Wednesday, February 15
Murder Murder?
A follow up to the Murder on the Mississippi - this morning on my ride to work there was a dead crow on the road. Was this the result of a murder in the murder? I saw no sign of fowl play (or owl play for that matter). There was definitely a murder in those trees last night. But were there two?
Saturday, February 11
Murder on the Mississippi
My bike ride to and from work takes me along the Mississippi River near the University of Minnesota. This winter, each night as I've been riding home at or near dark there have been thousands and thousands of crows congregating in the trees on either side of the bike path. A murder of crows, as they are called (not quite as complimentary as a creche or huddle or parcel of penguins, or an ostentation of peacocks, or a convocation of eagles; but on a par with a scold of jays. So it goes. I like crows. They're smart and adaptable. I guess they haven't become as popular as warblers, though). I've been wondering why there are so many at night, and basically none in the morning. So I decided to try to see what the experts think is going on. It turns out there are lots of theories. The Hotel Theory: The crows are simply congregating in the most favorable spot (protected from predators and the elements), and they don't mind doing it with a bunch of other birds. Like in a crowded hotel: every crow has the same needs being met at the same place, but no one is really interacting with anyone else.
The Wagon Train: The crows get some protection from predators by being in a large group, safety in numbers. Crows are most afraid of large owls, and sleeping with a bunch of other crows could afford some protection for an individual crow.
The Information Center: Groups form to get information about profitable foraging areas. The idea is that an individual that did poorly foraging for itself on one day can watch for other individuals coming in to the roost that look fat and happy, that obviously found some rich source of food. Then the hungry individual can either backtrack the happy ones' flight paths, or follow them out first thing in the morning to the good food source.
Apparently these roosts are moving to the cities for a couple of reasons. Cities are warmer. And there are fewer owls in the city. So those are the explanations for my winter friends.
Friday, February 3
Relativity
I read this poem this morning, and it really made me smile. Maybe it will do the same for you. It is reprinted without any permission whatsoever, but you see this is just a bundle of cyber light anyway, and who owns that? I know, I should have asked.
"Explaining Relativity to the Cat" by Jennifer Gresham
Imagine, if you will, three mice.
Contrary to what you have
heard, they are not blind
but are in a spaceship
traveling near the speed of light.
This makes them unavailable
for your supper, yes.
So these mice, traveling near
the speed of light, appear
quite fat, though there is
no cheese aboard. This is
simply a distortion of mass,
because the mass of a mouse
is nothing more than a bundle
of light, and vice versa. I see
how this might imply mice
are in the light fixtures,
undoubtedly a problem, so
let me try again.
If two people attempted
to feed you simultaneously,
no doubt a good situation,
but you were on a train
traveling near the speed
of light, the food would
appear unappetizing, falling
to the plate in slow motion,
an extended glob of protein
that never smelled good,
if you ask me, train or no.
The affinity of the food
for the plate, what we call
gravity, is really just
a stretch in the fabric
of a space-time continuum,
what happens when you
have sat in a seat too long,
perhaps on this very train.
Oh kitty, I know how you hate
to travel and the journey must
have made you tired. Come now,
lick your coat one more time
and let us make haste
from this strange city
of light and fantastic dream.
"Explaining Relativity to the Cat" by Jennifer Gresham
Imagine, if you will, three mice.
Contrary to what you have
heard, they are not blind
but are in a spaceship
traveling near the speed of light.
This makes them unavailable
for your supper, yes.
So these mice, traveling near
the speed of light, appear
quite fat, though there is
no cheese aboard. This is
simply a distortion of mass,
because the mass of a mouse
is nothing more than a bundle
of light, and vice versa. I see
how this might imply mice
are in the light fixtures,
undoubtedly a problem, so
let me try again.
If two people attempted
to feed you simultaneously,
no doubt a good situation,
but you were on a train
traveling near the speed
of light, the food would
appear unappetizing, falling
to the plate in slow motion,
an extended glob of protein
that never smelled good,
if you ask me, train or no.
The affinity of the food
for the plate, what we call
gravity, is really just
a stretch in the fabric
of a space-time continuum,
what happens when you
have sat in a seat too long,
perhaps on this very train.
Oh kitty, I know how you hate
to travel and the journey must
have made you tired. Come now,
lick your coat one more time
and let us make haste
from this strange city
of light and fantastic dream.
Sunday, January 29
Crass Consumerism
Maybe it was the "nesting." Lately I've been cleaning out closets. Organizing. Departing from my normal sloblike behavior. Kate may have even said, "Boy you aren't being very manly. Are you pregnant?"
I needed to come back with a strong and manly statement of my Cro Magnon tendancies. And what better statement than the purchase of a bigass TV? As you can see, it's a very big television. My rationale? It's Olympic viewing. And of course it won't be long until the Tour de France begins again. I've promised myself not to stop reading books. And I've read one whole book in the last day. It's called "Sony SXRD Projection TV Operating Instructions." Good reading.
Friday, January 20
Happy Birthday Madeline!
Yes, it's true. Madeline is now 21 years old! Happy Birthday!
We've raised her well. She's already experienced Carol Shelton's Wild Thing Zinfandel (slightly before her 21st birthday). Have a great day, Madeline!!!!!
We've raised her well. She's already experienced Carol Shelton's Wild Thing Zinfandel (slightly before her 21st birthday). Have a great day, Madeline!!!!!
Sunday, January 15
Baker or Cook?
Kate and I (well really Kate) recently recieved a recipe from our friend Kathy Seymour, complete with lots ideas of how the recipe might be improved. Kathy describes herself as a cook, but not a baker. From Kathy's point of view at least, baking requires following the recipe. Something she doesn't enjoy. Cooking allows more freedom of movement. Kathy is a great cook (and probably an excellent baker when she chooses to be one).
