Religious insanity: No sperm, no mass

June 8, 2008

A Quantum Diaries Survivor detours from physics to bring us news that in a small Italian town church authorities denied the rites of marriage to a paralyzed man, on the grounds that he can’t make babies.

Remember this case the next time some nut starts ranting about how marriage between two people of the same gender somehow endangers marriage. There’s no way to protect the “sanctity of marriage” when clowns with clerical titles work so determinedly to mock the institution of marriage, and the concepts of compassion, charity and family, from within the church.


Pressure of trivialities

June 3, 2008

Graduation Part II comes Thursday night.  James leaves Duncanville High School with good memories of the 12 or 13 hours he wasn’t doing homework this past year.  The graduation is in Reunion Arena in downtown Dallas — same place all the Dallas ISD high schools hold their ceremonies.  Sometimes it seems the old basketball crowds stayed after the Mavericks decamped.  Remember somber and sober graduation ceremonies? 

Winding up the first year in Dallas ISD, with silly tests all over the place and procedures that would make Byzantium appear the model of efficiency.  I’ve never caught up from the mid-year landing here, and the next two days will be grueling, to get out on time.

Quietly, the Bathtub will roll over 800,000 visitor clicks in three or four hours from now — certainly before midnight.  The Berlin Wall continues to be the major topic day in and day out, followed by Sabat’s compelling cartoon of the African tsunami of drought, and that ancient jumping goat. 

So much to say.  So tired.


The last Morton Meyerson Marathon

April 12, 2008

It is done.

James Darrell and the trombones of the Duncanville Wind Ensemble leave the stage at the Morton H. Meyerson Symphony Hall

The curly-headed guy with the trombone at the center — that’s James.

For the last eight years we have attended what we affectionately call the Meyerson Marathon, an evening of concert performances by Duncanville’s bands, capped with an always-stellar performance by the Wind Ensemble. Duncanville borrows the Morton H. Meyerson Symphony Center for an evening. The bands always sound great, but sometimes the great hall adds a little to their performances. In Duncanville, even the junior high bands are very, very good.

Kenny played euphonium (playing trumpet with his braces was too painful; he’s gone back to trumpet for college jazz performances). James played trombone — and April 1 was James’ last performance at the Meyerson.

One more sign of time’s incessant march. Of course, On April 1, time’s march was accompanied with some fine band music.

Next week the Wind Ensemble decamps for Washington, D.C., for a Friday performance at the Festival of Music.


Best April Fool’s

April 1, 2008

Steaming into the final days of law school. Papers due. Finals coming. The job demanded extra hours, too.

I had been up well before dawn for some fool reason — job interview? We were closing down the President’s Commission on Americans Outdoors, and I didn’t have a job lined up. Full day at the office, the race through D.C. traffic at rush hour to get to class, three hours of lecture (probably punctuated with that dark, French roast coffee from Au Bon Pain), the train ride and late night walk home, writing the paper and fighting the printer of the crude computer we rented just for the month. It had been more than 20 hours since I’d seen bed.

It was all I could do to stay awake to get up the stairs and into bed. “1:30 a.m.” the clock radio glowed. Three and a half hours to sleep, maybe. I remembered it was April 1, and I smiled as I wondered what odd stories might pop up on the news wires in the morning.

“Get up. We have to go to the hospital!” Kathryn said. I looked at the clock again. 1:31 a.m.

I was concerned, but I was sleepy, too. I asked why.

“My water broke. We have to go.” I felt her side of the bed, and it was wet. I thought it was pretty sneaky of her to go so far as to keep a pan of water close by to make the joke. Just as I got to bed, she had to get up. Riiight!

I kept waiting for the “April Fool!” She’d planned this one well, but I didn’t think it was very funny. I wanted rest.

I turned over to go back to sleep.

