching him try out all the activities. (Because winning is his chief preoccupation, he made sure I understood long before we got to Target that "Cady Gray's computer has 15 activities, and my brand new computer has 30 activities.")
And so toy computer parity has been restored in the Bowman-Murray household, at least for the moment. Archer came and hugged me in the kitchen a moment ago, and I asked him if he felt okay. "I feel okay," he said. "Let's check my temperature." We pulled out the temporal artery thermometer I bought with leftover FSA money at the end of last year, and which we finally got a chance to use when Archer had a fever a couple of weeks ago. "99.2," he read. "I am almost normal."
So Noel worked out a compromise. Every time we go to Target, he runs straight to the Vtech Tote & Go Laptop and plays with it as long as we'll let him. Noel promised him that he could have it for his very own computer. Since then he's been asking us every day if we can go to Target and get his computer.
Today was the designated day, and sure enough, Cady Gray spent the whole morning doing equations on her computer, even demanding to take it in the car to the library and lunch, and to her bed at naptime. Midafternoon it was time for me to take them to Target with three missions in mind:
1. Get Archer's computer. ("The one with the mouse," he kept reminding me.)
2. Get Daddy a Father's Day present. I asked them as we drove to think of things Daddy likes to do, and here's what they came up with:
a. "Dad likes to work on his computer." (True.)
b. "Dad likes to fix dinner." (Not sure how much he likes it -- so maybe.)
c. "Daddy likes baseball." (This was Cady Gray's contribution. When I asked them what sports Dad likes to watch on TV, Archer went off on a tangent about how "gold has a score that goes from zero to negative three," and "basketball has a score that goes from zero to one hundred." But when I asked what Dad's favorite sport is, Cady Gray piped up "baseball!" with no hesitation.)
d. "Daddy likes to listen to music." (True.)
3. Get Dad a Father's Day card. This ended up taking about two seconds, as Archer and Cady Gray both scattered in the card aisle, bringing cards to me and flinging them in my hands with absolutely no deliberation.
We were focused in our shopping, although it was a challenge to the kids to keep an eye out for something Dad might want. Eventually Archer spotted something. "I think Dad will like a timer," he suggested. What he pulled off the wall wasn't a timer, but it was in our "it's the thought that counts" price range, and it was chosen by Archer, all by himself.
Archer was quite patient (as we'd warned him he'd have to be) as we brought his "brand new computer" home, opened up the box, cut away all the packing ties, and finally presented him with a working toy. Predictably, Cady Gray spent the next 45 minutes hovering over his shoulder watching him try out all the activities. (Because winning is his chief preoccupation, he made sure I understood long before we got to Target that "Cady Gray's computer has 15 activities, and my brand new computer has 30 activities.")
And so toy computer parity has been restored in the Bowman-Murray household, at least for the moment. Archer came and hugged me in the kitchen a moment ago, and I asked him if he felt okay. "I feel okay," he said. "Let's check my temperature." We pulled out the temporal artery thermometer I bought with leftover FSA money at the end of last year, and which we finally got a chance to use when Archer had a fever a couple of weeks ago. "99.2," he read. "I am almost normal."
Posted at 04:56 PM
Fri - June 15, 2007
Once a Super Kid ...
... Always a Super
Kid.
Or so goes the saying at UCA's Super Kids camp. Archer was old enough to attend this week-long day camp for the first time this year, and today was the last day -- time for the camp songs and awarding of certificates.
Or so goes the saying at UCA's Super Kids camp. Archer was old enough to attend this week-long day camp for the first time this year, and today was the last day -- time for the camp songs and awarding of certificates.
The camp is science-focused, with three rooms
(each of which serves as the homeroom for one of the three age groups). Archer
was in the Young Oceanographers room, and you would have been amazed at the way
the functional preschool classrooms were transformed -- blue paper from top to
bottom, a sand play area in one corner, a water table, and too many other play
and learning areas to list. Archer's favorite "center" was the Geo Safari Globe, whose electronic quiz voice he
impersonated for hours on end after the camp day was over: "You cannot access
help. Press Go to continue."
The Rainforest Room featured a forest floor of chocolate pudding and gummi worms one of the camp days. And the Young Botanists room had an entire greenhouse in one corner. Archer's favorite activity in that room was the flower shop, which featured a cash register.
He couldn't wait to go to Super Kids camp every day, and came home every night singing the five songs they prepared for their little closing ceremony today. Sitting in the third row, anxiously watching our talented but autistic child performing, what we saw was a microcosm of his skills and challenges. He doesn't really understand the performance setting, and so he spent three-quarters of the time distractedly scanning the room and shifting position. Yeah, I know all kids at that age do that -- but watch the movie, you'll see something of what I mean. He just doesn't really know he's "on stage," so his focus is haphazard. He only really comes alive when people applaud. At one point that I included (and another twenty-second section that I didn't), he goes into his autistic hand-flapping, in place of one of the pieces of song choreography.
Yet he's able to participate, and even to interact in a very limited way with the children on either side of him. I like the end of "You've Got A Friend In Me," when he's supposed to put his arms on their shoulders. He can't quite manage that, but he holds his arms out, almost touching them, clearly happy to be connected.
Last night when I went into his room to tuck him in and turn off his light, he hopped into bed, snuggled into his pillow, and said reflectively, "Mom, I think I am believing in myself." "That's wonderful, big man," I replied. "Mom," he continued with a secret smile, "you've got a friend in me."
They may be sentiments from the cue cards his teachers hold during rehearsal, but that's what Archer does -- synthesize the words (and maybe some of the emotions or even ideas) he hears into something he can claim as his own. I'll take it.
The Rainforest Room featured a forest floor of chocolate pudding and gummi worms one of the camp days. And the Young Botanists room had an entire greenhouse in one corner. Archer's favorite activity in that room was the flower shop, which featured a cash register.
