Emily's Vacation Reading Reviews

Post by Emily:

 

 Tomod:a templers apprentice- Tormod Macleod,  a boy cursed with the Vision, delivers a secret message to the Pope and gets sucked into an epic adventure as Templer Alexander's apprentice. He will face dangers because they are hunting him. Tormod has seen what will happen,but could he change it?

                                                                           4 stars

Tormod: a templers gifts- Tormod has returned home to his many younger siblings, older brother, mom and very angry dad. The Power he developed while with the templer stands out and he leaves. Tormod's power is going out of control until he meets a girl called Aine also with the Vision and the Power. Only she can mend him.  They are still being hunted.  They must find Bertand, he will help them.

                                                                         4.5 stars 

The true meaning of Smekday: A group of aliens called the Boov have invaded Earth and Gratuity's mom has been abducted (by the aliens).  The boov want all the humans to relocate to Florida but Gratuity is set on not going. With her cat Pig and a criminal Boov called J.Lo she embarks on a hilarious journey. But that's not all, they're faced with more problems, such as the undefeated Takers, or Nimrogs or Gorg. Whatever.

                                                                  Infinity stars

                                                                   

  

Sleeping on the train

I should have taken more pictures.  Here are my sketches of the girls resting on the train.

Kate's drawing of our family.  I am the hairy one in the middle. 

Emily's description of her conversation with Kate.

Today while Emily's German-pancakes were cooking Kate walked up to her and said:

Kate: When a pancakes be done?
Emily: Five minutes?
Kate: No.
Emily: Maybe ten minutes?
Kate: No.
Emily: No minutes??
Kate: Yes!

Taking the train to D.C.

 I told Leila that I wanted to take the train because it was cheaper than flying.  This is true, but not all true.  The real truth is that I wanted to take a train trip.  It seemed so cool, like a hipster way of travelling better than the frantic queues of frustrated fliers waiting to get through inane security.  (Does anyone really think taking off our shoes keeps us safer? Don't get me started.) I hate driving long distances and the train stops one hour from Huxley.  And somehow a train trip is an adventure, with the potential for good and for bad times.  When I told Leila about the cost that was just an excuse.  I wanted to do something exciting.  


It takes ~ 28 hours to go from Osceola, IA to Washington D.C. Union Station on the train, including the 5 hours downtime in Chicago between trains.  Leila saw through my arguments completely and decided that this adventure was one she could sit out.  Sleeping on the train, in our seats, potentially bad food, truly strange strangers, and the very real possibility of train delays were actualities brighter than any romantic notions of train travel.  Aleah and Emily I volunteered.  I told them it would be awesome.  


We were supposed to catch the train in Osceola, IA at 7:30 AM.  I got the girls up at 5:00 AM to get there in time to get a parking spot and to be on time for the train.  We didn't need to hurry.  The tiny station was close to empty, and the train didn't get there until almost 9 AM.  When the train pulled up, it was still exciting though.  He tooted his horn and we climbed aboard.  The seats were larger than plane seats with room enough that I couldn't reach my foot to the seat in front of me, only to the footrest.  

Aleah in the Lounge Car.  She just beamed at everyone.  

It took about 6 hours to get to Chicago, and then we had a long wait until our next train.  We wandered around the city and Aleah quickly tired of walking with her stuff.  We decided to get a locker, but then discovered that when we squeezed our bags in it broke the kindle screen.  That was one expensive locker.

On the way back we had the same long wait in Chicago, but ditched our stuff sooner and made it to Millenium Park to see the sculptures and the play in the fountain. Chicago's Union Station is probably the worst designed building I have ever seen.  This beautiful waiting area is mostly empty, because to get on your train you have to go down a level and cram into a small, poorly lit, waiting area with threadbear dirty carpet.  Someone really should have planned that better.

We worried about sleeping on the train.  The seats were large and leaned back quite far, but it still is tough sleeping sitting up.  Leila packed us a whole bag of food and another suitcase with three pillows and three large blankets so we were set. Aleah schmooshed herself against me and quickly fell asleep( or asphyxiated  - she was pressed so tightly against me).  The man sitting next to Emily felt uncomfortable with her leaning against him and asked me if I would switch with her.  I put her next to Aleah, but she didn't want Aleah to touch her.  That didn't work.  Aleah and I went to the lounge car and slept there.  The conductor woke us up a couple of times, but didn't make us go back to our seats till morning and we all were able to lay down and sleep.

The best part of the trip was the diversity of passengers: Amish, Mennonite, Brethren, Hipsters, Hispanics, Black, White, Indian, and Muslim. I had a couple of long discussions with the Amish families travelling.  There was a little Amish girl that was Aleah's age and they played together some, but she mostly spoke Dutch and little English.  It was a hoot to hear from two brothers' plans to increase production of furniture and hopes to be able to sell their chairs in China.  We discussed corn prices and my job and the difficulties of raising kids in the world, but not of the world.  I am fascinated with the balance of modern and traditional lifestyle from the different Amish and Mennonite groups.  I feel like I have to make some of those same tradeoffs now, even though I have most of the modern conveniences.