“Do I have to drive myself?” Kathryn yelled from the bathroom. We were in Cheverly, Maryland, and the George Washington University Hospital was across town. I jolted awake, and smiled that there would be no significant traffic on the trip. It wasn’t a joke. I hoped I could stay awake for the drive.

kenny_s_new_guitar.jpg

Just about 13 hours of terrifying (for a first-time dad, not to mention a first-time mom) labor later, Kenny was born. Give him credit: He was born so that we got him cleaned up, got Kathryn comfortable, and unshaven and unshowered I could make it to my next class across the street from the hospital (to turn in work and say why I was missing the class).

21 years ago today, I well remember what I was doing. Happy birthday, Kenny!

Notice, Dear Reader, the great attention and homage to history demonstrated in the snapshot above (from last year, really): The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame t-shirt, the denims, the Gibson Les Paul, the “Abbey Road” cover poster on the wall, the topographic map of a favorite hike (near Woodstock, New York, with the Camp Rising Sun crew), the guitar strap his father used in the late 1960s, and the vintage light fixture with just one bulb burning.

Best April Fool’s ever.


Houston loves Lucy! Go see

March 16, 2008

We drove down, saw Lucy, had a great dinner, watched some television and drove back. About eight hours in the car, three hours in the museum with Lucy (click here to see a photo of Lucy as displayed — no amateur photos allowed in the Lucy exhibit).

Lucy, Houston Museum of Natural History, via AP photo

Well worth it. The entire exhibit is a travelogue about Ethiopia, really — but I got chills looking at real bones. You will, too, I suspect.

The exhibit closes in Houston on April 27. Wouldn’t it be great if the demand were so high that they had to hold it over a few months? If you’re in Houston, you owe it to yourself to see the bones. If you’re near Houston, if you’re within a half-day’s drive, go see. If you’re within a day’s drive, plan some other activity (there are other special exhibits at the Houston Museum of Natural History, on Leonardo DaVinci, on CSI and forensic science, marshes, and cowboys in Texas; there are regular exhibits, including one on gemstones that is better than anything similar at the Smithsonian in Washington, D.C.) — but go to Houston.

This exhibit was controversial, taking such a treasure out of Africa at all. You owe it to yourself, to your children, to Ethiopia, and to future policy, to see the exhibit if you can.

Photo:  Lucy’s bones, Houston Museum of Natural History photo, via Associated Press

Marilyn Christian Gearing

February 14, 2008

A personal note: My cousin, Marilyn Christian Smith Gearing, died last night after fighting lymphoma. She was about 74.

Marilyn was the daughter of my father’s sister, Marion. Her father, Roland Christian, was a minister in the Seventh-Day Adventist Church, who traveled a lot. We saw him and my father’s sister about once a year, when they’d pass through our town. Other than that, we had little contact with my father’s family, and my cousins. (Isn’t that a great name for a preacher, by the way?)

So when I got to know Marilyn when I was an adult (and she about 20 years older than I), she was a constant bundle of surprises. We knew she was a nurse. Found out she was dean of nursing at Loma Linda University. Learned in one visit that she was a pilot once, the better to carry out public health missions for the State of Virginia.

Marilyn retired, and traveled. Taking up where her father left off, she’d drop in on my parents, unexpectedly, every year or so. In my father’s last two years, he was greatly pleased when she and her husband would drop in to sing at his bedside.

No, I didn’t take my own advice and debrief her fully on her life. Our history sources are leaving us. Call one of yours, today: Thank them for their contributions, and write down what you learn.

Some of Marilyn’s exploits were picked up in Loma Linda Nursing in 2003 — it’s in .pdf form, starting on page 16, with the cover photo.

Her husband, Walt, said there is a memorial service scheduled for February 16, 3:00 pm. at the University Church Chapel at 11125 Campus Street in Loma Linda, California.

More:


On the night before Christmas: Untangling the history of a visit from St. Nick

December 24, 2007

Thomas Nast invented Santa Claus? Clement C. Moore didn’t write the famous poem that starts out, “‘Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house . . . ?”

The murky waters of history from Millard Fillmore’s Bathtub soak even our most cherished ideas and traditions.