My experience certainly would confirm Kathy's analysis. I've cooked lots of fine meals. I rarely follow the recipe carefully, viewing it as a guideline, not a formula. Although I've had some success as a cook, I don't recall ever having any real success as a baker. My first serious foray into the world of baking was an attempt to bake a chocolate cake for Kate - long, long ago before we were even dating. I apparently confused my "S" ingredients. My beautiful looking layer cake was awful. This is what happens when you either switch the amounts of salt and sugar or perhaps confuse the teaspoon of salt with a tablespoon. We called it the "Great Salt Cake." So it's safe to say, I'm a cook, not a baker. Though Kate is far superior to me as both a cook and a baker, dispositionally she's a baker, not a cook. I've travelled all over the Twin Cities on Kate's behalf looking for odd ingredients I'd never heard of because they were "what the recipe called for."
This of course got me thinking more broadly. It seems to me that most of us are predisposed to be either a baker or a cook. A rule follower or a rule ignorer. As I think of my friends and people I know well, I think I can almost immediately classify each of them. Certainly in my parenting life I can. I've spent lots of energy trying to convince my lovely daughter (the baker) that it's o.k. to break the rules once in a while.
I've spent lots more parenting energy trying to convince my son (the cook) that sometimes it's important to follow the rules. To do what is asked of you by a teacher not because it makes any particular sense, just because that's how you are measured. To turn in your assignments on time. Or at all.
As an aside, I would suggest that all "cooks" think their parents are "bakers" at heart. Parents of "cooks" are charged with showing the value of following the rules - whether or not it's their nature to do so. My parents (two bakers if I am right) had three cooks as children. Though as children my sister and I were each probably more rule followers than either of us are now (half-baked?). Maybe it wasn't too tough on my parents. There are cook/baker generalizations on a country by country basis that one can make. Germany, a nation of bakers. France and Italy, two nations of cooks. I always thought Russia was a country of bakers. Until I went there. Definitely cooks predominate.
So where does the wisdom lie? Is it better to be a cook or a baker? I think the answer is no. The wisdom is in knowing when to be a baker and when to be a cook. When you are doing your taxes, be a baker. Never be a baker if you are trying to play jazz. Be a baker if you are painting a wall, a cook if you are painting a painting.
The 19th of the Dahlia Lama's "Instructions for Life" is "approach love and cooking with reckless abandon." I guess he's saying be a cook when you're cookin'.
I can say from my web design experience that it is not a good idea to approach web code with reckless abandon. But when you're writing web content a little reckless abandon is in order.
To bring this full circle, I think Kathy finds the wise approach. Plays with the recipe. But writes down what she did that worked so she can start "cooking" the next time from where she left off.
My experience certainly would confirm Kathy's analysis. I've cooked lots of fine meals. I rarely follow the recipe carefully, viewing it as a guideline, not a formula. Although I've had some success as a cook, I don't recall ever having any real success as a baker. My first serious foray into the world of baking was an attempt to bake a chocolate cake for Kate - long, long ago before we were even dating. I apparently confused my "S" ingredients. My beautiful looking layer cake was awful. This is what happens when you either switch the amounts of salt and sugar or perhaps confuse the teaspoon of salt with a tablespoon. We called it the "Great Salt Cake." So it's safe to say, I'm a cook, not a baker. Though Kate is far superior to me as both a cook and a baker, dispositionally she's a baker, not a cook. I've travelled all over the Twin Cities on Kate's behalf looking for odd ingredients I'd never heard of because they were "what the recipe called for."
This of course got me thinking more broadly. It seems to me that most of us are predisposed to be either a baker or a cook. A rule follower or a rule ignorer. As I think of my friends and people I know well, I think I can almost immediately classify each of them. Certainly in my parenting life I can. I've spent lots of energy trying to convince my lovely daughter (the baker) that it's o.k. to break the rules once in a while.
I've spent lots more parenting energy trying to convince my son (the cook) that sometimes it's important to follow the rules. To do what is asked of you by a teacher not because it makes any particular sense, just because that's how you are measured. To turn in your assignments on time. Or at all.
As an aside, I would suggest that all "cooks" think their parents are "bakers" at heart. Parents of "cooks" are charged with showing the value of following the rules - whether or not it's their nature to do so. My parents (two bakers if I am right) had three cooks as children. Though as children my sister and I were each probably more rule followers than either of us are now (half-baked?). Maybe it wasn't too tough on my parents. There are cook/baker generalizations on a country by country basis that one can make. Germany, a nation of bakers. France and Italy, two nations of cooks. I always thought Russia was a country of bakers. Until I went there. Definitely cooks predominate.
So where does the wisdom lie? Is it better to be a cook or a baker? I think the answer is no. The wisdom is in knowing when to be a baker and when to be a cook. When you are doing your taxes, be a baker. Never be a baker if you are trying to play jazz. Be a baker if you are painting a wall, a cook if you are painting a painting.
The 19th of the Dahlia Lama's "Instructions for Life" is "approach love and cooking with reckless abandon." I guess he's saying be a cook when you're cookin'.
I can say from my web design experience that it is not a good idea to approach web code with reckless abandon. But when you're writing web content a little reckless abandon is in order.
To bring this full circle, I think Kathy finds the wise approach. Plays with the recipe. But writes down what she did that worked so she can start "cooking" the next time from where she left off.
Sunday, January 1
Fabulous Fondue Finale
New Year's Eve festivities frequently feature a fantastic fondue fete (fillet and fish) with friends and family featuring fun, frivolity, foolishness, facts and falsehoods, few faux pas, fervent feasting on fancy food and fruit, faultless fermented firewater, finery without foppery or frippery, foreswearing further football. At least for us.
