All twenty of my faithful readers know that I use this space to brag obnoxiously about my children.
I've decided to give you all a break.
I'm'a brag about my sister, instead.
Carolyn is amazing. Uh. MAY. ZING.
While I wish I could take credit for this, she achieved her insane level of awesomeness through her own raw talent, incredible work ethic, and fantastic organizational skills.
I feel the family is entitled to shine a little in the reflected glory, though. I like to think that we helped her, at least a smidge.
--
Back when Carolyn was in 7th grade and I was in college, her two favorite teachers, Mr. Fassold and Mr. Sturgeon, did a joint English/Social Studies unit on Japanese Internment.
One night over dinner, Carolyn told us about the class discussion they'd had that day. Most of the kids in her class had read the textbook section on this part of U. S. History and thought that, well, if it was necessary for the safety of everyone else...regrettable, to be sure, but in a time of war...unpleasant things happen but trust the government and move on...
I was amazed. These were the same kids whose archly-conservative parents wanted to impeach Bill Clinton? And they just wanted blindly to trust one of the biggest governmental invasions of civil rights ever? (And this was BEFORE 9/11.)
Carolyn was less convinced Japanese internment had been a good idea, but thought that perhaps it wasn't quite as bad as Dad and I made it sound.
We sat around the dinner table long after the meal was over and discussed the point at length. I quoted Dr. Martin Luther King: "Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere." Dad reminded her of her seven half-Japanese cousins. I asked "Why didn't they round up all the Germans, too? Yes, people of German ancestry were discriminated against during World War II; they were fired from jobs, denied equal access to housing, etc., but citizens on the East Coast weren't summarily rounded up and dispossessed the way the Japanese people were." Dad pointed out that most of these people were U. S. citizens, not foreign nationals. I started spinning damning hypothetical scenarios and asking difficult questions about "But what if it had been..."
Carolyn was kind, insightful, and mature. She followed the arguments carefully and mostly agreed. She was also young and a bit naive, though, so she said, a few times, "Yes, it's awful, but if it was really the only way to protect national security--"
As I recall, the turning point happened when Dad broke out a book with the text of the Korematsu case. He began quoting Justice Jackson's powerful dissent. At that point, Carolyn dove into the case law itself, reading the majority opinion. "Wait," she said, "The Supreme Court basically just said 'It's wartime so we'll let the military do anything it wants.' But it doesn't look like the military produced much actual evidence of a problem."
"Yes," pressed Dad. "And there were never any cases of Japanese-Americans being convicted of espionage."
"But" asked Carolyn, cogently, "If there are no checks and balances on the military, what's to prevent it from turning into a dictatorship--"
Dad and I smiled at each other, satisfied.
---
The next day, the discussion resumed again in her classroom, and this time Carolyn argued--persuasively and passionately--for why the practice had been both unconscionable and stupid. She did such a fantastic job that her teacher appointed her as the lead attorney in a mock trial on the topic.
Carolyn prepped. She read, she researched, she organized, she wrote. We adults barely helped. Mom and Dad might have suggested a few things for her to read, and I think I made a few minor editing suggestions. Carolyn conferenced with Cheryl, who has an M.A. in Political Science. Cheryl also donated a constitutional law textbook to the cause, but Carolyn dug through it herself in painstaking detail.
On the appointed day, she was BRILLIANT. We didn't get to see her in action, but we heard all about it afterwards.
Several people (including me) suggested she should pursue a career in law. She demurred at first, thinking that "lawyer" meant "Perry Mason." I and others argued that she could choose to be the kind of attorney who spent most of her time researching and writing about complex issues such as Japanese Internment.
It took a few years, but she finally came to embrace her destiny. ("Well, if I don't have to deal with actual criminals...")
--
Why the long backstory? Because Carolyn has done something so completely cool that I can't contain myself.
Back in March, she posted this link on facebook. It was about how the U. S. Supreme Court had just "granted cert" to a handwritten petition. A Muslim prisoner in Arkansas wanted to wear a half-inch beard and had been denied. He appealed.
I read his petition and was very impressed. I re-posted the link with this comment:
"This is awesome. His writing mechanics are
excellent. Spelling, grammar, punctuation, research, citations.
Accuracy, brevity, clarity....Oh, and I agree with his brief, too."
Carolyn joked that she should offer to represent him pro bono. Then she went home, thought about it, and decided that rather than just joke, she would pursue the idea. (And that, my friends, is what sets her apart from the rest of us.) Unsurprisingly, the prisoner was already represented, but when she inquired, she was offered the chance to write a major amicus curiae brief in the case, representing the Anti-Defamation League, Muslim Advocates, the International Society for Krishna Consciousness, the Queen's Federation of Churches, and the Sikh Legal Defense and Education Fund. (Jews, Muslims, Hindus, Christians, and Sikhs, all defending the rights of a Muslim prisoner. God bless America.)
So, here she is, less than two years out of law school, and she has written a brief that will be read by justices of the U. S. Supreme Court. She is using her education and talents to defend important principles and to help make the world a better place.
Here's a link to her brief. For those of you who can't wade through the whole thing, I'll summarize. First, she says that although the law clearly states that inmates should be allowed as much religious expression as can reasonably be accommodated without violating prison security, this principle has been very inconsistently applied. She cites numerous examples of confusion and contradictions in the case law and asks the court to clarify things. Second, she points out that when government gets into the business of regulating what constitutes "legitimate" religious practice, it causes significant disadvantages for people of minority or splinter religious groups. Third, it is natural for prison officials to advocate for whatever makes life easiest for the guards, which means they have a tendency to say "absolutely no variations to the uniform" without considering reasonable alternatives. Fourth, she claims that some courts defer too much to prison authorities who claim "allowing that exception would ruin our security!"
Imagine a Catholic prisoner--say a non-violent offender serving two years on a marijuana charge--who wants to wear a crucifix. Prison officials say "no exceptions to the prison uniform." The prisoner offers "If it's a security problem, I could wear a cloth crucifix, affixed with velcro. Please. God has laid it on my heart to witness my devotion in this way." Officials still say no. The inmate sues, claiming a religious exemption.
Now imagine if the judge says "Well, the prison officials claim that a cloth-and-velcro crucifix is
incredibly dangerous, so I'm rejecting your request." Or, worse, if the judge says "You only go to church on Easter. I've decided that you aren't
dedicated enough to your religion to deserve a religious exemption from
normal uniform rules--and besides, the Pope has never said that wearing a
crucifix is required, so it's just not an important issue. I've checked, and while some Catholics wear a crucifix, the majority don't, so it's not essential to your salvation. Case dismissed." The prisoner is hauled away, protesting "But God is the ultimate rehabilitation expert, and you're interfering--"
Do we really want the government meddling deeply in questions of personal conscience, sincerity of belief, orthodoxy, and orthopraxy? Do we want prison officials to deny all religious requests just because they are slightly inconvenient?
Carolyn says "Nope!" I agree with her. (Now, if the Wiccans want a grove of trees that block lines of sight from the sentry towers, or if Native Americans want to spend millions of tax dollars building a sweat lodge in the courtyard, I would be less sympathetic. That's not the issue here, though.)