But isn’t that part of the fun of history?

  • Below: Thomas Nast’s first published drawing featuring Santa Claus; for Harper’s Weekly, “A Journal of Civilization,” January 3, 1863 Nast portrayed the elf distributing packages to Union troops: “Santa Claus in camp.” Nast (1840-1904) was 23 when he drew this image.

Santa Claus delivers to Union soldiers, "Santa Claus in Camp" - Thomas Nast, Harper's Weekly, Jan 3, 1863 Yes, Virginia (and California, too)! Thomas Nast created the image of Santa Claus most of us in the U.S. know today. Perhaps even more significant than his campaign against the graft of Boss Tweed, Nast’s popularization of a fat, jolly elf who delivers good things to people for Christmas makes one of the great stories in commercial illustration. Nast’s cartoons, mostly for the popular news publication Harper’s Weekly, created many of the conventions of modern political cartooning and modeled the way in which an illustrator could campaign for good, with his campaign against the graft of Tammany Hall and Tweed. But Nast’s popular vision of Santa Claus can be said to be the foundation for the modern mercantile flurry around Christmas.

Nast is probably ensconced in a cartoonists’ hall of fame. Perhaps he should be in a business or sales hall of fame, too.  [See also Bill Casselman’s page, “The Man Who Designed Santa Claus.]

Nast’s drawings probably drew some inspiration from the poem, “Account of a Visit from St. Nicholas,” traditionally attributed to Clement C. Moore, a New York City lawyer, published in 1822. The poem is among the earliest to describe the elf dressed in fur, and magically coming down a chimney to leave toys for children; the poem invented the reindeer-pulled sleigh.

Modern analysis suggests the poem was not the work of Moore, and many critics and historians now attribute it to Major Henry Livingston, Jr. (1748-1828) following sleuthing by Vassar College Prof. Don Foster in 2000. Fortunately for us, we do not need to be partisans in such a query to enjoy the poem (a complete copy of which is below the fold).

The Library of Congress still gives Moore the credit. When disputes arise over who wrote about the night before Christmas, is it any wonder more controversial topics produce bigger and louder disputes among historians?

Moore was not known for being a poet. The popular story is that he wrote it on the spur of the moment:

Moore is thought to have composed the tale, now popularly known as “The Night Before Christmas,” on December 24, 1822, while traveling home from Greenwich Village, where he had bought a turkey for his family’s Christmas dinner.

Inspired by the plump, bearded Dutchman who took him by sleigh on his errand through the snow-covered streets of New York City, Moore penned A Visit from St. Nicholas for the amusement of his six children, with whom he shared the poem that evening. His vision of St. Nicholas draws upon Dutch-American and Norwegian traditions of a magical, gift-giving figure who appears at Christmas time, as well as the German legend of a visitor who enters homes through chimneys.

Again from the Library of Congress, we get information that suggests that Moore was a minor celebrity from a well-known family with historical ties that would make a good “connections” exercise in a high school history class, perhaps (“the link from Aaron Burr’s treason to Santa Claus?”): (read more, below the fold)

Read the rest of this entry »


Blue Bell Ice Cream, a tastier part of Texas history

March 18, 2007

My first visit to Texas in the early 1980s, to visit friends in Houston and in-laws in Dallas, I met Blue Bell Ice Cream. It was love at first bite, of course.

Bluebell Creamery's ad, barn and blue sky

Blue Bell Creamery ad, barn and blue sky, and their memorable slogan

Ice cream plays an important role in my family. Family reunions, or just any celebration in summer, were excuses to pull out several hand-cranked ice cream makers, and freeze away. Homemade vanilla delights the palate, and family gourmands grind vanilla beans to add a little extra oomph. When grandfather Leo Stewart had peaches from his orchard, or later just peaches from our backyard tree in Pleasant Grove, Utah, fresh peaches went into the mix. Only someone who experienced my father’s peaches in my mother’s custard, frozen in a hand-cranked freezer, could fully appreciate Willie Stark‘s lines about peach ice cream in Robert Penn Warren’s book, All the King’s Men.