He couldn't wait to go to Super Kids camp every day, and came home every night singing the five songs they prepared for their little closing ceremony today. Sitting in the third row, anxiously watching our talented but autistic child performing, what we saw was a microcosm of his skills and challenges. He doesn't really understand the performance setting, and so he spent three-quarters of the time distractedly scanning the room and shifting position. Yeah, I know all kids at that age do that -- but watch the movie, you'll see something of what I mean. He just doesn't really know he's "on stage," so his focus is haphazard. He only really comes alive when people applaud. At one point that I included (and another twenty-second section that I didn't), he goes into his autistic hand-flapping, in place of one of the pieces of song choreography.
Yet he's able to participate, and even to interact in a very limited way with the children on either side of him. I like the end of "You've Got A Friend In Me," when he's supposed to put his arms on their shoulders. He can't quite manage that, but he holds his arms out, almost touching them, clearly happy to be connected.
Last night when I went into his room to tuck him in and turn off his light, he hopped into bed, snuggled into his pillow, and said reflectively, "Mom, I think I am believing in myself." "That's wonderful, big man," I replied. "Mom," he continued with a secret smile, "you've got a friend in me."
They may be sentiments from the cue cards his teachers hold during rehearsal, but that's what Archer does -- synthesize the words (and maybe some of the emotions or even ideas) he hears into something he can claim as his own. I'll take it.
Posted at 09:02 PM
Thu - June 14, 2007
The continuing saga of home improvement
In case the window people tell us that the
non-fitting bay window they installed is the best they can do, we needed to seal
the wood base and top against humidity and warping. Failure to do so in 24
hours, the little sticker said, would void our warranty.
So I regarded it as sealing practice, since I've
never stained or sealed anything in my life. If they rip this window out and
give us a new one, I'll do it again.
We loaded up at Wal-Mart with polyurethane stain (oak color), brushes, painters tape, a sanding sponge, and steel wool. When I got home this afternoon, I taped up the window edges, sanded all the wood, and enlisted Cady Gray's eager help in cleaning up the dust. (For some reason she got attached to the disintegrating Swiffer cloth she was using. Me: "That wipe is looking pretty dirty, sweetie. Do you want a new one?" CG: "No." Me: "You want to keep that one?" CG: "This one is fine.")
After dinner, Noel helpfully loaded the kids in the car and took them to Dairy Queen, giving me a chance to beat that 24-hour deadline with minutes to spare. I levered that quart can open and started stainin' like crazy. The overhead wood panel posed some unforeseen problems (drippage), but before the sugar-saturated brood came home, the whole thing was coated with the recommended polymer.
So were my hands and the brushes and a few cloth diapers I grabbed from the rag pile. But among the many painting eventualities I failed to foresee (and thus to purchase for) was the entirely predictable consequence of brushes soaked with polyurethane. I hadn't bought anything to clean up the brushes (and my hands). In fact, I had no idea what cleans polyurethane. A quick check of the can disclosed that the answer was mineral spirits, and as quickly as Noel arrived with the kids and a big soda for me, I sent him out again to the hardware store to procure said spirits.
My hands still feel a little plasticky. I had visions of just coating myself with the stuff in some kind of superhero-origin experiment. But my skin enjoys sweating, breathing, and frankly, stretching through a full range of movement. I'll have to become Mystique some other day.
We loaded up at Wal-Mart with polyurethane stain (oak color), brushes, painters tape, a sanding sponge, and steel wool. When I got home this afternoon, I taped up the window edges, sanded all the wood, and enlisted Cady Gray's eager help in cleaning up the dust. (For some reason she got attached to the disintegrating Swiffer cloth she was using. Me: "That wipe is looking pretty dirty, sweetie. Do you want a new one?" CG: "No." Me: "You want to keep that one?" CG: "This one is fine.")
After dinner, Noel helpfully loaded the kids in the car and took them to Dairy Queen, giving me a chance to beat that 24-hour deadline with minutes to spare. I levered that quart can open and started stainin' like crazy. The overhead wood panel posed some unforeseen problems (drippage), but before the sugar-saturated brood came home, the whole thing was coated with the recommended polymer.
So were my hands and the brushes and a few cloth diapers I grabbed from the rag pile. But among the many painting eventualities I failed to foresee (and thus to purchase for) was the entirely predictable consequence of brushes soaked with polyurethane. I hadn't bought anything to clean up the brushes (and my hands). In fact, I had no idea what cleans polyurethane. A quick check of the can disclosed that the answer was mineral spirits, and as quickly as Noel arrived with the kids and a big soda for me, I sent him out again to the hardware store to procure said spirits.
My hands still feel a little plasticky. I had visions of just coating myself with the stuff in some kind of superhero-origin experiment. But my skin enjoys sweating, breathing, and frankly, stretching through a full range of movement. I'll have to become Mystique some other day.
Posted at 07:08 PM
Wed - June 13, 2007
Clearly
Today was Window Day, and really -- can you think
of a better way to be able to see outside your house while you're inside? A way
that does
not
involve big holes in the walls? I didn't think so.
We celebrated by getting our long-awaited
replacement windows from Window Depot USA (motto: "Every Window Is
Packaged In An American Flag"). The windows they were replacing were original
to our late-sixties house -- single pane, metal frame windows. Drafty, rickety,
ugly.
After only a few hours of the unsettling feeling that your handy windows have been replaced by less-convenient big holes in your house ... voila!
Awesome! Tiny panes and dull metal have been replaced by large swaths of glass and white vinyl.
We can even open the two outer segments of the bay window!
Actual airflow through our front room, typically the hottest room in the house in the summer.
There's only one small problem:
The bay window doesn't actually fit.
Now we knew we weren't going to get a window that had the same number of segments as the one we have now -- they're too narrow for the factory to manufacture. But the installers told us that the factory didn't follow the measurements as given, and so the window doesn't extend out as far as it should. They're going to make a new one and come back to take this one out.
We're not sure this is really going to work. Whenever the phone rings, we expect to hear the voice of Ray, the salesman who has been supervising this whole project (and he's been great), telling us that the window we've got is the best it's going to get. Hey, as long as somebody patches up those holes in our overhang and the brick facade below, we'll be fine with that.