--
Carolyn didn't just write a brief; no, true to form, she wrote a really good brief. I'll be waiting to see if any of the justices refer to Carolyn's brief in oral arguments or in written opinions.
And what will Carolyn be working on next? Well, she says her new goal is to "write a Supreme Court brief on behalf of a party and sit at the counsel’s table!" I believe it will happen. And when it does, I'll totally brag obnoxiously about that, too.
Though, Carolyn--heh, heh--I note that you're kinda dealing with an actual criminal. ;)
Monday, June 2, 2014
Monday, April 21, 2014
Carolyn's Favorite Things
My sister Carolyn recently celebrated a birthday. In previous years, she has requested facebook friends to make book recommendations or nerdy puns in lieu of saying merely "happy birthday." This year, she asked for haikus about her favorite things--and she helpfully appended a list.
Here's her post:
Friends! For my birthday this year, in lieu of you saying "Happy Birthday!" on my wall tomorrow, I'm requesting the gift of haikus.
Here are the rules:
(1) You can submit as many haikus as you want, on any subject.
(2) After today and tomorrow, I will pick the "finalists" to be voted on. Whoever's haiku is most popular will receive homemade cookies!
(3) You are most likely to be picked as a finalist if your haiku is funny, creative, and/or concerns Carolyn's Favorite Things.
For your benefit, here is a list of Carolyn's Favorite Things:
board games, British fiction, cats, college football, cookies, copyrights, Edward Snowden, fantasy novels, hot chocolate, Indian food, jazz crooners, Kindles, London, maps, musicals, Pinterest, polka dots, religion, sunshine, Teslas, the color red, the First Amendment, and toddlers.
I pointed out that a longer poem could incorporate every single item on the list, something impossible to do in a single haiku. She answered that the challenge needed to be "easy" for all the lesser mortals out there.
I have always complimented Carolyn on the caliber of her companions, and now she insults them?!
Further, she said that I could write a ballad if I liked, but that I would be ineligible for the cookies.
Naturally, this spurred my competitive instincts. I decided to write a poem so amazing that she was forced to award me a collateral prize.
I took her list and turned it into a variation of "My Favorite Things" from The Sound of Music, adding in a few items of my own. (There are benefits to being a sibling. Inside knowledge.)
Then I recorded the accompaniment on my piano, and then I recorded myself singing the lyrics, and THEN I turned the audio ensemble into a "movie" with pictures of Carolyn's adorable nephews as toddlers.
I'm being brave here, because I can hear every single flaw in my voice. (I'm not being falsely modest, I really can hear where I'm too breathy, or even slightly "pitchy".) I used to complain about my old cell phone's horrible audio pickup. Now I'm complaining that the new cell phone is too good. ;) Also, there are mistakes in the piano part. Low quality production, m'kay?
But I'm willing to embarrass myself if it earns me cookies! I'm in a hurry to get this out the door before the judging begins.
(It occurred to me to show images of polka dots, mosques, and Edward Snowden, but that would require way too much editing. Even I have limits to my obsessions. Sorry, Carolyn. You may edit the images yourself, if you like.)
For reference, here are the lyrics:
Cookies and kindness and boundless ambition,
Eating hot curry (which turned her hair Titian!)
Pinterest and Teslas and toddlers who cling; [1]
These are a few of her favorite things.
Anti-trust board games and fiction by Brittons,
Timothy Tebow and sassy young kittens,
Jazz crooning musicals, Snowden dream flings;
These are a few of her favorite things.
Maps to each Londontown mosque and museum,
Spreadsheets that calculate interest per diem,
Lists, plans, and progress, tied neatly with strings;
These are a few of her favorite things.
When the boss says “Double space this!”
When she’s feeling sad,
She’ll nap in the sunshine to dodge fortune’s slings,
And then she won’t feel so bad.
Lawsuits by Wiccans, in prison, a-witchin’,
Polka dots, football, and cleanin’ the kitchen,
Donuts from Daddy, and rain-dancin’ sings;
These are a few of her favorite things.
SCOTUS blogs, copyrights, hats, scarves, and kindles,
Helping the ACLU never dwindle,
Freedom to exercise faiths! Let it ring!
These are a few of her favorite things.
Steaming hot chocolate and fantasy fiction,
Stories of toddlers with "howwibow" diction, [2]
Mocking a candidate’s policy swings;
These are a few of her favorite things.
If the Congress passes SOPA
And it makes her mad,
She’ll simply remember her favorite things—
And then she won’t feeeeel so baaaaad!!!!
[1] I sang it as "swing". Sorry.
[2] gloss: "horrible"
Note: My apologies if the ads on the youtube link are obnoxious. I can't figure out a way to control them.
Now, if you enjoyed this offering, flood Carolyn's inbox with emails! Tell her that this obsessive effort deserves a prize! I'll settle for "Most Stalkeresque Sister" if it gets me cookies!
If you don't know her email address, email ME, and I will forward your comments along.
Here's her post:
Friends! For my birthday this year, in lieu of you saying "Happy Birthday!" on my wall tomorrow, I'm requesting the gift of haikus.
Here are the rules:
(1) You can submit as many haikus as you want, on any subject.
(2) After today and tomorrow, I will pick the "finalists" to be voted on. Whoever's haiku is most popular will receive homemade cookies!
(3) You are most likely to be picked as a finalist if your haiku is funny, creative, and/or concerns Carolyn's Favorite Things.
For your benefit, here is a list of Carolyn's Favorite Things:
board games, British fiction, cats, college football, cookies, copyrights, Edward Snowden, fantasy novels, hot chocolate, Indian food, jazz crooners, Kindles, London, maps, musicals, Pinterest, polka dots, religion, sunshine, Teslas, the color red, the First Amendment, and toddlers.
I pointed out that a longer poem could incorporate every single item on the list, something impossible to do in a single haiku. She answered that the challenge needed to be "easy" for all the lesser mortals out there.
I have always complimented Carolyn on the caliber of her companions, and now she insults them?!
Further, she said that I could write a ballad if I liked, but that I would be ineligible for the cookies.
Naturally, this spurred my competitive instincts. I decided to write a poem so amazing that she was forced to award me a collateral prize.
I took her list and turned it into a variation of "My Favorite Things" from The Sound of Music, adding in a few items of my own. (There are benefits to being a sibling. Inside knowledge.)
Then I recorded the accompaniment on my piano, and then I recorded myself singing the lyrics, and THEN I turned the audio ensemble into a "movie" with pictures of Carolyn's adorable nephews as toddlers.
I'm being brave here, because I can hear every single flaw in my voice. (I'm not being falsely modest, I really can hear where I'm too breathy, or even slightly "pitchy".) I used to complain about my old cell phone's horrible audio pickup. Now I'm complaining that the new cell phone is too good. ;) Also, there are mistakes in the piano part. Low quality production, m'kay?
But I'm willing to embarrass myself if it earns me cookies! I'm in a hurry to get this out the door before the judging begins.
