The Aftermath

The tires squeal,
the windshield pop,
with crunching metal,
the traffic cop

Said no one is
at fault, you see.
So now you are
back home with me.

When first I heard
about the crash,
I saw your life
pass in a flash.

In every scene
where you were there
a floral fragrance
filled the air.

SMD
8.4.2012

Making a Sundial

Marc walked into our bedroom this morning and mentioned how the sunlight plays on the bathroom wall.  He noted how the light gradually slides down the wall as the morning progresses, with it eventually disappearing as the sun rises toward midday.  He thought he could make marks on the wall to indicate the time of day.

We told him that it would be better if he not mark up the bathroom wall; if he really wanted to do this little experiment, we told him to tape paper to the wall and mark the paper instead.  Then we told Marc about sundials, and how they told people the time before the age of watches.  This  piqued his curiosity, and so in a few minutes we were searching the internet for instructions on making a sundial. 

We needed just a few tools to make this temporary sundial:  A ruler, a protractor, a pen, a marker, and a knife.  We decided to make our first sundial out of cardboard.

Here Marc is cutting out the base piece from some leftover cardboard.

 Notice how Marc is always safety conscious....

 Here is the protractor and a sheet of paper we downloaded from the internet with lines already drawn for the hours.

 Here is one of the vital steps to the process.  One must know your location in latitude and longitude.  I always get the two confused, so I have to look it up.  Latitude are the horizontal lines which tell how far you are (in degrees) from the equator.  For our home, we are at 32 degrees North.  This number is used to make the 'gnomon,' or the part of the sundial which casts the shadow.

We traced the protractor onto another piece of cardboard, and then determined a 32 degree angle.  i cut the gnomon out of the cardboard.

 Longitude, by the way, is the distance (in degrees) from a vertical line running through the planet.  By convention, the reference point goes through, Greenwich, near London.

The next step was to mark the hours on the base of the sundial.  We traced them on this piece of cardboard, and Marc labeled the hours from 6 a.m. to 6 p.m.

 Using some strong packing tape, we secured the gnomon onto the base.  We were ready to tell time.

 We place the sundial in the back yard and lined the '12' line up with North on my iPhone compass.  The picture below was taken at about 10:30 a.m.

Hmmmmmm.

What did we do wrong?  After moving the base around, making sure there were no large metal deposits below us, and switching from the 'True North' and 'Magnetic North' settings, I figured it was the Sun's fault.  Maybe it was the Earth's fault.  Global warming certainly had something to do with it.

After a while, I started thinking that the sheet we used to trace the hour lines was from a website based in England.  I suspect I shall have to go online and figure out how to calculate the 'hour' lines for our home in North Texas.  I shall put on an update about this after I investigate it further. 

Still, this was a cool thing to do with the children when I should have been sleeping after a night on call.

The rocks are on it to keep the wind from blowing it away.

The Holocaust to End the Terror

Tomorrow we remember the Holy Martyrs of Compiegne, France.  I reviewed a great book by William Bush at this site back in 2007.

On July 17, 1794, sixteen members of the Carmel of Compiegne were executed by the Committee of Public Safety of the National Convention of Revolutionary France.  The group consisted of 11 discalced Carmelite nuns, three lay sisters, and two externs.  The role of an extern was to interact with the world outside of the monastery, and to accompany any sisters who had to leave the cloister.

At the time of their deaths, all of the sisters were out in the world.  Their convent had been closed, and they had just been convicted of treason and sentenced to death.  But there was something more.  One hundred years before the Reign of Terror, a sister in the convent at Compiegne had a vision of a group of nuns called to 'follow the Lamb.'  The Lamb of God is Christ (John 1:29), and so the sister thought it meant that the nuns were to literally offer their lives to Christ.  That was what the small community had started praying for: that they would be an offering or holocaust for ending the Reign of Terror.

After tens of thousands of deaths, the Reign of Terror did end on July 28, 1794, eleven days after the execution of the Sisters of Compiegne.