Also we don't have a sliding screen door yet, either. But that's coming too. Window Day is more like a season, you know.
After only a few hours of the unsettling feeling that your handy windows have been replaced by less-convenient big holes in your house ... voila!
Awesome! Tiny panes and dull metal have been replaced by large swaths of glass and white vinyl.
We can even open the two outer segments of the bay window!
Actual airflow through our front room, typically the hottest room in the house in the summer.
There's only one small problem:
The bay window doesn't actually fit.
Now we knew we weren't going to get a window that had the same number of segments as the one we have now -- they're too narrow for the factory to manufacture. But the installers told us that the factory didn't follow the measurements as given, and so the window doesn't extend out as far as it should. They're going to make a new one and come back to take this one out.
We're not sure this is really going to work. Whenever the phone rings, we expect to hear the voice of Ray, the salesman who has been supervising this whole project (and he's been great), telling us that the window we've got is the best it's going to get. Hey, as long as somebody patches up those holes in our overhang and the brick facade below, we'll be fine with that.
Also we don't have a sliding screen door yet, either. But that's coming too. Window Day is more like a season, you know.
Posted at 07:29 PM
Tue - June 12, 2007
Summer haze
Because I used up all my brain power on that
last entry, here, in pictorial form, is what the
kids have done so far this summer:
Cady Gray mastered some Kumon easy mazes ...
Archer made a "Bristol city" with his bristle blocks ...
CG practiced her beach look (complete with virgin hurricane) ...
Archer hopped his scotch ...
CG showed off her Tinkerbell underwear ...
... and the road ahead looks clear.
Posted at 07:08 PM
Mon - June 11, 2007
Our better angels
The gay Catholic group Dignity has come
under fire from some Catholic bloggers, including the Curt
Jester , for having its annual Gay Pride Mass celebrated by two female
priests. Much as I oppose the Roman Catholic restriction of its priesthood to
those with Y chromosomes, I have to admit that it seems folly to believe that
one is actually receiving a validly-administered Roman Catholic sacrament from
someone who claims to be a priest yet is outside of the apostolic succession.
(But perhaps these two "womanpriests," who apparently were ordained by
"womanbishops," trace their ordination back to someone in the mainline ... I'm
not familiar with the details.)
In any case, the Curt Jester took the occasion to
accuse Dignity of hypocrisy for opposing the
Church's teaching on homosexual acts while embracing its teaching about ministry
to homosexual persons. First, quoting from Dignity USA's FAQ:
Neither Scripture nor Tradition nor
natural law theory nor human science nor personal experience convincingly
supports official Catholic teaching about the immorality of homogenital acts.
Accordingly, and after much soul-searching, many gay and lesbian Catholics have
formed consciences that differ from official Church teaching and have entered
into homosexual relationships. In this respect they are exactly like the many
married Catholic couples who cannot accept the official teaching on
contraception.
Then the Curt Jester's comment:
Of course they like to quote from Church documents that rightly teach about how those with same-sex attraction are to be treated. So if a Catholic went against Church teaching and decided his conscience allowed him to treat homosexuals as an "object of violent malice in speech or in action" I doubt they would consider this a valid following of conscience that "differ from official Church teaching." The following of a conscience formed outside of the Church if it proves anything, proves too much.
I thought this line of argument was worth pondering. Is it true that if you embrace any principles, values, or precepts of an organization with which you disagree in other areas, you are left without a leg to stand on? In for a penny, in for a pound?
Only if you want to deny that some principles, values, and precepts can ever be held to be more fundamental than others. Dignity is claiming that the Church is staying true to itself in the teaching on the treatment of homosexual persons, but has lost its way in the teaching on homosexual acts. Specifically, the claim is that Christian teachings about love are more central than Christian teachings about sex.
Now, this can be disputed. But I think it's certainly a meaningful claim. If it's not the case that some teachings are more fundamental than others, I don't see how the Catholic church finds a mechanism for revising its teachings on adherents of other religions. The logic for the Vatican II documents proclaiming tolerance and promoting dialogue with those of other faiths, and decrying the parts of Church history that have produced persecution of Jews specifically, is that previous generations allowed what is peripheral to overwhelm what is central. Christian love and Christian hope should be the guide in the theology of religions, rather than dogma about the boundaries of the body of Christ and the sacramental processes by which grace is bestowed.
And of course we see in nearly all episodes of progress in social justice that people have made claims about what is central and what is peripheral, seeking to correct teaching on the latter in accordance with the former. Christian teaching about slavery, to take a famous example, turned 180 degrees in the first half of the nineteenth century in most of the world under the pressure of just this kind of selectivity. While establishment Christians argued that the explicit example of the patriarchs, the return of Philemon to his owner, and Paul's admonition that slaves should obey their masters, not to mention long-standing tradition about the relationship of the races, should determine the Christian position on slavery, reform-minded Christians sought to turn attention toward the example of Jesus and the value of universal love. Applying such love as widely as possible is simply the most important feature of Christianity, and it is incompatible with the ownership of human beings.
And when Martin Luther King claimed the authority of the Constitution, the Declaration, the Emancipation Proclamation, and many other sacred American documents in his argument for civil rights for blacks, was he being hypocritical because he failed to treat the segregation statutes (or the regulations regarding parade permits and lawful assembly) with the same deference? No -- he argued that the latter were not in harmony with the former. And the way to resolve the inconsistency is to reform them in accordance with the central principles of American democracy -- freedom, equal rights, representation in government, and so forth -- as set out in the documents he cites with approval.
I happen to agree with Dignity that the Christian teaching on love should be at the heart of the Christian conscience, and that whatever the position on sexual behavior, it is secondary. But even if I did not, I'd recognize that they are making a self-consistent and meaningful claim, one that is in no way negated by their selectivity.