(It occurred to me to show images of polka dots, mosques, and Edward Snowden, but that would require way too much editing. Even I have limits to my obsessions. Sorry, Carolyn. You may edit the images yourself, if you like.)
For reference, here are the lyrics:
Cookies and kindness and boundless ambition,
Eating hot curry (which turned her hair Titian!)
Pinterest and Teslas and toddlers who cling; [1]
These are a few of her favorite things.
Anti-trust board games and fiction by Brittons,
Timothy Tebow and sassy young kittens,
Jazz crooning musicals, Snowden dream flings;
These are a few of her favorite things.
Maps to each Londontown mosque and museum,
Spreadsheets that calculate interest per diem,
Lists, plans, and progress, tied neatly with strings;
These are a few of her favorite things.
When the boss says “Double space this!”
When she’s feeling sad,
She’ll nap in the sunshine to dodge fortune’s slings,
And then she won’t feel so bad.
Lawsuits by Wiccans, in prison, a-witchin’,
Polka dots, football, and cleanin’ the kitchen,
Donuts from Daddy, and rain-dancin’ sings;
These are a few of her favorite things.
SCOTUS blogs, copyrights, hats, scarves, and kindles,
Helping the ACLU never dwindle,
Freedom to exercise faiths! Let it ring!
These are a few of her favorite things.
Steaming hot chocolate and fantasy fiction,
Stories of toddlers with "howwibow" diction, [2]
Mocking a candidate’s policy swings;
These are a few of her favorite things.
If the Congress passes SOPA
And it makes her mad,
She’ll simply remember her favorite things—
And then she won’t feeeeel so baaaaad!!!!
[1] I sang it as "swing". Sorry.
[2] gloss: "horrible"
Note: My apologies if the ads on the youtube link are obnoxious. I can't figure out a way to control them.
Now, if you enjoyed this offering, flood Carolyn's inbox with emails! Tell her that this obsessive effort deserves a prize! I'll settle for "Most Stalkeresque Sister" if it gets me cookies!
If you don't know her email address, email ME, and I will forward your comments along.
Sunday, March 16, 2014
Beware the Pies of March!
Above: Daniel made a pumpkin pie and then used edible markers (and geometry) to work out a nine-piece solution on it. I was so proud!
[I originally did this activity with my elementary math group right before Thanksgiving. Thanks to all the parents who helped out! People brought in protractors, scissors, plates, forks, paper towels...and lots of pies.
I took some pictures at the time, but I’m reconstructing the “proof” drawings. I have fictionalized the dialogue and changed kids’ names, although their suggested solutions and serious questions are based on what actually happened. I use three colors to represent the kids, but assume an actual class of about 15.
I didn't get this finished for Thanksgiving or Christmas, but it seems fitting to post it now in honor of Pi Day and the Ides of March. (Knives are involved in both. Plus, if you keep reading, you might spot some subtle treachery. Not least because I officially converted to Tau last year. Beware the Pies of March!)
If only we had done geometry and proofs like this when I was in school…--GMHB]
Psst! Hey, kids!
What?
Wanna drive your adults crazy
this Thanksgiving?
Sure!
Great! First, make sure that an odd number of people want pieces of the
apple pie.
But what if an even number of people want pieces?
Claim you don’t want one.
But I really do.
Can you get your little brother
to say he wants a piece even though he doesn’t?
Um…maybe.
You’ll come up with something.
Be creative. Claim your stuffed tiger will bite off Uncle Murray’s fingers unless
she gets a slice. (At my house, that would even be true.)
REALLY???
Well…I don’t think Scheherezade (my tiger) would ever actually go through with it, but I’ve never been brave enough to
find out. Anyway. Just be sure to insist on an odd number of pieces.
Okay…why?
Have you ever tried to cut a pie
into five or seven pieces?
I’ve never tried to cut a pie at all. My mom has this thing about
knives.
*Sigh.* Okay. Let’s try this. Do
you see this circle?
Yeah…
Pretend it’s apple pie.
I just remembered. I don’t like apple pie.
How about pecan pie?
I’m allergic to pecans.
Okay, we’ll pretend it’s pumpkin pie.
‘K.
Okay.
I love pumpkins! And the Great Pumpkin is coming soon--
Proselytize after class, Linus. Now,
how would you cut it into four pieces?
That’s easy.
Great. And it only took you two “straight” lines.
Maybe next time I should use a ruler.
Yeah. Now, how would you cut it
into five pieces?
Oooh! Lemme do it!
Okay, Alejandro. Come up and
show us--
I mean, five equal pieces?
Um. Um. Wait, I know! A circle has 360 degrees. So I need to divide
360 by 5 which is…um, 72!
Nice calculator.
Thanks!
So all you need to do is cut the
pie into five pieces with 72-degree angles.
YEAH!
Wait. How do we measure 72 degrees?
Well, kiddies, I’m glad you
asked me that question. I happen to have here…[drumroll]…a protractor.
Ooooh.
Aaaah!
What’s a proctractor?
It helps us measure angles. Now,
who has an idea for what to do next?
Oooh! Oooh! Me!
Okay, Griselda. Please
demonstrate for the others.
Well, I’d start at the center of the circle, and then use this
starting at zero, and then go over to 72…
Let me interrupt you for a
second Griselda. You did a fine job measuring the degrees, but how do you know
that’s the center of the circle?
Well, it looks about right…
That’s true, but what if you’re
off? What if I said this dot over here were the center of the circle?
*Giggling*
Yeah, that’s crazy, but look at
what happens:
Now, those are all 72 degree angles, but does anyone think that looks fair?
*More giggling*
You won’t think it’s funny if you
discover you’ve been served an unfair amount of Aunt Bertha’s chocolate pie!
Think of the injustice!!!
But how can we find the exact center?
Good question. Any ideas? Okay,
Algernon. Come on up.
Well,
I’d take this ruler and measure the top to the bottom. It’s 7 and 1/2
inches, so I’d mark in the middle. And then I’d do it the other way,
just to be
sure…
That’s pretty good. Of course, if one of those measurements is off by even a quarter of an inch, you still have a problem.
So I’ll do three or four measurements.
Not bad. It’s better than just guessing, but there's still some variation. Besides, we’re out to drive the adults crazy, right?
Right!
Okay, so you’re going to insist
that eyeballing, guessing, or even estimating with a ruler just isn’t good
enough. And if the adults say you’re being too picky, what do you say?
“Pi’quality is a fundamental right…”
Very good, kids. You’ll go far.
So, when you challenge the grown-ups, they’ll probably say “Do you have a
better solution?” That’s a delicate moment in the negotiations, and you need to
be prepared. As it happens, there is a better solution! I’ll walk you through it.
Pick a number between—
2!
18!
Infinity!
Infinity squared!
37!
5!
—We’ll go with 5, thanks. Now,
I’m going to measure a 5 inch line that goes across the circle.
That doesn’t go through the center!
Yep, I know. It’s okay. A line
like this is called a chord. If it went all the way through the center of the
circle, it would be called a diameter.
What’s a chord?
Chords are when I play two notes at the same time!