I will put some more pictures up of the rest our trip later.  It is getting late and I have to go to work tomorrow.  Too bad I can't have a vacation from my vacation before going back to the everyday troubles.

Mystery of the Unbroken Egg

We have a mystery at our house.  On Wednesday morning, I woke up Aleah to go to school.  When she rolled over, I saw an egg in her bed.  There was a brown, raw egg sitting unbroken next to her in bed. This sounds like a crime for Encyclopedia Brown!

How did an egg get in her bed?  We discussed the possibilities at breakfast:

1. Aleah slept-walk down stairs, picked up an egg from the counter or fridge and brought it back to bed with her.  Then she rolled over and didn't smash it.
2. Emily suggests that I had an egg in my pocket and it fell out when I read stories.  This is possible, since sometimes when I get the eggs I put them in my pockets, but I did not get eggs that day.  So I would have had to have had the egg in my pocket for two or three days and then deposited it in her bed.  Or the egg would have been in her bed for two or three days.  We read stories every night sitting on Aleah's bed and I can't see how a raw egg could be unbroken with three children and I sitting on the bed.  Especially because Kate and Colleen are wiggly worms.  
3. Another member of our family, in their sleep, got an egg and put it in her bed. This rules out Kate since she still can't get out of her crib without help.  Emily says she can, but I have not seen it ever.  
4. Someone did it on purpose, as a joke. No one fessed up to this, and we aren't very funny.
5. A chicken came in the house through an open door, went upstairs, climbed in bed with Aleah, under the covers, and laid an egg.  At night. Then went outside again before anyone saw it.  The one piece of evidence that supports this convoluted theory is that Kate left the chicken coop hatch open and two chickens were wandering the yard the next day, and there were chicken footprints on the steps.  The cat can push the door open, security at our house is a little lax, and that night I did wake up around 11 and push the door closed.  But that means that sometime between 10:30 and 11:00, a chicken came into the house, went upstairs, did the deed, and then departed.  Chickens lay eggs during the day usually too.  
6. Someone else came in our house and put an egg in her bed - creepy.  

Who can solve the mystery of the egg in Aleah's bed?  Duh Dah Nah!!

Kansas City Temple Open House and Update

Thanks for all of the responses to my last post.  There aren't a lot of comments there, but a lot of people have asked me about it.  I have decided that I will give gluten-free a try, but I am easing my way into it. I am a little reluctant because it would require changing how we all eat, or separate meals for me.  That and gluten-free diets seem like such a fad, with some fanatical followers.

This is just a part of our food storage: a lot of wheat, noodles, and non-gluten free food. 

Two weeks ago, we went to Kansas City to visit the new LDS temple.  Before LDS temples are dedicated, they are open for tours to the public.  My children had been to the temple with us but, always had to wait outside, because they are not old enough to enter the temple.  This was a good chance for them to see what it was like and for us to get away from Huxley.  

 We decided we would drive down the day before, eat at a restaurant on the way, and stay at a hotel.  We ate at a local greasy spoon in Lamoni, IA (I am betting that Mormon's settled there at one time - I checked, it is one of the headquarters for the Community of Christ - Mormon offshoot religion).  Slow service, but good food. They had Amish crafts for sale around the restaurant and there were buggies driving on the highway outside.

 We found a great hotel that had a mini-waterpark inside.  It was an ideal place to stay, just one exit from Liberty, Missouri.  We all had a great time going down the slide, which was wicked fast if you arched your back and rode on the balls of your feet.  Emily swears I almost shot over the edge.  It was that fast.

 After 2 hours of playing in the water, we went to Liberty Jail (Too dark and scary for Kate) and found a barbecue for lunch.  Kansas City is famous for its "burnt ends", but this place had amazing burgers.

 It was very windy, a huge storm system was building.  The temple was packed.  Lots of good questions from the people in our tour group.

On our way home there was so much wind and rain we could hardly see to drive.  Leila pulled off the freeway and we hung out at JoAnns until it eased up.  There were multiple tornados in the storm, just off the freeway we learned later, but we didn't see any of them.  It was hard enough to see the semi truck in front of us.

Back home, the storm blew down the bird's nest by the front door and broke all the eggs.  It was too bad, because the house finch had laid 4 more blue eggs and I suspect that the two mottled eggs were really from a cowbird.  It would have been really interesting to see brood parasitism up close.

A Sample Size of One

We had pie for breakfast today, for the second day in a row.  Leila made pie to go along with Easter, and in one of the glorious Gardunia traditions - leftover pie for breakfast. As I ate my second piece of pumpkin pie, I seriously considered that this could be my last pie.  This last week I had another round of blood tests to monitor my liver enzymes.  Wait, let me back up, there is more to this story that I have not told.