Here is the list of names of the sisters of Compiegne:

• Madeleine-Claudine Ledoine (Mother Teresa of St. Augustine), prioress, b. in Paris, 22 Sept., 1752, professed 16 or 17 May, 1775;
• Marie-Anne (or Antoinette) Brideau (Mother St. Louis), sub-prioress, b. at Belfort, 7 Dec., 1752, professed 3 Sept, 1771;
• Marie-Anne Piedcourt (Sister of Jesus Crucified), choir-nun, b. 1715, professed 1737; on mounting the scaffold she said "I forgive you as heartily as I wish God to forgive me";
• Anne-Marie-Madeleine Thouret (Sister Charlotte of the Resurrection), sacristan, b. at Mouy, 16 Sept., 1715, professed 19 Aug., 1740, twice sub-prioress in 1764 and 1778. Her portrait is reproduced opposite p. 2 of Miss Willson's work cited below;
• Marie-Antoniette or Anne Hanisset (Sister Teresa of the Holy Heart of Mary), b. at Rheims in 1740 or 1742, professed in 1764;
• Marie-Françoise Gabrielle de Croissy (Mother Henriette of Jesus), b. in Paris, 18 June, 1745, professed 22 Feb., 1764, prioress from 1779 to 1785;
• Marie-Gabrielle Trézel (Sister Teresa of St. Ignatius), choir-nun, b. at Compiègne, 4 April, 1743, professed 12 Dec., 1771;
• Rose-Chrétien de la Neuville, widow, choir-nun (Sister Julia Louisa of Jesus), b. at Loreau (or Evreux), in 1741, professed probably in 1777;
• Anne Petras (Sister Mary Henrietta of Providence), choir-nun, b. at Cajarc (Lot), 17 June, 1760, professed 22 Oct., 1786.
• Concerning Sister Euphrasia of the Immaculate Conception accounts vary. Miss Willson says that her name was Marie Claude Cyprienne Brard, and that she was born 12 May, 1736; Pierre, that her name was Catherine Charlotte Brard, and that she was born 7 Sept., 1736. She was born at Bourth, and professed in 1757;
• Marie-Geneviève Meunier (Sister Constance), novice, b. 28 May, 1765, or 1766, at St. Denis, received the habit 16 Dec., 1788. She mounted the scaffold singing "Laudate Dominum". In addition to the above, three lay sisters suffered and two tourières. The lay sisters are:
• Angélique Roussel (Sister Mary of the Holy Ghost), lay sister, b. at Fresnes, 4 August, 1742, professed 14 May, 1769;
• Marie Dufour (Sister St. Martha), lay sister, b. at Beaune, 1 or 2 Oct., 1742, entered the community in 1772;
• Julie or Juliette Vérolot (Sister St. Francis Xavier), lay sister, b. at Laignes or Lignières, 11 Jan., 1764, professed 12 Jan., 1789. 

   It struck me that the American Revolution and the French Revolution had some things in common. One is that France was still reeling from the financial assistance it had given to our country, and that this was one of many problems which precipitated the revolution.  The other similarity is that both France and the United States declared that there were certain rights which were guaranteed for all men, and that these were to be protected.  It is here that the two countries differed, however.  In our Declaration of Independence, those rights come from a higher power than Man:

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. (colors, underlining, and italics mine)

This point, the acknowledgement of a Creator, is absent from the French documents.  Thousands of people were executed by the government in France under the name of freedom.  It makes me wonder what will happen to our own country as we slowly see the importance of God being removed from our government.



I do not recommend Gertrude Le Fort's book The Song of the Scaffold; it is mainly a work of fiction, as were the works by George Bernanos and Francis Poulenc on this subject.

Book Review: Lethal Warriors: When the New Band of Brothers Came Home

Lethal Warriors: When the New Band of Brothers Came Home


David Philipps
Palgrave/MacMillan
2010




Soldiers returning home from war have always had it rough.  When I did my psychiatry rotation in medical school, I was assigned to the Veteran’s Administration(VA) hospital.  The psychiatric ward took up almost one entire floor of the main building, and was divided into two wings.  One was for patients suffering from PTSD, or Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, while the other treated just about every other psychiatric malady.  With the typical cynicism which comes with being a medical student, we referred to the floors more by their nicknames than by their proper titles.  The section which dealt with a variety of psychopathology was called either the ‘Smorgasbord’ or the ‘Salad Bar,’ while the PTSD wing was more commonly called the ‘FTVA’ wing.  I shall leave it to the reader to decipher the meaning of the letters preceding Veteran’s Administration.  I was assigned to the Smorgasbord, and so had very little contact with the patients - most of them Vietnam Veterans - that filled the other wing of the hospital. 