OK, enough with the f's. The aftereffects of the "firewater", though not overwhelming at all, still are not without some effect. A fine flow is hard to achieve with alliteration. Here's a few fotos (past and present).
Many years at the cabin.
Or worrying about Y2K:
We look tense don't we? Or not worrying about anything.
You will note the presence of wine in many of these photos.
Last night was a special wine night. One of the things Harry and I have done is buy a nice bottle of wine from the birth year of each of our children to be consumed in conjunction with their 21st birthday. Madeline turns 21 in three weeks, and she was in attendance last night. Harry must really like Madeline (or wine). Because last night he pulled out "Madeline's" 1985 vintages of Chateau de Latour, Lynch Bages (which rated the wine of the year by The Wine Spectator), Caymus Special Select, and Chateau Montelena. Which made the swill we brought seem pretty paltry.
Though I'm primarily a California wine drinker, it's fun to try French reds now and then. To me they have an almost leathery smell. They seem "layered" - if that makes sense. Wonderful wines, though probably too subtle for me to enjoy as fully as they deserve. And as an added bonus - Madeline didn't like them all that much. More for the wheezers!
Another in a long line of special evenings among friends.
Sunday, December 18
GENUINE HOLIDAY CARD
Happy Holidays! Joyful Solstice! Merry Christmas (Bush got some heat from the Christian right for not putting these words in his holiday card - I don't want to mess with those guys)! Happy Hannukah (or should I say Chanukah? I believe there is no significant difference. A Hebrew word that is difficult to translate into English)! Best wishes! Joyeux Noël! Feliz Navidad! Season's Greetings! Peace!
We wish you all the best this holiday season. It's been another great year for our family. For Kate and me, it feels like a year of transition. Madeline is in her third year at UW-Madison (we don't ever call it her Junior year - though technically she is a Junior). Peter is a senior in high school, busily determining which college is right for him (among those that will accept him - Harvard had to be dropped from the list for academic reasons. And actually the "busily" part is stretching it a bit). Things change, but as of this moment it appears that we will have children at two great land-grant institutions next year.
Both are great schools. If Peter goes anywhere other than Iowa, it will be Wisconsin. Next year Kate and I will have only Greta and ourselves to care for. Of course Greta takes a lot more day-to-day effort than Peter anyway. So maybe it won't seem like such a transition after all.
Since this is a GENUINE HOLIDAY LETTER, I should probably get some things out of the way.
Health - Still excellent for all of us. For details on my health, see the Lucky Seven entry further down the page. Nothing to complain about other than a few odd aches and pains. So far we haven't been victims of the cold and flu season. Things are good on the health front.
Work - We have it. Kate is beginning her 32nd year at the Minnesota Attorney General's Office. She continues to investigate Medicaid Fraud. Woe to Minnesota Medicaid Fraudulators.
I'm working at The Scoular Company as one of the four lawyers for the business. I've been with Scoular for six months now, and I really love it. The people are great to work with. And for me that means so much. I was able to reach agreement on an "80% time" work schedule - which allows me more time to sit around the house doing nothing while Kate works diligently away.
Madeline continues to babysit when time allows. And on January 3rd she will begin a weeklong engagement as a juror in Ramsey County. Don't go on trial that week. She is much meaner than she appears.
Peter has taken a position as a Sales Asso. at the Famous Footwear store in Highland Park. He's a great salesman (and unbelievably handsome), and one who knows a good-looking Navy Pump when he sees one. Our family shoe inventory is on the rise.
Vacations -
No holiday letter would be complete without a section on Vacations. After moving Madeline into her apartment in August we took a short trip to Appleton to visit our friends Dan and Francine Cross, and then headed on to Door County, Wisconsin for a few days.
On Madeline's spring break, Kate and Madeline went to Vegas. What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas. But they didn't. They visited the Grand Canyon and Sedona, before finishing their trip with a couple of Vegas shows.
Peter's spring break a couple of weeks later found us headed to Aruba, where we had a great time snorkelling, sunning, reading and exploring. The constant wind bothered Peter's hair more than mine. Baldness has its advantages.
Throw in a few trips to the cabin, a canoe trip or two, a high school reunion, visits with family and friends, guests at Chez Morton-Peters/Oleson. Socially we've had a great time this year.
Here's wishing you and yours a peaceful and joyous holiday season and a great 2006. We hope to share part of 2006 with you. You are always welcome at our house, and we will operate on the assumption that we are welcome at yours.
Love,
Peter, Madeline, Kate and Stan
We wish you all the best this holiday season. It's been another great year for our family. For Kate and me, it feels like a year of transition. Madeline is in her third year at UW-Madison (we don't ever call it her Junior year - though technically she is a Junior). Peter is a senior in high school, busily determining which college is right for him (among those that will accept him - Harvard had to be dropped from the list for academic reasons. And actually the "busily" part is stretching it a bit). Things change, but as of this moment it appears that we will have children at two great land-grant institutions next year.
Both are great schools. If Peter goes anywhere other than Iowa, it will be Wisconsin. Next year Kate and I will have only Greta and ourselves to care for. Of course Greta takes a lot more day-to-day effort than Peter anyway. So maybe it won't seem like such a transition after all.
Since this is a GENUINE HOLIDAY LETTER, I should probably get some things out of the way.
Health - Still excellent for all of us. For details on my health, see the Lucky Seven entry further down the page. Nothing to complain about other than a few odd aches and pains. So far we haven't been victims of the cold and flu season. Things are good on the health front.
Work - We have it. Kate is beginning her 32nd year at the Minnesota Attorney General's Office. She continues to investigate Medicaid Fraud. Woe to Minnesota Medicaid Fraudulators.