Almost two years ago now, I thought I would go for a physical.  I hadn't had one since I was in high school and it mostly consisted of turning my head, coughing, and trying to get out of the office as fast as possible with a signature so I could run cross country.  Pretty routine.  My weight was good, a little higher than I had been before, but still on the thin side of normal.  My blood pressure was good.  Then my blood work came back.  Cholesterol - normal.  Blood sugar - Normal.  Liver enzymes - Four times above normal.  Dangerously high.  My doctor was concerned that I might have hepatitis, reasonable since I had been exposed repeatedly on my mission in the Leon University Hospital.  I worked in the emergency room for service and helped with two patients that essentially died of liver failure along with some severe infections and broken bones.  

My local doc referred me to a specialist - Dr. Semon.  He came into the examining room with an IV bag pumping chemotherapy into his spleen.  He had stage four cancer, and no patience for the apparently healthy guy with abnormal liver enzymes.  He felt around and told me it could be inflamed, but was most likely a fluke.  A false positive. "Get tested again." he said.  A few days later he called.  "Get tested again.  Still probably a lab error."  

After a few rounds of blood work he was convinced that there might be something legitimately wrong with my liver and ordered an ultra sound.  When I could get in for that, the tech laughed when he chatted with me about looking for a fatty and inflamed liver.  "Not likely," he said.  "You don't fit the profile - obese, diabetic."  I am very ticklish and it was an ordeal for both of us.  But he didn't laugh.  He was concerned.  He said, "You have a 50-year-old alcoholic's liver."  

Dr. Semon, told me that if I could lose 10 pounds, exercise, this would probably go away on its own, but if it didn't I would need to get a biopsy.  I had six months.  So I started running again.  I was careful about what I ate, I lost 10 lb,  I ran a half marathon.  My liver enzymes were still 3 x above normal, so he booked me for a biopsy.  "The biopsy," he said, "would hurt a lot, they push a big needle between your ribs and pull out a sliver of the inside of the liver. If you move wrong, they can puncture your lung. So hold still when they tell you."  The drugs knocked me out and I don't hardly remember it, that was a relief. But, the pathologist's report said that 80% of my liver cells were full of fat, but no visible scar tissue.  I was officially diagnosed with Non-Alcoholic Steato-Hepatitis (NASH).  

All of this took about 18 months, and Dr. Semon passed away.  My new doctor assured me that my levels are still dropping (a little less than 3x higher than normal) and that I could probably maintain at this level for "a long time." I still have regular blood tests for liver enzymes.  

Back to the pie: This last week I went in to give my sample, and I noticed that she had requested a Celiac panel as well.  Celiac disease is an immune response to gluten - a key protein in wheat and other cereals, that cascades into a syndrome of inflammation that affects almost the whole body, but especially the digestive system, including the liver.  I went online and started reading about Celiac symptoms and pathology, about gluten free diets.  I was actually excited that this could be the answer.  Many of the worst symptoms I do not have.  My digestion is fast, but not painful, or abnormal.  However, all that I read conceded that the symptoms were variable across many people and some do not show any symptoms other than increased liver enzyme levels - That is me I thought.  I read some very encouraging research studies where people with my liver symptoms within a year of gluten-free diets returned to normal.  Aha, I thought, finally something I could do to take control of this.  I could cut out wheat if it meant that I didn't have to worry about this nagging health issue.  

My test results came back on Monday.  I am probably not a celiac. But, I wish I was, because then I could do something about this. Reading articles about liver disease, there is a probability that changing my diet will affect my liver enzymes, but it isn't a high probability, unless I am a celiac and reacting to gluten.  I realized though that the probabilities mean less when I am the patient, because I am a sample size of one.  There is a probability that the blood tests were wrong, 20% false negative rate for IgA, 5% for the multiple tests.  5 out of a hundred people.  But am I the minority or the majority?

I never understood this about people before now.  My mission president once told me the wonders of bee pollen and colloidal silver for improving his health.  I looked up the papers about both, neither had any significant health benefits in clinical trials.  Why would he take this I thought, it has no evidence to support it.  But, it seemed to work for him.

The only way to test with a sample size of one is to introduce a treatment and measure the response later in time, but that response is confounded by all of the other elements of the changes I have made to my life.  For example,  if I take Vitamin E, while simultaneously exercising, or eating better, and there is an effect.  Which really was the cause?  If I do nothing, and my stress level reduces, that could have an effect also. If I cut out gluten and the levels drop, is it do to decreased gluten or the cascading other changes to what I eat? And there is no control population.  What works for me may be ineffective for 95% of people, but if it works, it works.   So I am left with a dilemna.  One way or another, I am experimenting on myself.  Looking for changes that may be out of my control.  