Over the past twenty-three years, the military and the VA have continued to struggle with those who have experienced the horror of war.  Judging from David Philipps’ book, Lethal Warriors: When the New Band of Brothers Came Home, it appears as if the challenge is even greater today.  This book left me wondering if the ‘War is Hell’ which General Sherman spoke about has gotten worse, or perhaps the American soldier is entering combat unprepared for the tremendous moral, spiritual, and psychological upheaval which comes with it.

Philipps reports on the events that followed the return of an Army unit to their home base in Colorado Springs, Colorado from combat in Iraq.  Within a short time, the rate of violent crimes in the city increased, with most of them involving soldiers who had just returned from some of the most dangerous areas in Iraq.  Philipps interviewed soldiers who were in prison, as well as their family and friends, commanding officers, and a few of the people who were treating soldiers with PTSD.  He describes the plight of young men who went off to serve our country, and how the traumatic experience of serving in Iraq had changed so many of them for the worse.  He also relates how the medical and psychological support for them was overwhelmed by the sheer numbers of personnel who exhibited signs of PTSD.  In addition, he poignantly describes how the military culture made it difficult for soldiers to seek help from the medical community.

This book was very sobering to read, from the recollection of encounters with an elusive enemy in Iraq to the descent of various characters in the book into depression and violence.  There was also a lot of strong language as well.  I would recommend this book to anyone who is considering a military career, as it shows how ordinary men could be affected by the stress of combat.  I spoke to some folks I know who had been deployed to Iraq and Afghanistan, and they all agreed that no one leaves there without being changed in some way.  All of them talked of survivor’s guilt, and the strange desire to return despite knowing the danger.

I think this book will increase awareness for the need for more mental health care in the military, the Veteran’s Administration hospitals, and in the private sector.  Some of the changes made by General Graham while he was in command at Fort Carson in Colorado Springs sounded great, but programs like that may be eliminated by those who follow him. 

There were two things about the book which I found troubling.  One is that very few medical personnel were included in the narrative.  Throughout the book, physician or psychologist encounters were described as brief, usually after waiting a long time for an appointment.  Invariably, the soldiers were prescribed medications as a first means of treatment, with little counseling added to the therapy.  It was disturbing to read that a lot of the soldiers were taking prescription drugs while out on patrol.  I think that it is possible that the military medical community did not want to discuss this issue, and so their perspective was not included in the book.  Perhaps, like my initial encounter with PTSD in medical school, it is still considered a difficult area for discussion. 

The other thing which I found quite remarkable is that Philipps seems to totally ignore the importance of faith - any faith - in the life of these men.  He did not comment on the religious background of any of the soldiers; I would think that he would have at least mentioned if they had no faith at all.  This is an important issue for this book, because the type of fighting in Iraq after President Bush’s infamous ‘Mission Accomplished’ declaration was not clearly defined.  The enemy blended in with the people, and made identifying friend from foe difficult.  The soldiers even comment that it was often safer to  shoot first in an encounter, which sometimes resulted in the death of innocent civilians.  Fighting under conditions which forced the soldier to make morally unpleasant decisions must have caused some amount of spiritual anguish among even the most hardened men, and yet this aspect is ignored by the author. 