I'm working at The Scoular Company as one of the four lawyers for the business. I've been with Scoular for six months now, and I really love it. The people are great to work with. And for me that means so much. I was able to reach agreement on an "80% time" work schedule - which allows me more time to sit around the house doing nothing while Kate works diligently away.
Madeline continues to babysit when time allows. And on January 3rd she will begin a weeklong engagement as a juror in Ramsey County. Don't go on trial that week. She is much meaner than she appears.
Peter has taken a position as a Sales Asso. at the Famous Footwear store in Highland Park. He's a great salesman (and unbelievably handsome), and one who knows a good-looking Navy Pump when he sees one. Our family shoe inventory is on the rise.
Vacations -
No holiday letter would be complete without a section on Vacations. After moving Madeline into her apartment in August we took a short trip to Appleton to visit our friends Dan and Francine Cross, and then headed on to Door County, Wisconsin for a few days.
On Madeline's spring break, Kate and Madeline went to Vegas. What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas. But they didn't. They visited the Grand Canyon and Sedona, before finishing their trip with a couple of Vegas shows.
Peter's spring break a couple of weeks later found us headed to Aruba, where we had a great time snorkelling, sunning, reading and exploring. The constant wind bothered Peter's hair more than mine. Baldness has its advantages.
Throw in a few trips to the cabin, a canoe trip or two, a high school reunion, visits with family and friends, guests at Chez Morton-Peters/Oleson. Socially we've had a great time this year.
Here's wishing you and yours a peaceful and joyous holiday season and a great 2006. We hope to share part of 2006 with you. You are always welcome at our house, and we will operate on the assumption that we are welcome at yours.
Love,
Peter, Madeline, Kate and Stan
A Thought or Two
Freedom may come not from being in control of life but rather with the willingness to move with the events of life, to hold on to our memories but let go of the past, to choose, when necessary, the inevitable. We can become free at any time.
Becoming numb to suffering will not make us happy. The part in us that feels suffering is the same as the part that feels joy.
And of course I couldn't reshelve the book without picking up My Grandfather's Blessing, where I found:
Perhaps real wisdom lies in not seeking answers at all. Any answer we find will not be true for long. An answer is a place where we can fall asleep as life moves past us to its next question. After all these years I have begun to wonder if the secret of living well is not in having all the answers but in pursuing unanswerable questions in good company.
greetings
Please accept with no obligation, implied or implicit, our best wishes for an environmentally conscious, socially responsible, low-stress, non-addictive, gender-neutral celebration of the winter solstice holiday, practiced within the most enjoyable traditions of the religious persuasion of your choice, or secular practices of your choice, with respect for the religious/secular persuasion and/or traditions of others, or their choice not to practice religious or secular traditions at all. We also wish you a fiscally successful, personally fulfilling and medically uncomplicated recognition of the onset of the generally accepted calendar year 2006, but not without due respect for the calendars of choice of other cultures whose contributions to society have helped make America great. Not to imply that America is necessarily greater than any other country nor the only America in the Western Hemisphere. And without regard to the race, creed, color, age, physical ability, religious faith or sexual preference of the wishee. By accepting these greetings you are accepting these terms. This greeting is subject to clarification or withdrawal. It is freely transferable with no alteration to the original greeting. It implies no promise by the wisher to actually implement any of the wishes for herself or himself or others, and is void where prohibited by law and is revocable at the sole discretion of the wisher. This wish is warranted to perform as expected within the usual application of good tidings for a period of one year or until the issuance of a subsequent holiday greeting, whichever comes first, and warranty is limited to replacement of this wish or issuance of a new wish at the sole discretion of the wisher.
Sunday, December 4
Diversity
I recently read The Botany of Desire by Michael Pollan (no, I don't know whether his last name was the genesis of his interest in plants). A really interesting book on the interactions and relationships between plants and humans, with sections on apples, tulips, marijuana and potatoes.
The apple section pays particular attention to the role of Johnny Appleseed in the propagation of apples in the northeast United States. Did you know that the seeds of a particular apple, if planted, will result in a tree with fruit that is likely to bear little resemblence to the fruit of the parent? At least in the case of apples - the apple does fall far from the tree. Or that most of the apples planted by Johnny Appleseed were used to make "hard" cider - the only form of booze sanctioned by the church of the day? Or that a primary reason that marijuana today is so much more potent than it was a couple of decades ago is the War on Drugs (which drove the fairly casual dope growers of my childhood indoors to grow more powerful female crosses between cannabis sativa and cannabis indica, flowering like mad in search of male spores which have been made unavailable by the enterprising growers - who "just say no" to fertilization)? I didn't. Good thought-provoking reading.
But the section of the book which really got me thinking was the section on potatoes, which reprised a story I first heard told by my good friend Bridget about the monoculture of modern potato growing (growing only the Russet Burbanks that McDonald's likes for its french fries). This juxtaposed with the first culture that excelled in potato growing, the Incas, who grew a wide variety of potatoes which had the genetic diversity to be resistant to the vagaries of weather and pests. Monoculture versus diversity. A story I first heard to memorable results in a Law Department meeting - a monoculture environment if every there was one.
Pollan's discussion of potatoes made me think of a Kahlil Gibran quote - Say not , "I have found the truth," but rather, "I have found a truth."
It seems to me that so many of our problems result from the very human tendancy to think that the answer for me must be the answer for you. Some examples are obvious. How much better off would be be if religious fundamentalists would be more tolerant? Would accept the possibility that a Christian and a Muslim and a Buddhist and an atheist might each be right. Or if politicians quit saying they have THE answer (for the Republicans the answer is tax cuts, for the Democrats the answer seems to be that the Republicans are wrong), and start trying to solve problems with AN answer. Or if the group within the Bush administration planning the war in Iraq had been more diverse and less quick to conclude that they had THE answer - raising the forseeable problems in that conflict and planning for them in advance (or maybe not starting this mess in the first place).