What to say. . .

After Aleah's video I am a little tongue tied.  I just can't top that.  It was one of the best examples of her personality and spring.  I have decided that spring is definitely my favorite time of year in Iowa. Iowa is at its best.  I love seeing the calves in the pastures and the spring flowers, before the summer weeds make me hate my flowerbeds.

I have been reading a book my coworker gave me about hiking in Iowa.  Iowa is not the same as Idaho.  It is a little depressing to read about the tiny pieces of Iowa wilderness that are left.  Idaho has thousands of acres of wilderness, state and federal lands, mostly protected, and mostly open for hiking and camping.  Some people argue that these lands should be sold to the highest bidder, but after living in the Midwest and Texas for a decade, I am convinced that this would be a grave error.  Imagine Iowa if the federal and state government in the early days of settlement had decided to preserve large tracts of prairie.  It is harder to preserve farm ground than hard to reach mountain valleys, but I guarantee that if Idaho had been parcelled into private farms and ranches throughout the wilderness someone would have wanted it, logged it, built on it, fenced it, and much would be lost.

I hope to devote some time this summer seeking out some of the wildish (Mostly restored) bits of prairie and wilderness left in Iowa.  We will see how far that desire goes once the craziness of summer selection sets in.

Aleah's tour of our yard

An early spring is a good spring

Spring is here!  This has been such a mild winter.  When we first came and visited Iowa three years ago around this time it depressingly cold and brown still.  This year the trees are budded out, the grass is green, the flowers and weeds are all up.  Time to get to work!

Kate on the porch.

I ordered a new camera - a waterproof, shockproof Panasonic Lumix.  I am really pleased with it so far.  It doesn't take great pictures inside - the color balance isn't quite right.  I am not sure how to adjust that either.  But let's hope it is tough enough to last us a while, otherwise I am tempted to go back to a film camera.  We have had trouble with digital cameras breaking.  At work, my digital camera froze up after some dew dripped on it.  Ours at home have been broken after being dropped or frozen up after they got dirty.

Random pictures from the new camera:

Leila insisted on me buying new Sunday shoes.  

I have had the same broken pair from my mission and another pair I got out of the DI bin at BYU in 2000.  I lucked upon these babies on sale for 70% off.  The square long toe is an odd style to me still, but for that price I will gladly join in.

Colleen loves you THIS much. Kate just loves the computer.

Leila in pigtails.  You can see the bit of my finger there, the camera lens is near the side and is easily covered.  

More Gardunia's

As Leila has already announced on her sewing blog, things have been a whole lot of crazy at our house. We are expecting another child (A Bayesian would say a girl - updated prior probability of 4 girls out of 5), and Leila has been sick, very sick.  Add on top of that me leaving town for project reviews, etc.  The kids have been a big help.  Emily cooked dinner multiple times and the other kids have helped with chores, maybe with a little whining.  The Relief Society at church brought us a number of meals and helped watch the little kids, which released a lot of pressure on me.

I find that I can usually find the negative in just about any situation, and the thought of another baby fills me with visions of late nights, diapers, crying kids, and all the rest.  But, and this is a big but, there is nothing that I take more pride in than being a father.

When I was in high school, I remember thinking hard about the kind of man I wanted to become and I wanted so badly to be the opposite of my father.  I hadn't seen him for years and I could see how hard my mom was trying to hold our family together.  I swore to myself that things would be different for me.  I looked around and saw how Bishop Lindstrom and others were with there kids and families and I wanted that.  I didn't know what that was, but I wanted it.

When Emily was born, we struggled.  School was hard.  Emily didn't sleep and for a while wouldn't eat.  I would walk her at night and try to squeeze some formula or milk into her through a syringe and a thin tube I would hold on my finger, one ounce at a time.  Leila and I both struggled how to adapt to the demands of parenthood, lack of sleep, and still hold it together.  Through all of that, I wouldn't trade those nights for anything in the world.  Sometimes I would fall asleep with Emily lying on my chest as I rocked her asleep on the couch.  Sometimes she would throw herself back, completely trusting that we would catch her.  I still didn't know what it was that I had, but it was what I had wanted all along.

Each one of our kids has had their challenges.  Each one has liked me best (Don't tell Leila).  And each one has been my very favorite, and still is.  What could go wrong? (Don't ask me, I have a list.)

Postscript: Leila has an interesting commentary and discussion on her blog about current birth control debate.  You can tell she gets more readers than I do since she had 38 comments in a day.

Just outside of the fields in Hawaii

Hawaii's desert reminds me of pictures from the Mars Lander. The red dirt sticks and clings to everything.  Some days my rental car and I were completely camouflaged after a light rain and then wind.  In Oahu most of the fields used to be pineapple farms.  That is why you can see bits of black plastic.  The pineapple growers put down layers of black plastic, soil fumigants, and sterilizants to prevent weeds and pests. Soil remediation required mixing tons of charcoal into the soil and raking up bales of black plastic as well as a fallow period before other crops would grow.  