I can think of several explanations for this.  One is that serving in Iraq limited our freedom of Religion; I recall that when I was in the Air Force we were told that certain religious items were not permitted in the Middle East.  Another is that there is a shortage of chaplains in the military; for some of these soldiers in remote locations, a visit from the Padre is a rare event.  But far more important is the way our government is gradually downplaying the importance of religion in our society as a whole.  In 2009, the military published an epidemiological study trying to determine factors which influenced the sudden increase of homicides at Fort Carson.  I looked over the report - all 126 pages of it - and found no mention of faith, or religion, or God in it anywhere.  The only reference to religion is the inclusion of a Chaplain in the epidemiology team.  Perhaps the faith of the soldiers was not investigated because, like other variables in psychology, it is difficult to quantify or analyze statistically.  Whatever the case, no discussion of religion, or God in both the Army’s report and Philipp’s book was very disappointing.

It seems to me that the de-emphasis of faith in our society and in the military in particular is to blame for a lot of the troubles which followed the return of these soldiers to the United States.  War has always been Hell, but the way that man faced it certainly has changed.  During the Civil War, mothers would make sure to include a Bible in their son’s belongings.  One of the books we have in our library is the ‘Catholic Prayer Book for the Marine Corps’ originally published during World War II.  Even in my own time, in the late 1980’s, faith was seen as important in the military.  I recall a Sergeant telling me about ‘GI Parties’ which were held on Sunday mornings for those who were not going to services.  A GI party consisted of thoroughly cleaning the inside and outside of the barracks.  It didn’t take long for those who wanted to sleep in on Sunday to ‘get religion,’ as it was called.  I don’t know about the current situation in the military, but if David Philipps’ book is any indication, religion, faith, and God have been pushed aside.  The events described in Lethal Warriors suggest what happens when the ‘Army of One’ has no One to fall back on.

I would recommend this book to only mature readers because of content and language.  I think it would be a good read for anyone considering serving in the military because it depicts the reality of war.  The subject of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder is something every man contemplating the military should think about before making such a serious commitment.

Meditation on a Roadkill Squirrel

I ran over a squirrel today

It took me totally by surprise
all I saw was a brief movement
in
the
corner
of my right eye

I think I saw the tail of
the squirrel as it ran headlong
into
the
street
and the path of my car

The sensation of the right tire
rolling over something was
the
next
thing
that I experienced.

I was still so taken aback by this
squirrel's behavior that I slowed down
and
peered
into
the rear view mirror

I wanted to see if there were any
little brown bodies on the road behind me
I
guess
the
squirrel was on drugs

SMD
6.22.2012

Blueberry Picking

July, 2011

Every Summer for the last seven years our family has trekked off to East Texas in search of fresh blueberries for picking.  We have found the best blueberries at Echo Springs Blueberry Farm in Brownsboro.  Located between Athens and Tyler, it is about a 2 hour drive from the Dallas/Fort Worth area.  Here is a picture of the pickings from 2011:

2011 was the first time I went with the rest of the family.  I had never been blueberry picking before, so I really was looking forward to the day.  It was a lot of fun, only we went in July, in the midst of the 100+ days of no rain in our part of the state.  Unfortunately most of the berries had been picked, and the heat made it a bit less comfortable than we wanted it to be.  The picture below of Bernard summarizes the day: hot and sweaty, with an empty bucket.

The folks at Echo Springs recommended that we come back the following year in June when the berries are at their biggest and juiciest.

Carolyn took some of the smaller children into the store when they got too hot.  Here she is with our youngest daughter ZelieLouisa.  Two of the beautiful women in my life. 

In this picture, Maximilian gets into the frame along with Bernard's forehead.  I just love to take pictures of Carolyn; she is so gorgeous!

We can't recall how many pounds of blueberries we picked last year.  Regardless, the ones we brought home were used for muffins and other delights from the Donahue kitchen.  We froze them in small plastic bags so we could pull out as much as we needed. 

June, 2012 

This year we took their advice and came in June.  We arrived around 2 p.m. rather than early in the morning as I had hoped we would.  I was on vacation, and so I was enjoying the rare day when I could just wake up whenever I wanted.  Our late arrival actually was providential, because a torrential rainstorm hit the farm that morning.  So when we arrived, the temperature was in the 70's and the clouds remained overhead for the whole time we were there.  Occasionally raindrops fell on us, and our clothes also got wet from reaching in to pick berries off of the wet bushes.  A cool breeze made it even more comfortable.  I don't think we could have had better weather for picking blueberries.