White Mountain 6-quart hand crank ice cream freezer

White Mountain 6-quart hand crank ice cream freezer, one of the better freezers

Homemade ice cream is a bother. Better freezers are not cheap, and they don’t travel well. My mother’s mini-freezer disappeared sometime in one of her later-life moves. My father’s much larger, two-gallon colossus simply wore out, with most of the ferrous metal parts rusting away, and even the wood of the barrel crumbling to dust. Proper salt to get the solution colder than freezing is sporadically available in city supermarkets. My mother’s recipe for the custard, unwritten as all her better recipes, died with her.

Bluebell Peaches and Homemade Vanilla

Bluebell Peaches and Homemade Vanilla

Utah is a haven for ice cream makers. Snelgrove’s on 33rd South in Salt Lake City is tradition in many families (Snelgrove is now owned by Dreyer’s, but still operates as Snelgrove in Utah) (Update, July 2008: Snelgrove’s is dead). My wife’s family is partial to Farr’s in Ogden, “Farr better ice cream” — and it is very, very good. Trips to visit family include stops at Farr’s.

Blue Bell Homemade Vanilla tastes like my mother’s custard frozen in a hand-cranked freezer. It is consistently the best-tasting ice cream, for a very reasonable price.

Blue Bell celebrates its 100th anniversary as a company in 2007, the “little creamery” in Brenham, Texas, where Blue Bell is made.

Even better, the company wants you to suggest new flavors, and is holding a contest to get good, local flavors. Winners of the Taste of the Country Flavor Contest get a trip to Brenham for the 100th anniversary celebration.

Plus, winners get a year’s supply of Blue Bell ice cream.

Blue Bell is a nice local company making good. Though the production is limited (and I believe it is still true that all the ice cream is made in Brenham), so it is available only in 17 states concentrated in the southeast, the brand is the third best-selling brand in the U.S.

If you’re near Houston, you would be well advised to make a side trip to Brenham to tour the Blue Bell ice cream factory (plus, the bluebonnets will be in bloom shortly).

North America is a big continent, with international brands that work for international consistency of products, so that the company’s customers get the same experience regardless where the customers are — think McDonalds, Burger King, and Coca-Cola. Large conglomerates often own even nominally regional brands. As I noted earlier, Snelgrove’s in Salt Lake City is now run by a national ice cream giant — even Ben & Jerry’s brand is now owned, produced and marketed by a national marketing giant. Blue Bell is a standout, an almost-local brand, with limited distribution. Part of the joy of a well-working free enterprise system is finding a well-run local company, with a unique product.

Blue Bell could make a fortune bottling their success formula, too, in addition to their ice cream.

Bluebell logo

Glen Dromgoole at the Abilene Reporter-News reviewed the book about Blue Bell’s history in his column February 18, 2007, “Blue Bell Ice Cream, a Texas Staple, Turns 100.”


Odd connections: Franklin, Rand, and a great kid

January 17, 2007

Ben Franklin, portrait for Time, by Michael J. Deas

Ben Franklin on the cover of Time

Ben Franklin’s birthday is January 17. He was born in 1706.

The drama department at Pleasant Grove (Utah) High School put on Ayn Rand’s play, “The Night of January 16th” when I was an underclassman there. It’s an interesting play — a murder mystery played out in a courtroom, with a jury drawn from the evening’s audience. The play’s ending differs almost every night, with a different jury coming to slightly different conclusions. Suggested posters for the play asked, “Where were you the night of January 16th?”

Ayn Rand, Ayn Rand Institute

Ayn Rand

Years later that question came back to me as I rushed my wife to the maternity room at Charlton Methodist Hospital with contractions coming in quick succession, with a few minutes left in January 16th. The question made a good mnemonic to remember the date of the birth of our second child. Only later did I recall that the day is also Ben Franklin’s birthday — Ben being an object of some study and significant space on my personal library shelf. Read the rest of this entry »