On the way back to the airport in Maui, I stopped by a bird preserve where they were trying to increase the populations of endangered Hawaiian Coots and Stilts.  It used to be a lagoon for farming catfish.  There was a pretty good sized flock of birds and I wished I had a decent camera with me.  If you squint, there is a stilt flying above the water.  I had other pictures of the coots, but I won't inflict smudges on the water on you.  If you go to Maui, it is just off the beach near Kihei.

They had traps set around the perimeter of the wildlife area to catch cats and rats, I think.  There are feral cats all over the island as well as bantam chickens.  I am not sure why the chickens have done so well there, but even the excess cats don't seem to be making a dent in their populations.  The native birds have a more difficult time.  They had carefully replanted the edges in native plants and if you squint and turn the computer around you can see the tiny butterflies on the native succulents.  I really need to bring another camera besides my cellphone. 

Oahu has clustered most of the hotels in Waikiki.  There are a few very expensive ones in other places, but 99% of visitors stay along the thin strip of hotels along the beach.  It is a fun place to stay if you like people watching.  There are crowds of Chinese, Japanese, Korean, European, and a few American tourists.

My first year visiting Hawaii I ate every night at Morio's Sushi - the Sushi Nazi of Hawaii.  Great sushi, low prices, but almost impossible to get a seat.  The waitress the last two years remembered me and saved me a seat at the bar when I was in town.  But, his tiny sushi bar in Waikiki closed and he moved to an even smaller place further away.  I tried to get in one night and couldn't so I ended up at a small ramen shop.  That was my new favorite. Most nights I was the only American there, yet it was packed.  I sat at the bar and sketched and listened in to the other people at the bar joking and gossiping in Japanese.  I don't feel bad at all about eavesdropping when I don't understand the language.  I also went to a Japanese barbecue/bar where not even the staff spoke English and ate something that had small pancakes and stir-fried cabbage. I have no idea what it was since the menu was only in Japanese.    

The beaches and water in Hawaii really feel like something out of a postcard.  It's a tough job, but somebody has to do it.  Next time Leila has to come with me.   

Our new oven

 Before I left for Hawaii, I made this pretend oven for the kids to play with while I was gone.  I need to paint it and add knobs and burners.  It is just plywood but I was pleased how it turned out.  It is just the right size for little kids and I actually like it without a door.

While the little kids were playing with pretend food, Emily made angel food cake from scratch, with no help at all.  12 eggs in one go.  Turned out perfectly. We made creme brulee with the left over yolks.  Not necessarily great for the waistline, but oh so good with raspberry freezer jam.

What is a good teacher worth?

The Heritage Institute recently wanted to compare public teacher salaries with private sector jobs and to settle once and for all the question whether teachers are over or underpaid.  To do this they looked at education level of teachers, adjusted by estimated "cognitive abilities" - How smart they are, benefits - insurance, retirement, summer vacation, and "job security".  They concluded that "public-school teachers receive compensation about 52 percent higher than their skills would otherwise garner in the private sector."

A key part of their argument is that although teachers have bachelors, masters, and in some cases doctorate degrees that their cognitive ability is lower than private sector workers with similar education level.  The authors argue that their degrees in education won't translate well to other fields  and that their "years of education may not be as valuable in the marketplace as for workers in other occupations."  Even their degree isn't as good as other majors because, "Given the relative lack of rigor of education courses, many teachers have not faced as demanding a college curriculum as other graduates." They also suggest that the smarter education majors change their minds and do not become teachers, because " Four-year graduates who became public-school teachers scored 0.23 standard deviations below [on the SAT] four-year graduates who did not become teachers."

This is hogwash.  I agree that education majors take fluff classes and they aren't on the whole good at math.  They avoid hard classes and get away with taking classes on children's literature and teaching methodology, while I struggled with organic chemistry and molecular biology.  But does "cognitive ability" make someone a better teacher? I had a lot of college professors with high cognitive ability, but couldn't teach a dog to chase a stick.  They dreaded it and hid behind powerpoint presentations and high standards to cover for poor teaching skills.  Yes, teachers get summers off.  That is a great perk.  And they have good retirement packages, and good health insurance.  If they are really making twice what they should, then why don't more people want to do it? I certainly don't want to.

What does it take to be a good teacher? It isn't necessarily what they teach, or even all how they teach, but to me how much they care.  That is hard to quantify and doesn't work in a linear fixed model.