Here is Augustine, busy picking berries.  I have to say that it would be easier to get a picture of Sasquatch or the Yeti than to get some of my children to pose for a picture.  So if you get to wondering where the other children are, trust me.  All but Dominick(the oldest) were with us, and if they don't appear below it is because I could not get a good picture of them.

Thankfully Marcellinus, or 'Marc' as we commonly call him, was not camera shy.  Here he demonstrates his award-winning technique for picking berries. 

"Any questions?"

Benedict was diligently picking away and could not look up from his work. 

Jacinta not only looked at the camera; here she actually smiled for me. 

Bernadette showed her technique for picking as well.  With so many berries on the trees, we found the best way to pick them was to grab a cluster; the ripe fruit would separate easily and either fall into the hand or the bucket underneath.  The unripe fruit would resist the slight pressure needed, and would remain behind for someone else to pick at a later date.

Here I catch Cornelius and Maximilian at work.  Max is closer to me; Cornelius is on the other side of the line of bushes.  That black thing in the foreground is the dripline which runs along the bottom of each row.  I don't think I could have hidden my children's faces any better if I tried to.

Bernard is too young to be camera shy.  He actually did some picking this year, and then knocked over his bucket for reasons best known only to him.  He had a great time, especially when he took on a supervisory role and toured the grounds to check on his siblings and parents.  That is Carolyn's foot and dress.

ZeleiLouisa is not camera shy either.  Here she poses before getting back to picking blueberries. 

It may not be obvious from the picture from 2011, but the whole farm was greener and more lush than it was the year before.  That made for really good blueberry picking.

Here is a picture of either Maximilian, or Sasquatch, or a chupacabra.  You decide.  Something tells me that I doubt any of those mythical beasts would be collecting berries in a bucket.  More likely they would be storing them internally.

We didn't realize that the farm closed at 4:30 p.m., so we had to rush at the end.  Part of the experience of blueberry picking is to sample all of the jellies, soups, salsa, dips, and baked goods which are available in the gift shop/store.

So, in a little over two hours, we collected 70 pounds of blueberries!  That is 10 buckets full by 13 people - where the two youngest were 6 and 3 years old.  There were a lot of reasons why we were able to pick so much.  One is that there were a lot more berries on the bushes, and they were arranged together in clumps rather than individually, so each time we reached into the tree we got more than one berry.  Another reason is that the weather cooperated.  I know I would not have just stood there picking berries for as long as I did if it were hotter and more humid.  Most of all, though, is that our children are growing up, and have learned how to pick berries efficiently.  Carolyn pointed this out to me as we worked until 3 in the morning to put all the berries in the freezer.  The berries we picked had a lot fewer stems, leaves, unripe berries, and other waste which usually accompanies the picking of berries. 

I was very proud of the work the children did, and I look forward to a year full of muffins, pancakes, and whatever else can be complemented by the addition of blueberries.

By the way, this is almost what 70 pounds of blueberries look like.  They were still packing them when I took this picture.

"Ten Commandments for How to be a Writer"

Ten Commandments for How to be a Writer 

by John C. Wright

I used to have a link to this article on my iPhone. 

One day, the link went ‘cold,’ with only an apology from the folks at the ‘Dappled Things’ website in its place.  I searched in vain for the article.  This evening, while talking to one of our children, I realized that most of the points I was trying to make were modeled after this talk.  It seemed that I should really try once again to find this article for my children’s sake as well as for my own edification.  It didn't take long to find when I used my desktop Apple rather than my iPhone. 

I once read that the best thing one could do for a budding writer is to buy him a thesaurus, and then shoot him in the head, because that would be the last time he would ever be happy.  I suffer with delusions that I could be a good writer if I only put in enough time and practice.  Thanks be to God, I have a large family and a good job which keeps me too busy to pursue this full time.  So when I do get a chance to write - like now - it is late at night and I am more inclined to sleep.  Still, I submit this article for those who aspire to write, or for those who are finding it difficult to find a job and need a little encouragement. 

I also am putting it on my blog so I don’t lose it again.....
 