And there are lots of examples much closer to home. When I started this blog (something I enjoy immensely), I also started one for my close friends of the Train Party. I was confident that everyone would enjoy it as much as I do, because I had THE answer. The Plasticville Chronicle blog has been lots of fun. But it took me some time to understand that not everyone was as interested in blogging away as I am. I'm only hoping my son Peter and daughter Madeline won't post a comment listing the hundreds of ways I think I have THE answer in my role as a father.
So often what we describe as diversity is not that at all. When I worked at Pillsbury, we had corporate "diversity training." But it always seemed to me that the goal was a monoculture that looked diverse in a photo. We were trained to "celebrate" our differences by never discussing them.
It seems to me that if my starting place is, I have "an" answer, and I discuss my answer with others who have a different answer to the same question, there is a pretty good chance that each of us will improve our answer. And we might have some fun in the process.
The apple section pays particular attention to the role of Johnny Appleseed in the propagation of apples in the northeast United States. Did you know that the seeds of a particular apple, if planted, will result in a tree with fruit that is likely to bear little resemblence to the fruit of the parent? At least in the case of apples - the apple does fall far from the tree. Or that most of the apples planted by Johnny Appleseed were used to make "hard" cider - the only form of booze sanctioned by the church of the day? Or that a primary reason that marijuana today is so much more potent than it was a couple of decades ago is the War on Drugs (which drove the fairly casual dope growers of my childhood indoors to grow more powerful female crosses between cannabis sativa and cannabis indica, flowering like mad in search of male spores which have been made unavailable by the enterprising growers - who "just say no" to fertilization)? I didn't. Good thought-provoking reading.
But the section of the book which really got me thinking was the section on potatoes, which reprised a story I first heard told by my good friend Bridget about the monoculture of modern potato growing (growing only the Russet Burbanks that McDonald's likes for its french fries). This juxtaposed with the first culture that excelled in potato growing, the Incas, who grew a wide variety of potatoes which had the genetic diversity to be resistant to the vagaries of weather and pests. Monoculture versus diversity. A story I first heard to memorable results in a Law Department meeting - a monoculture environment if every there was one.
Pollan's discussion of potatoes made me think of a Kahlil Gibran quote - Say not , "I have found the truth," but rather, "I have found a truth."
It seems to me that so many of our problems result from the very human tendancy to think that the answer for me must be the answer for you. Some examples are obvious. How much better off would be be if religious fundamentalists would be more tolerant? Would accept the possibility that a Christian and a Muslim and a Buddhist and an atheist might each be right. Or if politicians quit saying they have THE answer (for the Republicans the answer is tax cuts, for the Democrats the answer seems to be that the Republicans are wrong), and start trying to solve problems with AN answer. Or if the group within the Bush administration planning the war in Iraq had been more diverse and less quick to conclude that they had THE answer - raising the forseeable problems in that conflict and planning for them in advance (or maybe not starting this mess in the first place).
And there are lots of examples much closer to home. When I started this blog (something I enjoy immensely), I also started one for my close friends of the Train Party. I was confident that everyone would enjoy it as much as I do, because I had THE answer. The Plasticville Chronicle blog has been lots of fun. But it took me some time to understand that not everyone was as interested in blogging away as I am. I'm only hoping my son Peter and daughter Madeline won't post a comment listing the hundreds of ways I think I have THE answer in my role as a father.
So often what we describe as diversity is not that at all. When I worked at Pillsbury, we had corporate "diversity training." But it always seemed to me that the goal was a monoculture that looked diverse in a photo. We were trained to "celebrate" our differences by never discussing them.
It seems to me that if my starting place is, I have "an" answer, and I discuss my answer with others who have a different answer to the same question, there is a pretty good chance that each of us will improve our answer. And we might have some fun in the process.
Saturday, November 26
Turkey Mountain
I'm sitting at the table on a Saturday night, as Kate is stir frying leftover turkey. We traditionally cook a large turkey on Thanksgiving. This year a 23 pound turkey for the four of us. So there was a mountain of leftover turkey.
See. I wasn't kidding. Well, our next turkey-based meal is ready.
See. I wasn't kidding. Well, our next turkey-based meal is ready.
Sunday, November 20
Lucky Seven
November is a special month for me. I was diagnosed with a tumor on my spine on the Tuesday before Thanksgiving seven years ago. Seven years. Madeline and Peter were 13 and 10. Now they are kind of like adults. Just like me. I don't know if I will ever reach full adulthood. I don't know if I want to.
I thought at the time in my steriod-induced way that it would be a good idea to get a little tattoo to remind me of the cancer experience. Nothing big. Just a little mnemonic on my chest where the radiation target was. I am not normally fond of tattoos, but it could have been kind of a cool reminder of the joy it is to be alive. As time passes I have come to realize that such a tattoo is unnecessary. The experiences of that time seven years ago are with me every day. But not in a bad way (for the most part). If you can keep your mortality in your mind just enough, it really helps keep things in perspective.
I had my routine quarterly oncologist appointment this past week. An unusual one, since my oncologist of the past seven years is nearing retirement and no longer comes to the Saint Paul office. I decided that since in all probability my life expectancy exceeds his expected work life, this would be a good time to change oncologists. Last week was the first appointment with my new oncologist. He's great, and I quickly felt a rapport with him. I'm in a new set of good hands. And I always feel blessed that my "regular" doctor is also my neighbor and friend. A good, logical, well thought out decision.