Ms. Murr (Cassidy) 
She was my second grade teacher, and the second crush I ever had.  I was not as smitten as my friend Jeron, but I was more than willing to stay late cleaning chalkboards.  I remember being appalled to find out she was 28 or some ancient age like that, and getting married.  When she was married she invited us to the wedding.  She had a special rule for me.  I was supposed to be touching my desk at all times.  I remember dancing around it while everyone else was working hard.  She was from Georgia and her brother sent us a big box of raw peanuts to try.  We had tornado drills, which was odd for us since there had never been a tornado.  My friend and I drew a whole roll of butcher paper over the break and she accepted it gladly on our return.  She draped it all around the classroom and was impressed by the many dinosaur species we had tried to draw from the Childcraft and a dinosaur coloring book. I read Hardy Boys nonstop that year.  I loved going to school.

Mr. Burda 
My sixth grade teacher always told us he wanted to be a firefighter when he grew up.  This was immensely funny to him.  He cut off his thumb on accident with the paper cutter one day.  He used to read to us hours a day.  One day the principal came in while he was reading to us. The principal was furious, apparently reading out loud wasn't part of the curriculum.  He chewed Mr Burda out in front of us.  When the principal left, Mr. Burda picked up his book and said, "Now, where were we."

That was the first year in Boise, after my parents separated.  I had few friends.  I wanted to be in the Gifted and Talented Program.  I asked Mr Burda if I could go.  He took me aside at lunch and sat staring at me a moment, then said.  "No, I don't think that would be a good idea."  I wanted to know why.  He thought, and then told me he didn't think that the two boys in the GT program would be a good influence on me. (He was right about that.  The first R rated movie I ever saw was at Nate's house.)  He asked me why I wanted to join.  I told him I was bored.  He made a deal with me.  If I finished my assignments early, I could go to the library anytime and bring books back to read.  He had me do my math assignments in different bases: binary, 3, 6, 8, 11.  He had a stack of story problems and would leave one or two on my desk.  He took our class to see the solar eclipse from the astronomy department on campus.

Mrs. Olic-Hamilton
I dreaded 11th grade English.  Mrs. Olic-Hamilton was supposed to be tough and mean, and she was.  We read book after book.  At first, one every two weeks, then once a week.  We had to type our essays.  Now this seems commonplace, but at the time was near impossible for me.  I didn't have a computer.  Mrs. O-H pulled me aside and gave me an electric typewriter.  I fell asleep typing on it sometimes and had to retype the whole page.

She discussed literary theory with us.  We had to write essays using biographical or historical evidence, or deconstructionist analysis of the text.  She required first person sources.  I read letters written by Emily Dickinsen and diaries from the Civil War.  It was a revelation that publishers actually changed the punctuation and wording to make her poems "right."   That year I discovered the Anthology of Magazine Verse from the 1920's and fell in love with the Harlem Renaissance poets. Langston Hughes is still one of my favorites.  I decided that the Scarlet Letter was a response to the rise of liberalism in America and France, and Hawthorne losing his job.  I wrote a short story about the death of my cousin in a car accident - mostly fictional, yet still the best description of how I felt.

One day she asked me to stay behind.  She asked me if I could do her a favor.  Some of the other kids in the class were shy in class.  She wanted to draw them out.  Maybe, I could help by holding back.  She would call on me during key moments to keep the discussion going, but I had to be prepared.  I studied all the harder, and sat on my hands.

Dr. Mooney
Our classroom was painted floor to ceiling with quotes and pictures from books and poems. We read John Donne and T. S. Elliot, "1984", and "Steppenwolf."  Dr. Mooney started some classes by getting out a peanut butter sandwich in a plastic bag.  He placed it on a stool in front of the chalkboard.  Then he sat on it until the end of class, when he took it out and ate it with relish.  One wall was devoted to the "Cereal Hall of Shame." Count Chocula, BlueBerry Sunrise, Uncle Sam's Natural Laxative Cereal.  Some days he would take us to a coffee shop for class, or interrupt the discussion to listen to Neil Diamond or watch bits of Ricky Lake.  Not because he liked them, but because they were that bad.  It could only get better.  We also read a lot, 1-2 books a week, two essays a week, every week.  But where Mrs. O-H pushed scholarship, Dr. Mooney pushed clarity.  Short, clean, precise arguments.  Gripping openings.

I was trying to decide where to go to college that year.  My mom made me promise to apply to BYU, really apply, scholarships and all, even though I wanted to go far away.  I didn't feel like I fit in with the other Mormon kids and I wanted to escape.  I applied to Harvey Mudd, Oberlin College, and New York University.  I was offered a large scholarship to Oberlin and a good scholarship to BYU.  I agonized over the decision; I broke out in hives from head to toe.  I did not want to go to BYU, but I felt pulled in that direction and it made no sense to me.  Deadlines loomed and I needed to decide.  Dr. Mooney noticed, and asked me to stay.  "Tell me about it." He said.  I talked for an hour.  He made lists on the board as I talked.  In the end, he erased it all and told me he felt like I was not agonizing over the schools.  They were all good schools.  I would do well at any of them.  The money would work out.  He thought I was deciding between a lifestyle.  Did I want to live as a part of Mormon culture?  He told me he thought it a bad idea, for him, but for me?  That was the question.