First, the credits.  The author is described as 

“a retired attorney, newspaperman and newspaper editor, who was only once on the lam and forced to hide from the police who did not admire his newspaper. He presently works (successfully) as a writer in Virginia, where he lives in fairy-talelike happiness with his wife, the authoress L. Jagi Lamplighter, and their three children: Orville, Wilbur, and Just Wright.”

“Only once on the lam.”  Why only once?  Should there have been other times?  Hmmmmm.

The link to this article can be found at this link.

So here goes......

John C. Wright's patented and guaranteed Ten Commandments for How to be a Writer.
 

1. In order to be a writer, you must write.

2. In order to write, you must use proper spelling, punctuation, grammar; or, if you violate these rules, the violation must be deliberate, to create an artistic effect. Avoid politically correct jargon at all costs. Do not use ugly constructions like "he or she"; it will date your work, and the cool people will laugh at you.

3. In order to be a writer, you must sell what you write. No manuscript should spend a single night on your desk; the same day you get a rejection, put the manuscript in the mail to the next editor. Let the manuscripts spend their nights on the editor's desk.

4. In order to sell what you write, read the editor's guidelines for his magazine or publishing house and follow them. These guidelines are available in a reference book called Writer's Market. Get the reference book for the current year. If the guidelines say double-spaced white paper single sided, and no samurai vampire stories, do not send him "Lightning Swords of the Nosferatu of Kyoto" printed on blood-red paper, single-spaced, double sided. Failure to follow the guidelines shows you are a dude, a tenderfoot, a punk, a novice, not someone meant to be treated with professional courtesy. Your story is your child: no mother would send her child out to look for a job without fixing his tie and shining his shoes.

5. Include a self-addressed stamped envelope with proper postage affixed, if you want the manuscript back.

6. You will receive on average ONE HUNDRED rejection slips before you make your first sale. This is an average. This means that if someone, say, Lester del Rey, makes his first sale on his first attempt without getting a rejection, that someone else, say, Ray Bradbury, will get two hundred rejection slips.

7. If your manuscript is good or bad, send out your manuscript again. Genius does not count. Only persistence counts. The world will not recognize your genius until after you are dead. But the world can recognize your persistence now.

8. If the manuscript is good, send out your manuscript again. The editor who rejected it last month or last year may have different needs or a different budget this month or this year.

9. If the manuscript is bad, send out your manuscript again. The worst thing you ever wrote will someday, somehow, be some schoolboy's favorite story ever. Your readers are your employers. Respect and fear them. Do not approach this work with pride or selfishness or any of the other emotions to which men of fragile artistic spirits are inclined. It is a profession. Act professionally.

10. Selling writing means your manuscripts go out, and money comes back in. Money always goes toward the writer. Money never goes away from the writer. This means you do not hire a manuscript doctor, you do not pay a reading fee, you do not enter a contest which charges an entry fee. Those are scams. Agents are paid on commission, paid when and only when they sell your wares, whereupon the money comes from the publisher and goes toward you; You do not pay the agent a retainer.
To sum up: To be a writer, you write. You write by writing grammatically correct English, not Politically Correct Newspeak. You sell what you write. You sell what you write by following the editor's submission guidelines. You include a self-addressed stamped envelope. You continue to submit stories whether they are good, bad or mediocre. You treat it like a job.
Do not wait to be inspired. So-called inspiration consists of sitting down at scheduled times for scheduled amounts of time and actually doing the work of writing. It is the same inspiration used by a cobbler to make a shoe, or a carpenter to make a chair.
Writing is not accomplished by inspiration. It is accomplished by not making excuses to not accomplish it.
Let me add one more rule to my list of ten rules. This is the Eleventh Commandment, the unwritten rule:

11. When you get a rejection slip, be thankful.

Yes, you heard me. Not only are you NOT to take it personally, you are to have thanks and gratitude in your heart for getting rejected.

Rejection slips come in three grades: (1) impersonal form letters (2) form letters with specific reasons for rejection (3) personal notes from the editor explaining the rejection.