The Curt Jester suggests that in order to be consistent, Dignity should respect the conscience of those who respond with violence or malice to homosexual persons -- but this is clearly nonsense even without the attempted reductio ad absurdum. Non-malevolence is so obviously central to Christian teaching that we suspect any conscience that fails to be formed in this direction of failing to be Christian at all. We do not have the same response, I'll wager, to those whose conscience informs them differently than Church teaching prescribes about what sex acts are permissible in a loving adult relationship, or about the use of contraception, or about the role of women in the Church, or about whether abortion should be safe and legal. The Church argues that its positions on these matters are reflective of the core of Christian teaching and belief; others argue that the Church is mistaken in this claim, and seek to call on those core principles to make their point.
No matter what side you're on, I hope it's clear that no cause like theirs is an all-or-nothing proposition. Indeed, there's little hope for progress or reform in any direction if we can't embrace (what we take to be) the fundamental values of our institutions, along with specific acts that reflect them, while seeking to change (what we take to be) secondary principles and acts to bring them into the embrace of our beloved community's better angels.
Then the Curt Jester's comment:
Of course they like to quote from Church documents that rightly teach about how those with same-sex attraction are to be treated. So if a Catholic went against Church teaching and decided his conscience allowed him to treat homosexuals as an "object of violent malice in speech or in action" I doubt they would consider this a valid following of conscience that "differ from official Church teaching." The following of a conscience formed outside of the Church if it proves anything, proves too much.
I thought this line of argument was worth pondering. Is it true that if you embrace any principles, values, or precepts of an organization with which you disagree in other areas, you are left without a leg to stand on? In for a penny, in for a pound?
Only if you want to deny that some principles, values, and precepts can ever be held to be more fundamental than others. Dignity is claiming that the Church is staying true to itself in the teaching on the treatment of homosexual persons, but has lost its way in the teaching on homosexual acts. Specifically, the claim is that Christian teachings about love are more central than Christian teachings about sex.
Now, this can be disputed. But I think it's certainly a meaningful claim. If it's not the case that some teachings are more fundamental than others, I don't see how the Catholic church finds a mechanism for revising its teachings on adherents of other religions. The logic for the Vatican II documents proclaiming tolerance and promoting dialogue with those of other faiths, and decrying the parts of Church history that have produced persecution of Jews specifically, is that previous generations allowed what is peripheral to overwhelm what is central. Christian love and Christian hope should be the guide in the theology of religions, rather than dogma about the boundaries of the body of Christ and the sacramental processes by which grace is bestowed.
And of course we see in nearly all episodes of progress in social justice that people have made claims about what is central and what is peripheral, seeking to correct teaching on the latter in accordance with the former. Christian teaching about slavery, to take a famous example, turned 180 degrees in the first half of the nineteenth century in most of the world under the pressure of just this kind of selectivity. While establishment Christians argued that the explicit example of the patriarchs, the return of Philemon to his owner, and Paul's admonition that slaves should obey their masters, not to mention long-standing tradition about the relationship of the races, should determine the Christian position on slavery, reform-minded Christians sought to turn attention toward the example of Jesus and the value of universal love. Applying such love as widely as possible is simply the most important feature of Christianity, and it is incompatible with the ownership of human beings.
And when Martin Luther King claimed the authority of the Constitution, the Declaration, the Emancipation Proclamation, and many other sacred American documents in his argument for civil rights for blacks, was he being hypocritical because he failed to treat the segregation statutes (or the regulations regarding parade permits and lawful assembly) with the same deference? No -- he argued that the latter were not in harmony with the former. And the way to resolve the inconsistency is to reform them in accordance with the central principles of American democracy -- freedom, equal rights, representation in government, and so forth -- as set out in the documents he cites with approval.
I happen to agree with Dignity that the Christian teaching on love should be at the heart of the Christian conscience, and that whatever the position on sexual behavior, it is secondary. But even if I did not, I'd recognize that they are making a self-consistent and meaningful claim, one that is in no way negated by their selectivity.
The Curt Jester suggests that in order to be consistent, Dignity should respect the conscience of those who respond with violence or malice to homosexual persons -- but this is clearly nonsense even without the attempted reductio ad absurdum. Non-malevolence is so obviously central to Christian teaching that we suspect any conscience that fails to be formed in this direction of failing to be Christian at all. We do not have the same response, I'll wager, to those whose conscience informs them differently than Church teaching prescribes about what sex acts are permissible in a loving adult relationship, or about the use of contraception, or about the role of women in the Church, or about whether abortion should be safe and legal. The Church argues that its positions on these matters are reflective of the core of Christian teaching and belief; others argue that the Church is mistaken in this claim, and seek to call on those core principles to make their point.
No matter what side you're on, I hope it's clear that no cause like theirs is an all-or-nothing proposition. Indeed, there's little hope for progress or reform in any direction if we can't embrace (what we take to be) the fundamental values of our institutions, along with specific acts that reflect them, while seeking to change (what we take to be) secondary principles and acts to bring them into the embrace of our beloved community's better angels.
Posted at 07:32 PM
Sun - June 10, 2007
Made by green monkeys*
I'm battling a summer cold that's left me feeling
waterlogged. Sounds like a good excuse for a roundup of what I've written since
the last edition.
In this corner: "Ask the
A.V.
Club" questions about the "modern classical music" on an episode of
NOVA,
and about a scary story about a girl whose green ribbon choker holds her severed head in
place.
In that other corner: Book reviews of Austin Grossman's po-mo superhero novel Soon I Will Be Invincible, Michael Chabon's justly-lauded alternate-history noir The Yiddish Policemen's Union, and a compelling Scottish novel about a clergyman's meeting with the Devil called The Testament of Gideon Mack.
Over near the water cooler: The first two entries in this Inventory of "Truly Sad Summer Songs."
And standing nervously by the exit: The capsule about the French cemetery documentary Forever in this Nashville Film Festival preview, and this review of the unlikely sensation Into Great Silence, a record of the life of Carthusian monks in the French Alps.
*According to Cady Gray, I am the Green Monkeys team from Legends of the Hidden Temple -- Noel is the Orange Iguanas, Archer is the Purple Parrots, and CG herself is the Blue Barracudas. She will often address me by my team mascot, as in: "Come on, Green Monkeys! Let's go to the grocery store!"