But there is a part of me that is quite superstitious when it comes to cancer. Am I tempting fate to think that I'll be around for a long while? Should I change doctors when things are going well? Odd thoughts pop into my mind. The one bad blood test I had was the one I worried least about. So part of me views worrying about the results of a blood test as the "dues" that need to be paid for a good result. But it all worked out fine. The blood tests came back with perfectly normal results. I feel great. My back feels better than it has at any time in the last seven years (knock on wood - there's that superstition thing again). Some of that I attribute to good regular exercise. And the passage of time.
Seven years. Who needs a tattoo?
I thought at the time in my steriod-induced way that it would be a good idea to get a little tattoo to remind me of the cancer experience. Nothing big. Just a little mnemonic on my chest where the radiation target was. I am not normally fond of tattoos, but it could have been kind of a cool reminder of the joy it is to be alive. As time passes I have come to realize that such a tattoo is unnecessary. The experiences of that time seven years ago are with me every day. But not in a bad way (for the most part). If you can keep your mortality in your mind just enough, it really helps keep things in perspective.
I had my routine quarterly oncologist appointment this past week. An unusual one, since my oncologist of the past seven years is nearing retirement and no longer comes to the Saint Paul office. I decided that since in all probability my life expectancy exceeds his expected work life, this would be a good time to change oncologists. Last week was the first appointment with my new oncologist. He's great, and I quickly felt a rapport with him. I'm in a new set of good hands. And I always feel blessed that my "regular" doctor is also my neighbor and friend. A good, logical, well thought out decision.
But there is a part of me that is quite superstitious when it comes to cancer. Am I tempting fate to think that I'll be around for a long while? Should I change doctors when things are going well? Odd thoughts pop into my mind. The one bad blood test I had was the one I worried least about. So part of me views worrying about the results of a blood test as the "dues" that need to be paid for a good result. But it all worked out fine. The blood tests came back with perfectly normal results. I feel great. My back feels better than it has at any time in the last seven years (knock on wood - there's that superstition thing again). Some of that I attribute to good regular exercise. And the passage of time.
Seven years. Who needs a tattoo?
Thursday, November 10
Tailwinds
Yesterday we had gale force winds here in Minnesota. In the morning there was a steady 25 mile an hour wind from the Northwest. Since my bike ride to work is pretty much Northwest, this is not day-brightening news in the morning. And somehow the tailwind I had on the way home didn't seem nearly as powerful as the morning headwind. Some of that was real. The wind did drop a bit during the day. But most of the difference I experienced was due to the fact that I get much more fixated on the wind when it is impeding my progress. When it's helping me, I tend not to notice.
I think that for me and for many if not most of us, biking in the wind is a good metaphor for life. We notice the headwind. The little problems and issues and difficulties in our life. We forget about, or ignore, or undervalue, life's tailwinds.
And this is my answer to the question "what is good about having had cancer?" For me, and for many others who have been touched by cancer, you do at least a little better at remembering the "tailwinds" in your life. Your family. Your friends. Who you always thought but now know will be there for you in good or bad times. My family and friends are a huge tailwind that blows constantly in my life.
When I was sick I "forgot" how to walk. How to climb stairs. How to control the movements of my legs. To this day, seven years later, it is a joy for me to climb stairs. When I climb up stairs I remember to appreciate the fact that I can do this simple thing I took for granted for so many years. I make it a habit to climb two at a time. Why? Partly because I can. But mostly because it helps me remember how blessed I am (though after a couple of flights sometimes it just reminds me that I need to get in better shape).
I don't want to get too sappy about this. But Thanksgiving is coming up and we have so much to be thankful for. Sometimes we do face headwinds. But the tailwind is blowing too. More than we sometimes notice.
(I realize lots of these entries emanate from things thought about on bike rides. Bike rides make up two quiet half-hours of my work day. Maybe because you never forget how to ride a bike, it's a time where I can let my mind wander. And I haven't figured out how to drink wine or watch television or read while I'm riding. I don't think there is a deeper explanation than that. But I'll think about it.)
(I learned about bike safety from my father - who was, and even after his death continues to be, one of my "tailwinds".)
I think that for me and for many if not most of us, biking in the wind is a good metaphor for life. We notice the headwind. The little problems and issues and difficulties in our life. We forget about, or ignore, or undervalue, life's tailwinds.
And this is my answer to the question "what is good about having had cancer?" For me, and for many others who have been touched by cancer, you do at least a little better at remembering the "tailwinds" in your life. Your family. Your friends. Who you always thought but now know will be there for you in good or bad times. My family and friends are a huge tailwind that blows constantly in my life.
When I was sick I "forgot" how to walk. How to climb stairs. How to control the movements of my legs. To this day, seven years later, it is a joy for me to climb stairs. When I climb up stairs I remember to appreciate the fact that I can do this simple thing I took for granted for so many years. I make it a habit to climb two at a time. Why? Partly because I can. But mostly because it helps me remember how blessed I am (though after a couple of flights sometimes it just reminds me that I need to get in better shape).
I don't want to get too sappy about this. But Thanksgiving is coming up and we have so much to be thankful for. Sometimes we do face headwinds. But the tailwind is blowing too. More than we sometimes notice.
(I realize lots of these entries emanate from things thought about on bike rides. Bike rides make up two quiet half-hours of my work day. Maybe because you never forget how to ride a bike, it's a time where I can let my mind wander. And I haven't figured out how to drink wine or watch television or read while I'm riding. I don't think there is a deeper explanation than that. But I'll think about it.)
(I learned about bike safety from my father - who was, and even after his death continues to be, one of my "tailwinds".)