I went home, I looked at myself in the mirror.  It was not a hard decision after that.  I went to BYU.

Teachers are so important, because they are there at those key crossroads for kids, and the best ones notice and help where they can.  That is worth more than cognitive ability.  Should we pay them a decent wage to do that?  I think so.  

Emily's room

This post was going to be about finally finishing the endtable for Emily's room.  She had borrowed the end table from the porch to arrange her many special things a few months back and Leila had asked me to make her a replacement table.  I decided to make this one - from a design in Thos. Moser's book on Shaker furniture, with some simplifications.  It took me longer to finish this than I dare admit, since it was still in pieces for Christmas, but I am quite proud of it.  The drawer sticks a little and I compromised and screwed the drawer together instead of attempting the called for dove tails.

But, when I went to take pictures of the endtable, I was drawn in to Emily's intense decoration of her room.  When I was about her age, I shared a room with my sister Anna.  We put the bunkbeds in the center of the room and hung curtains on the bunkbed to divide the room so that we each had our own private spaces.  I moved my rocks and microscope into the closet and decorated it with pictures cut out of my Ranger Rick and Boy's life magazines.

From Emily's room

Emily has built on the same decorating bedrock, but out done anything I had ever attempted. Most of the pictures are from the National Geographic, but include bits and pieces from the Economist, the Scientist, the New Era, candy wrappers, part of an eggnog box, crafts she made in school, for holidays, and a large environmental poster.

The hanging bats were from Halloween and haunt one corner

Her cartoon characters, doodled on scraps of paper during church and school.

From Emily's room

This is my favorite drawing she has done.  It may be hard to see, but it has animals throughout and the letter T is a tree with monkey's hanging from it.  The ocean bubbles up around the word "Earth."

The arrangement of of faces without eyes is a little odd  though, especially since the eyes are distributed between pictures from magazines in the rest of the room.

It makes me feel like the walls are watching me.

As the years go by, she becomes more and more herself and I am happy to see her transform.  

Conversations with Colleen

I am convinced that my daughters' personalities were fully formed before they were born.  When they first opened their eyes and lungs outside the womb, they are themselves.  Colleen(er), as she often adds to her name, most certainly was internally perfectly developed before her physical body has caught up with her.  She often has the funniest things to tell you in her own way.

Her Earth
She regularly tells us about life in her earth.  She has a sister there, she says, named something like Sesskah.  Her sister tells her scary stories about lions sometimes.  They play together in her earth, or argue sometimes.  Once and a while they fight, but mostly her sister is nice to her.  Her mom, in her earth, makes her favorite foods to eat.  When she likes something she will often say that it is exactly like that in her earth - food, games, clothes.

Artist
We watched a PBS show about paper folding, called Between the Folds, fascinating documentary.  She was concerned part way through and asked me: "Why are there not any girl artists?"  I said, "Girls could be artists, I don't know why they haven't talked to any."  She frowned, put her finger to her cheek and tapped it lightly.  After a few minutes, "I am an artist!" she exclaimed and ran to get printer paper out.  For the rest of the documentary she folded the paper into square table-like shapes

This was weeks ago, but has continued to make her paper art, which is getting more complex every day.

Dishes

From Colleen Gardunia

While Leila was in Abu Dhabi, I made each of the girls help due chores after each meal.  Colleen asked me if she could help do the hand dishes instead of clearing the table.  I shrugged, filled up the sink, and waited to see how long that would last.  She washed all of the dishes.  And there were a lot.  She kept up a steady prattle,  "I am the best dishwasher in the entire world!  I wash them so faster.  You don't even have room for them I wash them so faster.  I am a better dishwasher than Emily!" (This is actually true,  Emily touches the dishrag like it is covered in germs and it would be better if the downstairs maid took it away.)  Ever since, she asks if she can wash the hand dishes, along with the affirmations about her dish washing prowess.

The other night she asked me if she could be an artist and still wash dishes.  I told her that dish washing was a good skill to have as an artist.  She asked if other artists washed dishes.  I told her that I imagine that a lot of them wash dishes for a job sometimes.  Then she wooped and exclaimed, "I am the best dishwashing artist in the Earth!"

Gender roles

From Colleen Gardunia

Lately, she has been very aware of women's roles.  She has asked Leila and I a couple of times about whether girls go to college.  We have always pushed higher education and encouraged our girls in that direction.  She seemed skeptical that girls needed to go to college.  Leila told her of course they do.  She then came to me and asked, "Can girls get jobs?"

"Of course," I said. "Don't you remember Katie that worked with me?"

Colleen scowled, "But she doesn't work with you now?"