In that other corner: Book reviews of Austin Grossman's po-mo superhero novel Soon I Will Be Invincible, Michael Chabon's justly-lauded alternate-history noir The Yiddish Policemen's Union, and a compelling Scottish novel about a clergyman's meeting with the Devil called The Testament of Gideon Mack.
Over near the water cooler: The first two entries in this Inventory of "Truly Sad Summer Songs."
And standing nervously by the exit: The capsule about the French cemetery documentary Forever in this Nashville Film Festival preview, and this review of the unlikely sensation Into Great Silence, a record of the life of Carthusian monks in the French Alps.
*According to Cady Gray, I am the Green Monkeys team from Legends of the Hidden Temple -- Noel is the Orange Iguanas, Archer is the Purple Parrots, and CG herself is the Blue Barracudas. She will often address me by my team mascot, as in: "Come on, Green Monkeys! Let's go to the grocery store!"
Posted at 06:26 PM
Sat - June 9, 2007
And they're off
This year we've gotten the kids excited about
watching the Triple Crown races on TV. They pick out the numbers of "their"
horses, and we cheer them to the finish line. So we were watching the Belmont
this afternoon, and saw that terrific stretch run by Rags to Riches -- who
happened to be "my" horse, so I couldn't have been more excited. (Archer, who
really likes to win and doesn't like to lose these days, retroactively changed
his pick from Number 4 to Number 7 after the race.)
Every time I watch horse racing on TV, I flash
back to my adolescence. I was a horse-crazy girl, predictably enough, and that
meant that I was glued to the Triple Crown (always on ABC back then, always with
Jim McKay). I tended to pick horses to pull for by looks -- I liked bays, since
my own saddlebred Russet was a blood bay -- and I always pulled for fillies.
The Affirmed-Alydar duels in 1978 are standout memories for me, as is the 1980
win by Genuine Risk.
Tonight as I was getting Archer dressed for bed, he was moving his hands in a peculiar way, and I asked what he was making with them. "I am making the horses run with their number suits on," he said.
Tonight as I was getting Archer dressed for bed, he was moving his hands in a peculiar way, and I asked what he was making with them. "I am making the horses run with their number suits on," he said.
Posted at 10:23 PM
Fri - June 8, 2007
Welcome to the ranks of educated men and women
I don't know Nancy -- I don't even know her last
name -- but I know that she's a librarian and mother of two who runs a great
blog called The Sacred Page. Chris at Higgaion linked to her discussion of why she moved from Church of
Christ to the Episcopal church, and I couldn't agree more with the advantages
she finds in Episcopal worship over Southern congregational non-liturgical
evangelical worship.
But I was even more intrigued by her post about Christian higher education. She
reveals that she went to school at Harding University, right up the road in
Searcy, Arkansas. You can read their mission statement -- they're a Church of
Christ institution -- here. And she says that when it came to the
great ideas of history and the great debates of our time, professors generally
avoided dissent and emphasized the correct answer, according to the church. She
counted herself lucky to have transferred to a state school where free inquiry
was the order of the day.
Maybe that's not surprising, but her blunt way of stating it was bracing, to say the least. I deal all the time with students who either believe that a Christian college is the place they want to be (so their beliefs -- and probably their morals, as well -- will be reinforced), or who are not interested in seriously entertaining anything other than what they already know, but nevertheless want to come to a secular university.
It's hard for an eighteen-year-old to know what she wants out of her education -- especially whether she wants to be challenged or coddled. After several years of interviewing 75-80 recruits a year, I typically think I can peg where they really should be. I've seen students claim that they want to be challenged while at the same time proclaiming that they plan to enter the Missionary Baptist clergy at the earliest possible opportunity. If they ask, I tell them that they'll be happier at Ouachita Baptist -- what they learn there will disrupt their firmly-fixed life plans much less than what I'm going to teach them. On the other hand, just this past year a student left between semesters to fulfill his dream of attending The King's College in New York, an institution that caters to the religious homeschooled. It didn't take him long to find out that their idea of education was far more one-dimensional and close-minded than he wanted -- even though he thought he wanted something far safer than the state school he'd left behind. We just readmitted him to the program, older but wiser.
Toughest to deal with are the students who want all the benefits of being open-minded without any of the work. They've figured out the most important things in life, and know they will never change. Yet they claim to enjoy thinking about ideas and hearing different views. My fear is that many of them see exposure to different views as a spy mission -- they can "know the enemy" in order to shore up their defenses in the appropriate places. It makes me feel like Super Dave Osborne in Modern Romance, who initially steers Albert Brooks away from the jogging-kit-in-a-box until he finds out why Brooks wants to start running: "I misjudged you. Take the box. You'll enjoy it."
I've inaugurated a series of talks this year that I give to recruits about the need to disobey authorities in order to be responsible for one's self. And I think more students are entering with their eyes open to what we really mean by free inquiry and open-mindedness. But there's no doubt that here in Arkansas, where the atmosphere is overwhelmingly evangelical (and thus often virulently anti-intellectual) and where about 18% of the adult population have college degrees, just getting students and parents to appreciate academic freedom and the unfettered quest for knowledge for its own sake is an uphill battle.
Maybe that's not surprising, but her blunt way of stating it was bracing, to say the least. I deal all the time with students who either believe that a Christian college is the place they want to be (so their beliefs -- and probably their morals, as well -- will be reinforced), or who are not interested in seriously entertaining anything other than what they already know, but nevertheless want to come to a secular university.
It's hard for an eighteen-year-old to know what she wants out of her education -- especially whether she wants to be challenged or coddled. After several years of interviewing 75-80 recruits a year, I typically think I can peg where they really should be. I've seen students claim that they want to be challenged while at the same time proclaiming that they plan to enter the Missionary Baptist clergy at the earliest possible opportunity. If they ask, I tell them that they'll be happier at Ouachita Baptist -- what they learn there will disrupt their firmly-fixed life plans much less than what I'm going to teach them. On the other hand, just this past year a student left between semesters to fulfill his dream of attending The King's College in New York, an institution that caters to the religious homeschooled. It didn't take him long to find out that their idea of education was far more one-dimensional and close-minded than he wanted -- even though he thought he wanted something far safer than the state school he'd left behind. We just readmitted him to the program, older but wiser.