Well, a chord is a musical term,
that’s true. It’s also a geometry term. It has multiple meanings. Now, we’re
out to drive your adults nuts, right?
Right!
Okay, so I encourage you to go
home and ask your parents what a chord is.
Anyway, I’m going to draw three
of these randomly around this circle. You could do it with just two, but three
is even safer. And exactly halfway, at 2.5 inches, I’ll put a dot.
Next, I’m going to measure a
right angle using this piece of paper, and then trace along the edge. This new
line will be perpendicular, or at a 90 degree angle, to the first chord.
Then I’ll do it again for the
other chords…
Miss Gail?
Yes, Helga?
Do all the chords have to be the same length?
…
Uh…wow, what a good question!
You did say that children were better at thinking imaginatively and
asking questions.
She also said we’re better at learning new languages, though I don’t
know why that matters in this case.
Yeah! And I’m better at “Angry Birds” than my dad!
Right. Well, in theory, it
should work with different chord lengths. I can’t think of any reason why it
wouldn’t work. It just never occurred to me to test it. Why don’t you all go
home and play with that idea on your own?
Can’t we test it now? Please?
Fine. Let me try to scrounge up
another color…
Okay, so let’s try a 2 inch, a 3
inch, and a 4 inch chord and see what happens.
Yup! Still in the center. Does everybody agree this is the exact center of the circle?
I think it’s 2 nanometers off.
Don’t get picky, Franz, or I’ll make you do percent error problems next time.
But you said we were supposed to drive adults crazy!
I meant other adults!
*Giggling*
*Snickering*
*Cackling*
Okay, so now that we have a
center that is within acceptable parameters—
Huh?
It’s close enough.
‘K.
I still think it’s 2 nanometers off.
[Quellingly] I’m ignoring unnecessary interruptions.
Now, it’s your turn. Here are some circles drawn on pieces of paper, and here are some protractors and rulers. You already have pencils. Work together in groups of 2-4 people. Draw on the paper to show me how you would cut your circle into an ODD number of equal pieces. You can “buy” a piece of real, homemade pumpkin pie--
Did you make it yourself?
Yes.
Yummy!
I’m sure we all hope so. Other families have also brought in various fruit pies and a chocolate pie. Anyway,
you can have a real piece of pie once I have approved your solution.
Yay!
Just remember: doing this on
paper is for practice. In a few days, you can do this for real.
*Giggling*
*BWAHAHAHAHA…*
Below: Pictures from the actual Thanksgiving math meeting.
Below: Pictures from the actual Thanksgiving math meeting.
Sunday, February 2, 2014
Cheesecake crisis
Jon
turned 50 recently.
Okay,
fine. He turned 508. [That should read 50 subscript 8.] In base 10, he turned 40.
Now, some men might panic at this “over the hill” marker. Some men might rush out and purchase a red sports car. Some men might even trade in a current spouse for a trophy wife.
Providentially, Jon is too practical to buy a Ferrari--and he already has a trophy wife. ;)
Further, as life expectancy lengthens, we can be grateful that we all have an extra decade or so. He’s barely hit middle age! (Wait, if 50 really is the new 40, does that mean my assertion in the first line was right?)
Nonetheless, it occurred to me that my sweetie might be worried about going senile. I wanted to cheer him up, just in case he was concerned.
I decided to give him a mental mountain to surmount. What could be a better birthday present than the euphoric endorphins that come from meeting and mastering a challenge?
My natural inclination was to write rhyming riddles, but part of marriage is putting the other person first. While Jon could no doubt solve my Tolkienesque wordplay, wouldn’t he much rather do something involving math and encryption?
I wrote—okay, fine, I plagiarized—a bunch of hard math problems, instead. Thanks to Tim Sanders, the original author, for letting me hack his questions. It would have taken me ages to create them from scratch.
Oh, and I also sacrificed my natural inclinations by ministering to Jon’s domestic needs. (In other words, I actually planned, prepped, and cooked a real meal.)
For homeschool that day, I took the kids grocery shopping. Each boy picked out one chocolate bar for daddy and helped purchase ingredients to make a special dinner. (I also threw in a mini lecture about choosing grades of hamburger based upon the fat/protein ratio.)
After we got home, they made a special cheesecake for their dad. Daniel made the crust, Eric made the filling, and I scorched it in the oven. It was a group effort.
Then I assigned Eric and Daniel to design a treasure hunt for Jon. The hidden treasure was the chocolate bars.
Meanwhile, I worked on hacking math problems.
Jon normally gets home around 7 p.m., so it was a nasty shock when he called around 4 and said he was leaving work early.
Now, some men might panic at this “over the hill” marker. Some men might rush out and purchase a red sports car. Some men might even trade in a current spouse for a trophy wife.
Providentially, Jon is too practical to buy a Ferrari--and he already has a trophy wife. ;)
Further, as life expectancy lengthens, we can be grateful that we all have an extra decade or so. He’s barely hit middle age! (Wait, if 50 really is the new 40, does that mean my assertion in the first line was right?)
Nonetheless, it occurred to me that my sweetie might be worried about going senile. I wanted to cheer him up, just in case he was concerned.
I decided to give him a mental mountain to surmount. What could be a better birthday present than the euphoric endorphins that come from meeting and mastering a challenge?
My natural inclination was to write rhyming riddles, but part of marriage is putting the other person first. While Jon could no doubt solve my Tolkienesque wordplay, wouldn’t he much rather do something involving math and encryption?
I wrote—okay, fine, I plagiarized—a bunch of hard math problems, instead. Thanks to Tim Sanders, the original author, for letting me hack his questions. It would have taken me ages to create them from scratch.
Oh, and I also sacrificed my natural inclinations by ministering to Jon’s domestic needs. (In other words, I actually planned, prepped, and cooked a real meal.)
For homeschool that day, I took the kids grocery shopping. Each boy picked out one chocolate bar for daddy and helped purchase ingredients to make a special dinner. (I also threw in a mini lecture about choosing grades of hamburger based upon the fat/protein ratio.)
After we got home, they made a special cheesecake for their dad. Daniel made the crust, Eric made the filling, and I scorched it in the oven. It was a group effort.
Then I assigned Eric and Daniel to design a treasure hunt for Jon. The hidden treasure was the chocolate bars.
Meanwhile, I worked on hacking math problems.
Jon normally gets home around 7 p.m., so it was a nasty shock when he called around 4 and said he was leaving work early.
*Ahem* Sorry. I mean, it was a delightful surprise that he was coming home early--but aaaaaaaack!
Only halfway through the math, and I hadn’t even started the second cheesecake!
Jon’s brother, who was in town visiting friends, came over. Poor Ryan showed up and found the house in chaos, dinner unstarted, and me scribbling frantically, muttering mysterious “mod” math to myself. He very bravely took over my messy kitchen and made the pasta. Thanks, Ryan! You’re a lifesaver.
When Jon got home from work that day, the kids ambushed him with a treasure hunt. Solutions are at the very bottom of this post.
First clue: Your electronic display
Second clue: Zuchst in dein Zimmer nah die Tur.