"No," I said. "She got a different job"

Colleen brightened.  "Because she had a baby?"

Well, she did, but that isn't why she left." I tried to explain.  "She just wanted to do something different and she found a job with more flexible work hours where she could live closer to her family."

Colleen, skeptically and slowly,  "Right."

I am just waiting to hear what motherhood is like in her earth.

The Future
She has asked multiple times recently, "How many days until I am old?"  Our answers don't seem to satisfy her.  I wish sometimes I could capture our kids at this age and hold them there and they wouldn't have to get older.  But then, I love seeing Emily and Aleah mature and when I glimpse a shadow of the young women they are becoming I am so proud to be their Dad.  Even if that means there are very few days until I am old.

From Colleen Gardunia

The other guys: Candidates that will not be president in 2012.

I love the underdog, especially in politics. I voted for Nader when I lived in Texas, and I can remember watching the Ross Perot infomercials when I was in high school.  It takes a unique personality to spend time and money arguing and fighting against a political process that is impossibly larger and immovable. They remind me of Sisyphus, except they volunteered to roll the boulder up and down the hill. All of them are idealists, some are dreamers, some extremists.  All have a lot of chutzpah.

Republican:  
There are a bunch of candidates that have gotten little to no attention. Here are my favorite of the bottom tier. There are probably two dozen others I found that seemed to be very similar in their devotion to low taxes, repealing health care reform, and hawkish foreign policy.

Buddy Roemer - Definitely my favorite.  I think I would actually vote for him if he was the Republican candidate.  He is trying to fund his campaign only with small donors, which I admire.  He used to be a Democrat, then switched to the Republican party.  He has federal, state, and business experience. Unfortunately, I think he is going to drop out.

Jon Huntsman, Jr.  - The more liberal version of Romney. He has foreign service experience and seems likeable enough.

Democrat:
Almost no one runs against a sitting president of your own party.
Darcy Richardson - even more liberal Democrat. Bring on single payer health insurance!

Randall Terry  - extreme pro-life Democrat.  Is this guy in the right party?


Extreme Longshots:
Rocky Anderson - He was mayor in Salt Lake City and now founder of his own political party.  Why does he think that will translate to the US presidency?  I do not know.

 Vern Wuenshe - He reminds me of a high school economics teacher. No charisma.

John Davis   - the flag painted wrench in his photo is hilarious enough.  Tea Party-esque politics

Mike Ballantine - living in Vietnam.  He is running his campaign from there.  Enough said.

Stewart Alexander and Alex Mendoza Socialists.  Really.  There are Socialists for president!

Scott Keller - Occupy the Whitehouse?  He owns the website in case you were thinking of squatting there.

Peta Lindsay - She is a 27 year old anti-war activist.  She missed class on the day they explained you needed to be 35 to run.  Maybe in 8 years she will run again.

Wacko:
Mosheh Thezion - Doesn't believe in smiling for photos.  Doesn't like having his picture taken.  Doesn't proof-read his website for his campaign.  Quotes a lot of scriptures.

Deonia Neveu - She doesn't believe in being "personally worshipped and glorified", like the other guys? She says she has a lot of drive though.

Jack Fellure - Runs every time.  Last name rhymes with failure.  The Bible is his platform.

Andy Martin - The guy that started the Birther idiocy.  Now is trying to argue for Obama really being the son of liberal activist Frank Davis.

Jeff Siggans - President and Pope.  He is running for both.  Really.

Jonathon Sharkey - This guy should be on a sex-offender's watch list.  He drinks blood, has a bad mustache, and has unhealthy relationships with teenage girls.

And there are more!  Wikipedia has a whole list of alternative parties and their candidates here, including Roseanne Barr and the Naked Cowboy.

Kate: my new yoga instructor

Kate telling me to put my heels to the floor. 

Last year when I went to Hawaii, I woke up at 4 in the morning in my hotel room and was bored flipping channels.  I was going to go for a run, but my hotel - long story- was in a warehouse district by the airport and the tattoo parlor was still open and I just didn't feel like it.  I ran across a yoga show, tried it that morning and felt great all day.  Sore in weird places, but good sore.

Kate showing me Down Dog

I decided that while I was there I would try to continue to wake up at that time so that I wouldn't want to stay up late when I got back.  Every day I woke up to yoga at 4:30, ate breakfast at 5:30 and out at dawn.  I haven't been terribly consistent about it since, but I really enjoyed it as a form of exersize.  I am not very coordinated or flexible, so it is pretty funny.

Oops, I am off track.  

Kate likes to go down and do exercizes with me.  She is actually quite good at them.  Much more flexible than I.

Caught back up. 

One of these days I would like to take a yoga class, but the idea of paying, going to a room full of people in stretchy pants, and doing it discourages me. My back and neck have never felt better though than when I am consistent about practicing.