Toughest to deal with are the students who want all the benefits of being open-minded without any of the work. They've figured out the most important things in life, and know they will never change. Yet they claim to enjoy thinking about ideas and hearing different views. My fear is that many of them see exposure to different views as a spy mission -- they can "know the enemy" in order to shore up their defenses in the appropriate places. It makes me feel like Super Dave Osborne in Modern Romance, who initially steers Albert Brooks away from the jogging-kit-in-a-box until he finds out why Brooks wants to start running: "I misjudged you. Take the box. You'll enjoy it."
I've inaugurated a series of talks this year that I give to recruits about the need to disobey authorities in order to be responsible for one's self. And I think more students are entering with their eyes open to what we really mean by free inquiry and open-mindedness. But there's no doubt that here in Arkansas, where the atmosphere is overwhelmingly evangelical (and thus often virulently anti-intellectual) and where about 18% of the adult population have college degrees, just getting students and parents to appreciate academic freedom and the unfettered quest for knowledge for its own sake is an uphill battle.
Posted at 07:27 PM
Thu - June 7, 2007
Out of the past
A couple of weeks ago, I got an e-mail from a
woman who had been a year behind me at Girls' Preparatory School in Chattanooga
(motto: "Please Do Not Misplace Our Apostrophe"). I didn't recognize her name,
but she had recognized mine when it came up in a conversation with the vicar of
my church. Turns out she's been living in Conway a year longer than we have,
serving in various capacities with Presbyterian churches and ministries. She
even got a graduate degree at UCA, where I teach. While she'd sometimes run
across my name, she didn't consider the possibility that it was the Donna Bowman
she once knew.
But Father Jack, who once lived in Chattanooga
and knew that I had grown up there, asked her if she knew me, and she put the
names together. That led to an e-mail, which led to lunch today, which led to a
great conversation about people we both know here in town, and about how we each
got into the religion biz, and about theology. There's another conversation
still to come (I owe her lunch since she magnanimously picked up the check)
about mutual friends and old teachers from high school, about Chattavegas haunts
and events we both experienced.
It's a small world, as we always say when we run unexpectedly into an acquaintance. I thought when we moved to Conway, Arkansas, that I was leaving behind these chance encounters. After all, I had never been to Arkansas, I didn't know anyone who'd ever been to Arkansas (except for the short period of time my husband spent in Searcy in his youth), and I didn't know anyone who aspired to live in Arkansas.
But no matter where you are, it seems, people from your past will cross your path. I have no connection to Chattanooga anymore except my memories; none of my family has lived there in a decade. Yet the threads of my life still run through that nexus, apparently. If you've had unexpected encounters with old acquaintances in strange places, tell me about it in the comments, or point me to the post on your own site.
It's a small world, as we always say when we run unexpectedly into an acquaintance. I thought when we moved to Conway, Arkansas, that I was leaving behind these chance encounters. After all, I had never been to Arkansas, I didn't know anyone who'd ever been to Arkansas (except for the short period of time my husband spent in Searcy in his youth), and I didn't know anyone who aspired to live in Arkansas.
But no matter where you are, it seems, people from your past will cross your path. I have no connection to Chattanooga anymore except my memories; none of my family has lived there in a decade. Yet the threads of my life still run through that nexus, apparently. If you've had unexpected encounters with old acquaintances in strange places, tell me about it in the comments, or point me to the post on your own site.
Posted at 07:12 PM
Wed - June 6, 2007
It's not the heat
We've had a relatively mild spring here, with May
temperatures hovering right around average. This week we've seen our first
sustained temperatures in the nineties, and it's a sign that summer is upon
us.
Now I'm a Southern girl through and through. In
my 41 years, I've lived in Chattanooga, Tennessee; Winston-Salem, North
Carolina; Athens, Georgia; Charlottesville, Virginia; and now Conway, Arkansas.
Never north of the Mason-Dixon line. Always in places where the summers are hot
and sticky.
I don't know what the meteorologists or climatologists would say to this assertion, but my experience is that Arkansas heat is not so bad. It seems to me considerably drier than Georgia heat. Walking outside on an August day in Athens was like entering a sauna; in Conway, it's more like an oven. I can take that dry blast. It doesn't sap your strength. Shade makes a bigger difference than it would in a more humid environment, and where we live there are lots of towering shade trees.
Given the predictable clumsiness of institutional HVAC, it's usually goosepimply cold in my office in the summertime, so much so that I plan to knit myself some wraps to keep there. I feel the hot blast the outside air as a relief, for at least a few minutes -- like the heat lamp in a bathroom on a wintry day.
My mind tries to convince me that I prefer cold weather to hot. After all, in cold weather you can bundle up, while when it's hot there's only so much you can take off. But the truth is that I'd rather be hot than cold. Cold makes me feel like my body is competing with the weather and losing. My mammalian metabolism can't keep up with the plunging temperatures and icy winds, and the adaptations that kick in, like shivering, are just unpleasant and worse, pretty useless. But in hot weather, as long as water and shade (and a building with A/C) are reasonably close by, I can adapt -- or I feel like I can.
I don't want to dare the Arkansas summer to do its worst, because we're likely to have six weeks of 100+ degree temperatures and no rain. But I'm not worried about my daily fifteen-minute walk to the office (in the relatively balmy morning temperatures -- usually somewhere in the eighties by midsummer) and my sweatier fifteen-minute walk back home in the afternoon. I'm sure I'll be ready for the cool-down somewhere around October, but for now -- we'll be having fun all summer long.
I don't know what the meteorologists or climatologists would say to this assertion, but my experience is that Arkansas heat is not so bad. It seems to me considerably drier than Georgia heat. Walking outside on an August day in Athens was like entering a sauna; in Conway, it's more like an oven. I can take that dry blast. It doesn't sap your strength. Shade makes a bigger difference than it would in a more humid environment, and where we live there are lots of towering shade trees.