Third clue: guy ebbz bs rzretrapl fgbentr
Fourth clue: fvyirejner
Fifth clue: “A chair that changes pitch conceals a thing you wish.”
Sixth clue: A map.
Jon’s brother, who was in town visiting friends, came over. Poor Ryan showed up and found the house in chaos, dinner unstarted, and me scribbling frantically, muttering mysterious “mod” math to myself. He very bravely took over my messy kitchen and made the pasta. Thanks, Ryan! You’re a lifesaver.
When Jon got home from work that day, the kids ambushed him with a treasure hunt. Solutions are at the very bottom of this post.
First clue: Your electronic display
Second clue: Zuchst in dein Zimmer nah die Tur.
Third clue: guy ebbz bs rzretrapl fgbentr
Fourth clue: fvyirejner
Fifth clue: “A chair that changes pitch conceals a thing you wish.”
Sixth clue: A map.
While
Jon worked on those clues, I finished up writing mine and then provided
reinforcements for Ryan.
After dinner (rigatoni noodles with kielbasa sausage and extra cheese), I handed Jon his math clues with an apology. “The treasure they point to isn’t ready yet,” I confessed. “But you can solve them anyway and collect tomorrow.”
Here they are:
[Standard moaning about blogger's idiotic formatting. It looked cooler as printed in Word.]
1. Four friends are sitting around one afternoon thinking up large numbers. If Olive chooses 100^200^300, Lily chooses 300^200^100, Heather chooses 200^300^100, and Peony chooses 200^100^300, which person has chosen the largest number?
After dinner (rigatoni noodles with kielbasa sausage and extra cheese), I handed Jon his math clues with an apology. “The treasure they point to isn’t ready yet,” I confessed. “But you can solve them anyway and collect tomorrow.”
Here they are:
[Standard moaning about blogger's idiotic formatting. It looked cooler as printed in Word.]
1. Four friends are sitting around one afternoon thinking up large numbers. If Olive chooses 100^200^300, Lily chooses 300^200^100, Heather chooses 200^300^100, and Peony chooses 200^100^300, which person has chosen the largest number?
2. The 26 letters of the alphabet
are arranged in alphabetical order clockwise around a wheel with a
counter. On each trial, the counter
starts at 0 on A and is moved clockwise around the wheel.
On Trial 1, the counter moves 2222222 letters.
On Trial 2, it moves 33333333 letters.
On Trial 1, the counter moves 2222222 letters.
On Trial 2, it moves 33333333 letters.
On Trial 3, it moves 4444444 letters.
On Trial 4, it moves 23456 letters.
On Trial 5, it moves 5678912 letters.
On Trial 6, it takes a break and moves only 212
letters.
On Trial 7, it moves 78912 letters.
On Trial 8, it moves 202020 letters.
On Trial 9, it moves 404440 letters.
Finally, on Trial 10, the poor thing moves 108
letters and then collapses in exhaustion.
In order, what are the letters the counter ends on?
In order, what are the letters the counter ends on?
3. Assume a base-36 numbering system where the digits 0 through 9
represent 0 through 9, as usual, and the letters A through Z represent 10
through 35, respectively; what is the base-36 value of the base-10 number
625700?
**Spoiler
Alert. The answers are given four paragraphs below. Quit reading now if you
want to solve them yourself.**
Poor
Ryan. I should have waited, because Jon spent the next 30 minutes obsessively
working on math problems instead of capitalizing on his limited minutes with
his brother. That was an error on my part.
As Jon finished his first clue, I said, “Doh! I should have changed the question to ask ‘Whose number is the largest’ so that the answer had an s on the end.”
Jon shrugged that off. How forgiving he is of these glitches! I appreciated his attitude: why obsess about minor issues when there is more math to be done?
Once he emerged from his hyper focus, I confirmed his decryption. (“Olive(‘s), cheesecake, desk.”)
I had intended to hide olives and cheesecake, Jon’s two favorite foods (the rigatoni is a distant third) on my desk, behind my computer. (Actually, I had briefly considered hiding them in the dryer, but didn’t want to deal with the extra computation. And while “van” was a non-obvious spot and only had three letters, it was also disgusting. Not quite as disgusting as olives, but close.)
After dinner, Jon spent some time talking to Ryan and I put the kids in bed.
As Jon finished his first clue, I said, “Doh! I should have changed the question to ask ‘Whose number is the largest’ so that the answer had an s on the end.”
Jon shrugged that off. How forgiving he is of these glitches! I appreciated his attitude: why obsess about minor issues when there is more math to be done?
Once he emerged from his hyper focus, I confirmed his decryption. (“Olive(‘s), cheesecake, desk.”)
I had intended to hide olives and cheesecake, Jon’s two favorite foods (the rigatoni is a distant third) on my desk, behind my computer. (Actually, I had briefly considered hiding them in the dryer, but didn’t want to deal with the extra computation. And while “van” was a non-obvious spot and only had three letters, it was also disgusting. Not quite as disgusting as olives, but close.)
After dinner, Jon spent some time talking to Ryan and I put the kids in bed.
The
next day, I made the second cheesecake--with a hitch.
I
had lied to my husband. Lied. To his face. (I figure there should be a grace
period on these things. As long as I ‘fess up within 24 hours, we’re fine,
right?)
You
see, the “mistake” on problem one wasn’t actually a mistake. I intended the
clue to read “olive cheesecake, desk.” I didn’t want to admit that, though, so
I tried to confuse the issue, such that Jon would think I had planned to serve
him olives and cheesecake separately.
Instead, I served them together.
I was trying to make a point about the nastiness of olives. “If he loves cheesecake and olives so much,” I reasoned, with false sophistry, “Then he should love them both even more if they are put together. Synergy!”
Behold, pictures of my efforts:
Instead, I served them together.
I was trying to make a point about the nastiness of olives. “If he loves cheesecake and olives so much,” I reasoned, with false sophistry, “Then he should love them both even more if they are put together. Synergy!”
Behold, pictures of my efforts:
When Jon got home, I presented the treat to him.
I
hoped that Jon would take a bite and gag in revulsion.
Instead,
he spotted the olives in advance. (Ah well. At least this proves dementia hasn't yet set in.)
 |
| "Did you think I wouldn't notice?" |
And
then he ate them anyway!
Olives.
And cheesecake. And strawberries! Together.
EWWWWWWWW!!!!!
(No, beloved, you’re not senile. Instead, you’re a sick, sick man.)
I had spent the last 12.43 years believing that I was “the crazy one” in our marriage, but now Jon--calm, steady, sensible Jon—had just exhibited the most behemoth-sized case of "the bonkers” I’d ever observed. He was a batty basket case. And I had never noticed this before???
(No, beloved, you’re not senile. Instead, you’re a sick, sick man.)
I had spent the last 12.43 years believing that I was “the crazy one” in our marriage, but now Jon--calm, steady, sensible Jon—had just exhibited the most behemoth-sized case of "the bonkers” I’d ever observed. He was a batty basket case. And I had never noticed this before???
I
fear the shock of this seismic paradigm shift will send ME into a mid-life
crisis.