Tuesday, November 1
Strange Interlude Number 2
I had another strange experience on my bike ride home tonight. I was riding along as dusk was finishing turning into dark when I passed (yes, passed!) another cyclist. The reason I was passing him was pretty clear. He was biking along with his son in a bike trailer. As I passed, the son asked the cycling father - "What does refrain mean?" As I pulled away into the night, I heard him reply that it is "something you sing over and over." But as I rode on I began reflecting that it also is something you avoid doing. Such a confusing language we have.
As I said, I'm a fairly slow biker. A mile or so later the father and son team passed me - singing away. Clearly, the father was teaching his son the first and most important definition of refrain. The child has plenty of time to learn to refrain from doing things. Especially things like singing in public. Sadly, the odds are overwhelming that he'll learn that soon enough.
As I said, I'm a fairly slow biker. A mile or so later the father and son team passed me - singing away. Clearly, the father was teaching his son the first and most important definition of refrain. The child has plenty of time to learn to refrain from doing things. Especially things like singing in public. Sadly, the odds are overwhelming that he'll learn that soon enough.
Sunday, October 30
25 Hour Days
Today, my 53rd birthday, is a 25 hour day. It is a rare honor to have a 25 hour birthday. An honor bestowed on me by politicians, I guess. With the upcoming advent of extended daylight savings time (also bestowed by politicians), this will likely be my last 25 hour birthday. I knew I needed to use it well.
On drizzly Sunday afternoons I am sometimes drawn to watching sports on television. I always wonder why. But the draw is there. So it was clear to me early that I needed to devise a plan to avoid this hideous waste of time on this of all days. Kate has been gone for the past week (in Pennsylvania - ominously, as you will soon see, in Yorktown). So I wanted to spend time with her. Peter was selling shoes this afternoon. So it occured to me as I drank my coffee that a movie might be nice. Kate and I both like romantic comedies, and I am a fan of Mark Ruffalo. So I thought it would be fun to see a matinee of "Just Like Heaven."
Kate quickly agreed to my plan of seeing a movie - adding only that she needed to pick something up in Edina. So as I drank another cup of coffee I scanned the paper and found that the movie I wanted to see was showing at the Yorktown Cinema Grill.
Kate and I arrived at the Yorktown Mall about 25 minutes before the movie. We bought our $2 bargain-priced tickets and then wandered the strip mall, looking at plastic pumpkins drastically reduced by 70% (which we narrowly resisted). It was a strange ticket sales setup at the Cinema Grill, to say the least. A ticket seller behind a glass partition in a narrow blue hall. But I didn't think much of it. Kate, the more observant of the two of us, noted the smell of fried food. As we perused plastic pumpkins we were laughing about the as yet unexplored Yorktown Cinema Grill.
About 10 minutes before showtime, we returned to the Yorktown Cinema Grill. We were about to enter another universe. For the Yorktown Cinema Grill is not just a movie theater. Though I had missed some rather obvious clues, it is in fact a CINEMA GRILL. We entered the theater expecting the standard seating. But no! What we found were dozens of little tables with two chairs each, tiered for easy viewing of the movie screen. Having blundered into the world of "Cinema Grilling" I didn't quite know what to expect. The floor could have used a quick vacuum job. And the place didn't smell great. Kate and I kept looking at each other and laughing. On our table was a menu. Though we knew that South Beach Diet items were not likely to be found, we looked over the menu. How often do you wander into a new world on a 25 hour birthday?
And the menu items didn't look too bad. Sierra Nevada Pale Ale! Nachos! (Kate favored cheese nachos but I, the birthday boy, talked her up to vegetarian nachos). So we decided to order a pitcher (A PITCHER!) of Sierra Nevada and some nachos. We didn't quite know how to order, but we figured it would all work out. About 5 minutes late, the movie started. I thought it would be the normal 10 minutes of previews and ads. But no, it was the feature. As the lights dimmed our waitress came to our little table. I had a little coffee stomach (Dr. Barn's cure to this malady can be found at the Plasticville blog). So I was really looking forward to a Sierra Nevada. Kate was ready and placed our order. The waitress quickly replied that they didn't have cold pitchers of Sierra Nevada Pale Ale. They did, however, have room temperature Miller Genuine Draft. Kate and I have standards. So we took a pass.
Throughout the movie the waitress' head could be seen moving back and forth across the bottom of the screen, serving those patrons who didn't have their heart set on Sierra Nevada Pale Ale and nachos. The movie beat televised sports by a wide margin. But honestly, I don't think Cinema Grilling is the wave of the future. Especially if they don't cool the beer.
On drizzly Sunday afternoons I am sometimes drawn to watching sports on television. I always wonder why. But the draw is there. So it was clear to me early that I needed to devise a plan to avoid this hideous waste of time on this of all days. Kate has been gone for the past week (in Pennsylvania - ominously, as you will soon see, in Yorktown). So I wanted to spend time with her. Peter was selling shoes this afternoon. So it occured to me as I drank my coffee that a movie might be nice. Kate and I both like romantic comedies, and I am a fan of Mark Ruffalo. So I thought it would be fun to see a matinee of "Just Like Heaven."
Kate quickly agreed to my plan of seeing a movie - adding only that she needed to pick something up in Edina. So as I drank another cup of coffee I scanned the paper and found that the movie I wanted to see was showing at the Yorktown Cinema Grill.
Kate and I arrived at the Yorktown Mall about 25 minutes before the movie. We bought our $2 bargain-priced tickets and then wandered the strip mall, looking at plastic pumpkins drastically reduced by 70% (which we narrowly resisted). It was a strange ticket sales setup at the Cinema Grill, to say the least. A ticket seller behind a glass partition in a narrow blue hall. But I didn't think much of it. Kate, the more observant of the two of us, noted the smell of fried food. As we perused plastic pumpkins we were laughing about the as yet unexplored Yorktown Cinema Grill.