Given the predictable clumsiness of institutional HVAC, it's usually goosepimply cold in my office in the summertime, so much so that I plan to knit myself some wraps to keep there. I feel the hot blast the outside air as a relief, for at least a few minutes -- like the heat lamp in a bathroom on a wintry day.
My mind tries to convince me that I prefer cold weather to hot. After all, in cold weather you can bundle up, while when it's hot there's only so much you can take off. But the truth is that I'd rather be hot than cold. Cold makes me feel like my body is competing with the weather and losing. My mammalian metabolism can't keep up with the plunging temperatures and icy winds, and the adaptations that kick in, like shivering, are just unpleasant and worse, pretty useless. But in hot weather, as long as water and shade (and a building with A/C) are reasonably close by, I can adapt -- or I feel like I can.
I don't want to dare the Arkansas summer to do its worst, because we're likely to have six weeks of 100+ degree temperatures and no rain. But I'm not worried about my daily fifteen-minute walk to the office (in the relatively balmy morning temperatures -- usually somewhere in the eighties by midsummer) and my sweatier fifteen-minute walk back home in the afternoon. I'm sure I'll be ready for the cool-down somewhere around October, but for now -- we'll be having fun all summer long.
Posted at 06:58 PM
Tue - June 5, 2007
The Official Summer List
Home Refurbishment Item of the Summer:
Replacement windows
Thank God It's Back Reality Show of the Summer:
Hell's
Kitchen
Grooming Aid of the Summer: Schick Silk Effects
Potential First Lady of the Summer: Elizabeth Edwards
Yarn of the Summer: Berocco Cotton Twist
Amusement/Vending Machine of the Summer: Crane game
FX Original Series of the Summer: The Riches
Reissue of the Summer: Prefab Sprout, Steve McQueen
Drink Size of the Summer: Route 44
Exercise Machine of the Summer: Cybex Arc Trainer
Beach Read of the Summer: Tim Willocks, The Religion
Parent Hack of the Summer: Reusable tracing books
Avant-Garde Short Film of the Summer: Standish Lawder, Necrology
Big-Girl Item of the Summer: Underpants/Bed (tie)
Grooming Aid of the Summer: Schick Silk Effects
Potential First Lady of the Summer: Elizabeth Edwards
Yarn of the Summer: Berocco Cotton Twist
Amusement/Vending Machine of the Summer: Crane game
FX Original Series of the Summer: The Riches
Reissue of the Summer: Prefab Sprout, Steve McQueen
Drink Size of the Summer: Route 44
Exercise Machine of the Summer: Cybex Arc Trainer
Beach Read of the Summer: Tim Willocks, The Religion
Parent Hack of the Summer: Reusable tracing books
Avant-Garde Short Film of the Summer: Standish Lawder, Necrology
Big-Girl Item of the Summer: Underpants/Bed (tie)
Posted at 07:10 PM
Mon - June 4, 2007
One day until summer vacation
Somebody told Archer that summer vacation is
something to look forward to, and he's been counting down the days for the past
month. And so for him, today was not so much the last day of school as it was
the last day before summer vacation. Given how much he loves school -- in a
very short time it has become his natural habitat -- I don't know that he fully
grasps that summer vacation means no more classroom, no more P.E., no more
calendar time, no more Mrs. Floyd and Good as Gold stickers.
On the other hand, he seems very excited that
during summer vacation, he can
play
school. So maybe the end of regular school simply means to him that he never
has to give up the position of all-powerful
teacher.
How quickly everything changes. After lunch today Noel and I dismantled Cady Gray's crib and assembled the big-girl bed we bought her at the yard sale. (The sleeper sofa that's been temporarily parked in her room ever since it stopped being Noel's office three years ago resisted all our efforts at removing it, so it merely switched walls.) We organized a dinnertime outing to Target to buy sheets with hearts and flowers on them (well, CG wanted the flowers, but her parents realized they would clash with the decor and arranged a benevolent switcheroo to palm trees.) And now she's snoozing away (we assume from the silence) in a real bed.
When the world changes so fast, even the most predictable and mundane of transitions seems like a major event. I've always scoffed at the proliferation of graduations in the younger grades -- graduation from preschool, kindergarten, second grade. It seems like an abomination bred of the runaway culture of self-esteem. Celebrate any accomplishment, no matter how miniscule, even if it amounts only to the passage of time.
But now I understand it. People have fewer children than they used to. We go through these little matriculations so seldom, and the children that blunder their way past the milestones are more precious because more rare. This evening I opened up Archer's report card, sent home with him along with the bags of used watercolors and pencil cases and stray art projects. His teacher had written a nice note in the space provided for the fourth grading period report. And underneath, in the blank labeled "Assignment for next year," she wrote:
1st grade
That means Archer passed kindergarten. He passed.
Of course I never thought he wouldn't. But he did it. Kindergarten won't come his way again. One more rung up on the educational ladder. A transition. An accomplishment. He grows, and he goes. I'm proud, and I'm sad, and everything seems as precious and rare as morning dew, and just as ephemeral.
How quickly everything changes. After lunch today Noel and I dismantled Cady Gray's crib and assembled the big-girl bed we bought her at the yard sale. (The sleeper sofa that's been temporarily parked in her room ever since it stopped being Noel's office three years ago resisted all our efforts at removing it, so it merely switched walls.) We organized a dinnertime outing to Target to buy sheets with hearts and flowers on them (well, CG wanted the flowers, but her parents realized they would clash with the decor and arranged a benevolent switcheroo to palm trees.) And now she's snoozing away (we assume from the silence) in a real bed.
When the world changes so fast, even the most predictable and mundane of transitions seems like a major event. I've always scoffed at the proliferation of graduations in the younger grades -- graduation from preschool, kindergarten, second grade. It seems like an abomination bred of the runaway culture of self-esteem. Celebrate any accomplishment, no matter how miniscule, even if it amounts only to the passage of time.