Right. It’s not all about me. Sorry. Focus on Jon, instead.
Dearest, I want to assure you that I still love and respect you. I will devote my energies to helping you find the highest quality of medical care available. I will gladly sacrifice all the money you earn toward your cure.
Or we could compromise: I promise never to make olive cheesecake again, and you promise never to have a midlife crisis. A cheesecake crisis is bad enough. Or, even better: You promise never to eat olive cheesecake again, and I promise never to turn 40.
Deal?
Right. It’s not all about me. Sorry. Focus on Jon, instead.
Dearest, I want to assure you that I still love and respect you. I will devote my energies to helping you find the highest quality of medical care available. I will gladly sacrifice all the money you earn toward your cure.
Or we could compromise: I promise never to make olive cheesecake again, and you promise never to have a midlife crisis. A cheesecake crisis is bad enough. Or, even better: You promise never to eat olive cheesecake again, and I promise never to turn 40.
Deal?
Solutions to the treasure hunt:
1: Jon’s computer monitor. (“Do you know how many electronic displays we have in this house?” asked Jon, rhetorically, but still got it on the first try.)
2:
Search in your room near the door. (It was written in German. Eric spent quite some time with a German/English dictionary. I gave him some grammatical advice, although I fear the cases still aren't quite right.)
3.
Storage room. (Jon thought it was the garage, based upon how often I throw
things in there when company approacheth.)
4. Silverware
5. Rocking chair
6. The map, once interpreted, placed the treasure (chocolate bars) behind some encyclopedias in the library.
4. Silverware
5. Rocking chair
6. The map, once interpreted, placed the treasure (chocolate bars) behind some encyclopedias in the library.
Tuesday, December 31, 2013
2013 Retrospective
My new year's goals for 2013 were to write more and exercise more. I succeeded at the former and failed at the latter. (I didn't exercise more because I was writing so much.)
I'm going to focus on the positive, though. Let's look back at the year's accomplishments:
* Daniel's DI team went to state.
* Eric did well at a state math competition.
* Sam transitioned from "talking like a toddler" to "talking in recognizable, complete sentences."
* Sam is now potty trained. One more to go. I can do this. I mean, Jeff can do this.
* Jeff actually decided to start talking. He is now babbling meaningful phrases, like "Oh, thanks, mom."
* Jon continued to be wonderful and awesome. He says he can't think of a specific accomplishment, but then, he has so little room for improvement. It's so much easier to move from the 48th to the 49th percentile than to move from the 98th to the 99th. In a world where too many people abrogate responsibility, a calm, steady, smart, honest, hardworking, unselfish, quietly funny dad who unobtrusively always does the right thing should be cherished. Thanks, sweetheart.
* Eric and Daniel delivered "The Summer of Harry Potter," a fantastic two months in which they read and re-read the books, analyzed characters, predicted plot points, acted out wand duels, sent "owl post" messages to each other, and taught their little brothers Latin words. It was a glorious moment when the boys both finished book 5 and were then allowed to watch the movie for the first time. In the opening scene, as the Dementors swooped in to attack, Sam, age 3, pointed a chop stick "wand" at the TV and shouted "Expecto Patronum!"--before Daniel Radcliffe said it. What reflexes!
It has been a good year.
For myself, here is a list of what I'm most proud of:
* I stopped whining about "nobody ever giving me a chance to teach" and just decided to make my own opportunities. I started a writing camp for kids over the summer. It was successful.
* Afterward, a chance to lead an elementary math group fell into my lap, and I seized it. So much fun! Isn't it interesting how decisions drive destiny?
* I stopped thinking of myself as a "wanna-be/prospective/someday/future" writer, and started thinking of myself as a "real" writer, now. This happened at the same time I pitched my services to mathleague.org and said "You should hire me to do some technical writing." Something about getting paid to write--even if it is just "soulless procedures"--made it all seem official.
* It wasn't just the paycheck, though. I effected an internal shift. "Adulthood isn't an award they'll give you for being a good child," wrote Lois McMaster Bujold. "You can waste...years, trying to get someone to give that respect to you, as though it were a sort of promotion or raise in pay. If only you do enough, if only you are good enough. No. You have to just... take it. Give it to yourself, I suppose." I decided to start thinking of myself as a writer. Period. Even if I never get published formally, writing is part of my identity. I can't not write.
* I have forced myself to be more outgoing. Invite people over more. This has met with generally positive results.
I feel like everyone in the family has grown in positive ways. I know I feel like a "bigger" person than I was last year.
Let's see what growth 2014 brings.
Although...actually, what I'd like for 2014 is to see some shrinkage--of my waistline. [Wink]
I'm going to focus on the positive, though. Let's look back at the year's accomplishments:
* Daniel's DI team went to state.
* Eric did well at a state math competition.
* Sam transitioned from "talking like a toddler" to "talking in recognizable, complete sentences."
* Sam is now potty trained. One more to go. I can do this. I mean, Jeff can do this.
* Jeff actually decided to start talking. He is now babbling meaningful phrases, like "Oh, thanks, mom."
* Jon continued to be wonderful and awesome. He says he can't think of a specific accomplishment, but then, he has so little room for improvement. It's so much easier to move from the 48th to the 49th percentile than to move from the 98th to the 99th. In a world where too many people abrogate responsibility, a calm, steady, smart, honest, hardworking, unselfish, quietly funny dad who unobtrusively always does the right thing should be cherished. Thanks, sweetheart.
* Eric and Daniel delivered "The Summer of Harry Potter," a fantastic two months in which they read and re-read the books, analyzed characters, predicted plot points, acted out wand duels, sent "owl post" messages to each other, and taught their little brothers Latin words. It was a glorious moment when the boys both finished book 5 and were then allowed to watch the movie for the first time. In the opening scene, as the Dementors swooped in to attack, Sam, age 3, pointed a chop stick "wand" at the TV and shouted "Expecto Patronum!"--before Daniel Radcliffe said it. What reflexes!
It has been a good year.
For myself, here is a list of what I'm most proud of:
* I stopped whining about "nobody ever giving me a chance to teach" and just decided to make my own opportunities. I started a writing camp for kids over the summer. It was successful.
* Afterward, a chance to lead an elementary math group fell into my lap, and I seized it. So much fun! Isn't it interesting how decisions drive destiny?
* I stopped thinking of myself as a "wanna-be/prospective/someday/future" writer, and started thinking of myself as a "real" writer, now. This happened at the same time I pitched my services to mathleague.org and said "You should hire me to do some technical writing." Something about getting paid to write--even if it is just "soulless procedures"--made it all seem official.
* It wasn't just the paycheck, though. I effected an internal shift. "Adulthood isn't an award they'll give you for being a good child," wrote Lois McMaster Bujold. "You can waste...years, trying to get someone to give that respect to you, as though it were a sort of promotion or raise in pay. If only you do enough, if only you are good enough. No. You have to just... take it. Give it to yourself, I suppose." I decided to start thinking of myself as a writer. Period. Even if I never get published formally, writing is part of my identity. I can't not write.