About 10 minutes before showtime, we returned to the Yorktown Cinema Grill. We were about to enter another universe. For the Yorktown Cinema Grill is not just a movie theater. Though I had missed some rather obvious clues, it is in fact a CINEMA GRILL. We entered the theater expecting the standard seating. But no! What we found were dozens of little tables with two chairs each, tiered for easy viewing of the movie screen. Having blundered into the world of "Cinema Grilling" I didn't quite know what to expect. The floor could have used a quick vacuum job. And the place didn't smell great. Kate and I kept looking at each other and laughing. On our table was a menu. Though we knew that South Beach Diet items were not likely to be found, we looked over the menu. How often do you wander into a new world on a 25 hour birthday?
And the menu items didn't look too bad. Sierra Nevada Pale Ale! Nachos! (Kate favored cheese nachos but I, the birthday boy, talked her up to vegetarian nachos). So we decided to order a pitcher (A PITCHER!) of Sierra Nevada and some nachos. We didn't quite know how to order, but we figured it would all work out. About 5 minutes late, the movie started. I thought it would be the normal 10 minutes of previews and ads. But no, it was the feature. As the lights dimmed our waitress came to our little table. I had a little coffee stomach (Dr. Barn's cure to this malady can be found at the Plasticville blog). So I was really looking forward to a Sierra Nevada. Kate was ready and placed our order. The waitress quickly replied that they didn't have cold pitchers of Sierra Nevada Pale Ale. They did, however, have room temperature Miller Genuine Draft. Kate and I have standards. So we took a pass.
Throughout the movie the waitress' head could be seen moving back and forth across the bottom of the screen, serving those patrons who didn't have their heart set on Sierra Nevada Pale Ale and nachos. The movie beat televised sports by a wide margin. But honestly, I don't think Cinema Grilling is the wave of the future. Especially if they don't cool the beer.
Wednesday, October 5
Measurement
Heisenberg's uncertainty principle in quantum mechanics is sometimes described, somewhat inaccurately I'm told, as establishing that the precise measurement of the position of a particle necessarily disturbs a particle's momentum. Therefore you cannot measure with precision both a particle's position and momentum. It's a law of nature (though as an interesting aside Einstein didn't like it. This was the source of his famous quote "God does not play dice"). Believe it or not, I don't have a lot of need to precisely measure the position and momentum of particles. Still, I do find this sort of thing fascinating. And I love a good physics joke. Like these two uncertainty principle jokes -
A quantum physicist is stopped on the highway by a police officer who asks "Do you know how fast you were going, sir?", to which the physicist responds, "No, but I know exactly where I am!"
Physics building graffiti - "Heisenberg may have been here."
The characterization of the uncertainty principle that most interests me, whether it is accurate or not in a purely scientific sense, is that "observation of an event changes the event." A true statement if ever there was one. When I have a camera, I sometimes get so lost in recording the moment that I neglect to experience the moment. In some ways, I was so involved with trying to "capture" this sunrise on our recent Boundary Waters trip that I didn't experience it as well as I might. Of course, I can reexperience it in some small way later. And that is part of the charm and joy of canoe trips for me. So I take my camera along. But there is no doubt that the "observation of the event changes the event."
What made me think about the uncertainty principle lately is the speedometer I bought for my bicycle. I've avoided this purchase for years. Not for cost reasons. Just because I was afraid that if I had a speedometer I would be so busy tracking my time and speed that I would forget to enjoy the ride itself. And I was somewhat right. I am now sometimes overcome with a strange compulsion to check my time at particular spots along my ride. To feel good when I'm going 16 miles an hour where I "normally" go 14. Notwithstanding the fact that the reason I am going faster is the tail wind that is pushing me along. For a few days I took the speedometer off my bike. But then I decided that for my personal growth I needed to learn how to ride without paying excessive attention to the speedometer. So if you see some idiot riding between downtown Minneapolis and St. Paul who is paying too much attention to his speedometer, it's probably me. I won't know where I am, but I'll know exactly how fast I am going.
A quantum physicist is stopped on the highway by a police officer who asks "Do you know how fast you were going, sir?", to which the physicist responds, "No, but I know exactly where I am!"
Physics building graffiti - "Heisenberg may have been here."
The characterization of the uncertainty principle that most interests me, whether it is accurate or not in a purely scientific sense, is that "observation of an event changes the event." A true statement if ever there was one. When I have a camera, I sometimes get so lost in recording the moment that I neglect to experience the moment. In some ways, I was so involved with trying to "capture" this sunrise on our recent Boundary Waters trip that I didn't experience it as well as I might. Of course, I can reexperience it in some small way later. And that is part of the charm and joy of canoe trips for me. So I take my camera along. But there is no doubt that the "observation of the event changes the event."
What made me think about the uncertainty principle lately is the speedometer I bought for my bicycle. I've avoided this purchase for years. Not for cost reasons. Just because I was afraid that if I had a speedometer I would be so busy tracking my time and speed that I would forget to enjoy the ride itself. And I was somewhat right. I am now sometimes overcome with a strange compulsion to check my time at particular spots along my ride. To feel good when I'm going 16 miles an hour where I "normally" go 14. Notwithstanding the fact that the reason I am going faster is the tail wind that is pushing me along. For a few days I took the speedometer off my bike. But then I decided that for my personal growth I needed to learn how to ride without paying excessive attention to the speedometer. So if you see some idiot riding between downtown Minneapolis and St. Paul who is paying too much attention to his speedometer, it's probably me. I won't know where I am, but I'll know exactly how fast I am going.
Monday, October 3
Reflections
Lately I've been busy taking photos, potentially for the Scoular web site. This seems like a good place for reflections, so I thought I would post a few:
(You can click on an image to see a larger version)
(You can click on an image to see a larger version)
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