But now I understand it. People have fewer children than they used to. We go through these little matriculations so seldom, and the children that blunder their way past the milestones are more precious because more rare. This evening I opened up Archer's report card, sent home with him along with the bags of used watercolors and pencil cases and stray art projects. His teacher had written a nice note in the space provided for the fourth grading period report. And underneath, in the blank labeled "Assignment for next year," she wrote:
1st grade
That means Archer passed kindergarten. He passed.
Of course I never thought he wouldn't. But he did it. Kindergarten won't come his way again. One more rung up on the educational ladder. A transition. An accomplishment. He grows, and he goes. I'm proud, and I'm sad, and everything seems as precious and rare as morning dew, and just as ephemeral.
Posted at 07:46 PM
Sat - June 2, 2007
Grand Unified Theory of Conservatism
It's the
Arkansas
Democrat-Gazette
Letter of the
Week! This week, answering the musical
question: "Which side are you on?"
Know where vote goes
When you vote Democratic, you’re voting for the American Civil Liberties Union and Planned Parenthood.
The ACLU is the No. 1 enemy of this country, and stupid Democrats give it the power to harm our country by voting for the likes of Bill Clinton and Ted Kennedy.
The ACLU gets its power from liberal federal judges, and the liberal federal judges are appointed by the likes of Clinton and Jimmy Carter. Nearly 50 million abortions have been paid for by taxpayers, thanks to ignorant Democrats. We no longer have prayer in school or the Ten Commandments in our public buildings thanks to godless Democrats. Queers can marry legally and adopt children in some states, thanks to evil Democrats.
Any Democrat who claims to be a Bible-believing Christian is either a liar or a fool or both. Godless evolution is taught as fact in our public schools because godless Democrats vote for [people] like Hillary Clinton. Fools. I believe that on Judgment Day, a holy God will find Democrats stiff-necked and lacking and send them to Hell forever because they murdered his unborn. Each innocent baby murdered will testify against the heathens. Have a nice day.
NORMAN GENTRY
Mountain View
When you vote Democratic, you’re voting for the American Civil Liberties Union and Planned Parenthood.
The ACLU is the No. 1 enemy of this country, and stupid Democrats give it the power to harm our country by voting for the likes of Bill Clinton and Ted Kennedy.
The ACLU gets its power from liberal federal judges, and the liberal federal judges are appointed by the likes of Clinton and Jimmy Carter. Nearly 50 million abortions have been paid for by taxpayers, thanks to ignorant Democrats. We no longer have prayer in school or the Ten Commandments in our public buildings thanks to godless Democrats. Queers can marry legally and adopt children in some states, thanks to evil Democrats.
Any Democrat who claims to be a Bible-believing Christian is either a liar or a fool or both. Godless evolution is taught as fact in our public schools because godless Democrats vote for [people] like Hillary Clinton. Fools. I believe that on Judgment Day, a holy God will find Democrats stiff-necked and lacking and send them to Hell forever because they murdered his unborn. Each innocent baby murdered will testify against the heathens. Have a nice day.
NORMAN GENTRY
Mountain View
Posted at 10:19 PM
Cheap thrills
Our across-the-street neighbors had a yard sale
today, and once everybody was up and dressed we sauntered over there to while
away a few weekend minutes. Archer latched onto the homeschool textbooks, Cady
Gray carried around a ziploc bag full of magnets possessively, and Noel
immediately set aside buckets of Tinkertoys and Bristle Blocks (or "Bristol
Blocks" as Archer calls them).
I was intrigued by a motley pile of headboards
and bed rails. We've been in the market for a big-girl bed for Cady Gray for
some weeks now. The grandmothers were full of plans to commandeer one of the
cherry twin beds currently in our guest room for her use (but they sit up really
high off the ground, which makes me uncomfortable) or to make her a gift of an
unneeded daybed (also taller than I would like). We found some very nice low
sleigh beds at the Low-Pressure Furniture Warehouse in town, within
our price range but still a tad more elaborate than the very basic starter bed I
was envisioning.
So it was with some interest that I eyed the disassembled kids' beds on my neighbor's lawn. Turns out they were two levels of a bunk bed -- separable -- and the price was right. We left with the toys and a bed, and a plan to purchase a mattress set that afternoon. Now there's a bed in pieces leaning up against the wall outside Cady Gray's room, and a box spring and mattress (from the LPFW) sticking out the back of the station wagon. If we can find a half-day to disassemble CG's crib, move the albatross of a sleeper sofa to the other wall of her room, and put the bed together -- and if our neighbors will kindly locate the slats that go across the bed rails, which they think are somewhere in their attic -- we'll be making a quick transition into big-girl sleep land, within a week of starting Operation Underwear. When they grow up, my friends, they grow up all of a sudden.
And now, a two-fer edition of Archer Meets A Metaphor. This week: A Rainy Visit to the Grocery Store (with Dad).
Metaphor #1: "The rain is taking me a shower."
Metaphor #2: "My shoes are squeaking like playing tennis."
So it was with some interest that I eyed the disassembled kids' beds on my neighbor's lawn. Turns out they were two levels of a bunk bed -- separable -- and the price was right. We left with the toys and a bed, and a plan to purchase a mattress set that afternoon. Now there's a bed in pieces leaning up against the wall outside Cady Gray's room, and a box spring and mattress (from the LPFW) sticking out the back of the station wagon. If we can find a half-day to disassemble CG's crib, move the albatross of a sleeper sofa to the other wall of her room, and put the bed together -- and if our neighbors will kindly locate the slats that go across the bed rails, which they think are somewhere in their attic -- we'll be making a quick transition into big-girl sleep land, within a week of starting Operation Underwear. When they grow up, my friends, they grow up all of a sudden.
And now, a two-fer edition of Archer Meets A Metaphor. This week: A Rainy Visit to the Grocery Store (with Dad).
Metaphor #1: "The rain is taking me a shower."
Metaphor #2: "My shoes are squeaking like playing tennis."
Posted at 06:49 PM
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