* I have forced myself to be more outgoing. Invite people over more. This has met with generally positive results.
I feel like everyone in the family has grown in positive ways. I know I feel like a "bigger" person than I was last year.
Let's see what growth 2014 brings.
Although...actually, what I'd like for 2014 is to see some shrinkage--of my waistline. [Wink]
Sunday, November 24, 2013
Pickets and Picnics and Pigs, Oh My! (Also Bears, My Bane.)
I enjoyed playing legos with my boys today, but people are accusing me of sneaking in a homeschool lesson on a Sunday. You be the judge.
Daniel assigned me to set up a "store" and stock it with merchandise in legoland.
Bear added that he refused to be sold as meat. I suggested that I could sell him as a bear skin rug, instead. He protested. What about bear claws? He still objected. Then I suggested selling bear fat. He began to protest, but I pulled him aside and whispered a business deal: I would help him lose weight, and he would submit to liposuction. He countered that he got to keep 33% of all my proceeds, not my profits. I sighed that he struck a hard bargain, but we shook on it.
Our jars of bear fat were pretty successful. I began marketing them as a cooking ingredient, or a way to waterproof one's boots, or a healing salve for chapped winter skin, or even a method for slicking back one's hair, if desired. I emphasized that this was an animal-friendly, fair trade process, and that no animals were being exploited or harmed.
Soon, however, Bear began demanding a bigger take of the proceeds. I declined, and began hunting for Checkov (Eric's Russian bear) as an alternate supplier. Bear thwarted this idea by organizing a union, though they did sign at the 33% figure.
When the contract was expiring, Bear attempted to use his collective bargaining power to push greedily for a 40% take. I refused.
Next thing I knew, there was a line bears picketing outside my factory. I brought in some pigs as scabs and started mixing bear and pig fat together, changing the labels from "Mommy's 100% Bear Fat" to "Mommy's Bear Fat: 100% Organic!"
The bears shouted some insulting things (and oinks) at the scabs. The pigs retorted "We may be working for only 25%, but at least this way she'll have an incentive to keep us alive; otherwise we'd be murdered this winter.") Bear claimed this demonstrated my unfair leverage over them and made the exploitation worse.
Then Ursa Major crossed the picket line. ("But I have a baby to support!") Bear was furious.
Bear launched a PR campaign to uncover my duplicitous labeling. It turned out my new jars were only about 10% bear fat. (But my labels weren't LYING, darn it!) Still, sales fell off.
After some unhappy financial consequences for both sides, we sat down at the negotiating table again. I agreed to 35%, plus free food to help the bears fatten up again. (They had already been low on fat storage, and the long strike hadn't helped.)
Things have now calmed down considerably, although Ursa Major is still not being invited to the union picnics. ("No picket, no picnic!")
Later, Eric finished his emporium and announced it was "a bricks and mortar store." I couldn't help laughing. They asked for clarification, and I gave a brief--brief!--explanation of the dot-com bubble in the late 90s.
The whole thing was unplanned and unscripted. Really, it felt more like an impromptu bedtime story than a sneaky homeschool lesson. After surviving the dispute with the bears, the last thing I need now is a dispute with my own children.
So, what do my loyal readers think? I'll admit things got out of hand, but Bear totally started it.
I'm still not sure what happened to the pigs...
Daniel assigned me to set up a "store" and stock it with merchandise in legoland.
Bear added that he refused to be sold as meat. I suggested that I could sell him as a bear skin rug, instead. He protested. What about bear claws? He still objected. Then I suggested selling bear fat. He began to protest, but I pulled him aside and whispered a business deal: I would help him lose weight, and he would submit to liposuction. He countered that he got to keep 33% of all my proceeds, not my profits. I sighed that he struck a hard bargain, but we shook on it.
Our jars of bear fat were pretty successful. I began marketing them as a cooking ingredient, or a way to waterproof one's boots, or a healing salve for chapped winter skin, or even a method for slicking back one's hair, if desired. I emphasized that this was an animal-friendly, fair trade process, and that no animals were being exploited or harmed.
Soon, however, Bear began demanding a bigger take of the proceeds. I declined, and began hunting for Checkov (Eric's Russian bear) as an alternate supplier. Bear thwarted this idea by organizing a union, though they did sign at the 33% figure.
When the contract was expiring, Bear attempted to use his collective bargaining power to push greedily for a 40% take. I refused.
Next thing I knew, there was a line bears picketing outside my factory. I brought in some pigs as scabs and started mixing bear and pig fat together, changing the labels from "Mommy's 100% Bear Fat" to "Mommy's Bear Fat: 100% Organic!"
The bears shouted some insulting things (and oinks) at the scabs. The pigs retorted "We may be working for only 25%, but at least this way she'll have an incentive to keep us alive; otherwise we'd be murdered this winter.") Bear claimed this demonstrated my unfair leverage over them and made the exploitation worse.
Then Ursa Major crossed the picket line. ("But I have a baby to support!") Bear was furious.
Bear launched a PR campaign to uncover my duplicitous labeling. It turned out my new jars were only about 10% bear fat. (But my labels weren't LYING, darn it!) Still, sales fell off.
After some unhappy financial consequences for both sides, we sat down at the negotiating table again. I agreed to 35%, plus free food to help the bears fatten up again. (They had already been low on fat storage, and the long strike hadn't helped.)
Things have now calmed down considerably, although Ursa Major is still not being invited to the union picnics. ("No picket, no picnic!")
Later, Eric finished his emporium and announced it was "a bricks and mortar store." I couldn't help laughing. They asked for clarification, and I gave a brief--brief!--explanation of the dot-com bubble in the late 90s.
The whole thing was unplanned and unscripted. Really, it felt more like an impromptu bedtime story than a sneaky homeschool lesson. After surviving the dispute with the bears, the last thing I need now is a dispute with my own children.
So, what do my loyal readers think? I'll admit things got out of hand, but Bear totally started it.
I'm still not sure what happened to the pigs...
Monday, November 11, 2013
In the Manner of the Adverb--Hilariously, Compassionately, Contentedly
Today after homeschool and chores were done, we played "In the manner of the adverb." My thanks to Renae Kingsley for teaching me this game!
I could explain the rules, but you'll pick them up better in context. Let me just describe a few rounds and you'll get it.
I left the room while Eric and Daniel conferred. When they were ready, I came back in. "Eric," I said. "I want you to tap dance in the manner of the adverb."
It was comical to see him trying to tap dance. It was hard, though, to tell how much of the wild gesticulation was due to his mysterious adverb, and how much was due to his inexperience.
Next I asked Daniel to pretend to cook dinner in the manner of the adverb. He walked into the kitchen, picked up various ingredients lying around, and mimed dumping them into a pot. He made a point of mentioning that the pot was dirty, then "threw in" stovetop stuffing, cheesecake mix, various spices, empty jars formerly containing alfredo sauce, pieces of trash...
Finally, I asked both boys to pretend to dig holes in the manner of the adverb. Eric's "hole" was more of a "trench" that careened wildly all over the living room. Daniel comically mimed tossing dirt high into the air, and then flailing about with his shovel when the dirt landed in his face. (I'm pretty sure he "hit" Eric with his imaginary shovel a few times, but Eric didn't react appropriately. Tsk.)
After those three prompts, I had to guess the adverb. I tried "crazily," "randomly," and "wildly" to no avail. If I'd gotten a fourth try, I would have tried "haphazardly." Nope. They stumped me. It turned out their adverb was "untraditionally."
I laughed.
Next Daniel left the room while Eric and I conferred. When Daniel re-entered, he asked me to "build a redstone circuit computer in minecraft in the manner of the adverb." I stood sharply, saluted, and marched over to an imaginary computer screen. "Hmm," I boomed. "Yes, I can see the benefits to having a computer internal to minecraft. We could use it to calculate trajectories. This will require a lot of contract work. It will cost a million dollars and it will be three years late, but the end result will work, mostly. Remember it's vital to national security!"
(I was proud of that improvisation, by the way.)
Next, Daniel turned to Eric. "Eric, tell me what the adverb is, in the manner of the adverb." Eric froze. "You're not allowed to ask me that--" he began, but I pulled him aside. After a whispered consultation in the library in which I coached him, he returned to Daniel, saluted, and said, "Sir. That was an illegal order, sir!" (I wanted him to say "According to the UCMJ", but I figured he wouldn't remember that, alas.)
Finally, Daniel asked both of us to spar in the manner of the adverb. Eric and I began pretending to trade punches, and I started yelling. "You call that a block? You think the enemy will be impressed with your puny efforts, private? Drop and give me twenty push-ups, you miserable excuse for a recruit!"
Daniel said, "I know what you're doing, but I don't know the word for it. It's like you're in the army."
I gave it to him. "The word," I beamed at him, "was 'militaristically.'"
It was fun. Sam ran around, imitating everyone else and getting in the way. Jeff was asleep in the office.
I enjoyed playing with my boys.
Yesterday was hard. It was concurrently Marian's sixth birthday and the yearly kid's program at church.
As I looked at all the cute little girls singing "I am a Child of God" and "Families Can Be Together Forever," I thought "She ought to be up there." I reminded myself that every person has problems in life. Everyone has some heartache, often privately held. He might be facing divorce, addiction, guilt, cancer, infertility, debt, abuse, mental illness. She might be facing a floundering business, a dying parent, an unhappy marriage, a spiritual crisis. If Christ's infinite suffering gave him perfect understanding, surely my lesser griefs can give me expanded empathy for others.
One more reason to be kind to everyone; you never know who is suffering secretly.
Today was better. "You do not betray your sorrow to set it aside for an hour....Remember to take joy." [*1] I have four healthy, brilliant, creative, hilarious boys. Today I played with them. I enjoyed the moment, and then I recorded it for posterity. I chose to be thankful for my blessings, and happy in my circumstances.
In my head, I'm replaying the footage of Eric trying to tap dance "untraditionally." (It looked vaguely like Dick Van Dyke doing "Step in Time" in Mary Poppins.)
Priceless.
[*1 From The Sharing Knife by Lois McMaster Bujold.]
I could explain the rules, but you'll pick them up better in context. Let me just describe a few rounds and you'll get it.
I left the room while Eric and Daniel conferred. When they were ready, I came back in. "Eric," I said. "I want you to tap dance in the manner of the adverb."
It was comical to see him trying to tap dance. It was hard, though, to tell how much of the wild gesticulation was due to his mysterious adverb, and how much was due to his inexperience.
Next I asked Daniel to pretend to cook dinner in the manner of the adverb. He walked into the kitchen, picked up various ingredients lying around, and mimed dumping them into a pot. He made a point of mentioning that the pot was dirty, then "threw in" stovetop stuffing, cheesecake mix, various spices, empty jars formerly containing alfredo sauce, pieces of trash...
Finally, I asked both boys to pretend to dig holes in the manner of the adverb. Eric's "hole" was more of a "trench" that careened wildly all over the living room. Daniel comically mimed tossing dirt high into the air, and then flailing about with his shovel when the dirt landed in his face. (I'm pretty sure he "hit" Eric with his imaginary shovel a few times, but Eric didn't react appropriately. Tsk.)
After those three prompts, I had to guess the adverb. I tried "crazily," "randomly," and "wildly" to no avail. If I'd gotten a fourth try, I would have tried "haphazardly." Nope. They stumped me. It turned out their adverb was "untraditionally."
I laughed.
Next Daniel left the room while Eric and I conferred. When Daniel re-entered, he asked me to "build a redstone circuit computer in minecraft in the manner of the adverb." I stood sharply, saluted, and marched over to an imaginary computer screen. "Hmm," I boomed. "Yes, I can see the benefits to having a computer internal to minecraft. We could use it to calculate trajectories. This will require a lot of contract work. It will cost a million dollars and it will be three years late, but the end result will work, mostly. Remember it's vital to national security!"
(I was proud of that improvisation, by the way.)
Next, Daniel turned to Eric. "Eric, tell me what the adverb is, in the manner of the adverb." Eric froze. "You're not allowed to ask me that--" he began, but I pulled him aside. After a whispered consultation in the library in which I coached him, he returned to Daniel, saluted, and said, "Sir. That was an illegal order, sir!" (I wanted him to say "According to the UCMJ", but I figured he wouldn't remember that, alas.)
Finally, Daniel asked both of us to spar in the manner of the adverb. Eric and I began pretending to trade punches, and I started yelling. "You call that a block? You think the enemy will be impressed with your puny efforts, private? Drop and give me twenty push-ups, you miserable excuse for a recruit!"
Daniel said, "I know what you're doing, but I don't know the word for it. It's like you're in the army."
I gave it to him. "The word," I beamed at him, "was 'militaristically.'"
It was fun. Sam ran around, imitating everyone else and getting in the way. Jeff was asleep in the office.
I enjoyed playing with my boys.
Yesterday was hard. It was concurrently Marian's sixth birthday and the yearly kid's program at church.
As I looked at all the cute little girls singing "I am a Child of God" and "Families Can Be Together Forever," I thought "She ought to be up there." I reminded myself that every person has problems in life. Everyone has some heartache, often privately held. He might be facing divorce, addiction, guilt, cancer, infertility, debt, abuse, mental illness. She might be facing a floundering business, a dying parent, an unhappy marriage, a spiritual crisis. If Christ's infinite suffering gave him perfect understanding, surely my lesser griefs can give me expanded empathy for others.
One more reason to be kind to everyone; you never know who is suffering secretly.
Today was better. "You do not betray your sorrow to set it aside for an hour....Remember to take joy." [*1] I have four healthy, brilliant, creative, hilarious boys. Today I played with them. I enjoyed the moment, and then I recorded it for posterity. I chose to be thankful for my blessings, and happy in my circumstances.
In my head, I'm replaying the footage of Eric trying to tap dance "untraditionally." (It looked vaguely like Dick Van Dyke doing "Step in Time" in Mary Poppins.)
Priceless.
[*1 From The Sharing Knife by Lois McMaster Bujold.]
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