You are to be thankful for getting an impersonal form letter because it means one more rejection slip of the one hundred or two hundred you must collect before you make your first sale has been checked off. This means that your manuscript, which has been sitting on his desk for seven months, is now free to be submitted to another editor, perhaps even to that one special editor which God or Fate or Blind Chance or the Seldon Plan of History (take your pick) had intended from the first to be the place where your manuscript would find its home. It means a fresh chance, another turn of the Wheel of Fortune.

You are to be thankful for getting form letters with specific rejection reasons because you can use this information to improve the story or improve your sales pitch, and because there is no other place in the universe you can get this information.

You are to be thankful for personal notes from the editor explaining the rejection, because this means you have graduated to the rank of being a real writer, even if you have yet to sell a single word of your art, because editors do not take the time to explain themselves to rank amateurs. It means you are good enough to make the sale, and you just so happen not to have made it this time. It is encouragement.

The main reason why you are to be thankful and grateful for rejection slips rather than bitter and insulted is that professionals are thankful. Above all, you are thankful Fate has allowed you even a slender chance at entering a profession made of wonder. You get to write down daydreams and people pay you money for it. A few blows to the ego are a small price to pay, and are probably good for improving your character anyway.



Does anyone know what the Seldon Plan of History is?  Has anyone else out there read the book which describes it?  All you geeks out there are nodding your heads.

Fountain Pen Review: Eine Andere Deutsche Füller

"Another German Fountain Pen"

Well here we go again.  I thought I would throw out this brief review of another German fountain pen for two reasons.  One is for completeness; I want to review all of the fountain pens I have just to share my opinion.  The other is to prove a point to myself: that I shall get a lot more hits on the blog by people looking for fountain pens.

This second reason was confirmed by the 'Sitemeter' widget I have on the blog.  After I published my review of the Pelikan fountain pen, the number of visits to the page went through the roof.  For me, 'through the roof' means more than 40 visits per day. 

Perhaps, someone could help me with the title of this blog post.  Füller is feminine, so I would expect the article Eine - with the 'e' on the end - to indicate that.  But then what does one do with each adjective to describe the subject?  In this case, I figured I would tag an 'e' onto each adjective as well.  I would like to improve my German, especially because several of the Noisykids have expressed an interest in learning it.

Today's pen comes to us from Rotring.

 Rotring literally means 'red ring,' which is immediately apparent as you look at the pen below.  For reasons that are beyond my comprehension, Rotring apparently does not ship to the United States anymore.  It is probably President George W. Bush's fault.  Regardless, this has really cranked up the price for these pens on sites such as eBay.  They are worth it, though.  They are solid pens that have a nice heft to them, and they write nicely.  I am using 'they' correctly here, because along with the fountain pen, I have a geek pen and a ballpoint pen made by Rotring, and they all are a pleasure to use.  A geek pen is one of those pens with multiple ink colors, pencil, and a PDA stylus.  Nowadays I just use the ink sections in the geek pen, and I haven't seen the ballpoint pen in a long time.  I suspect it is gone for good.

Back to the fountain pen.  It has the characteristic red ring, and a hexagonal-shaped body.  The cap fits well on the pen, but I have had to adjust it in the past to make it tighter.  One day I dropped it, and the cap refused to stay on for a while afterward.  My pen has a medium nib, and uses a convertor to slurp up ink.  I don't recall if there were any cartridges for this pen, but I don't care any more. 

The grip area is smooth and rounded, and feels really nice when signing legal documents or non-triplicate medical records.  Some of the inks I have used in it tend to make it spotty, and require me to swing the pen around like a maniac to get it to write sometimes.  I have found the Parker 'Quink' ink works best with this pen and allows me to maintain some dignity at the workplace.

Problems with this pen, as I mentioned before, are that the cap can slip off occasionally.  For an anesthesiologist, it doesn't matter if my scrubs get a big blotch of ink on them.  Heck, most scrub pants are used as a notepad in a pinch, so ink stains are no big deal.  If you have to wear a nice shirt or jacket all day, though, you may want to keep this in mind.

I am sure the folks at the Fountain Pen Hospital could fix the cap better than I could.

The other problems is the pen is kind of an orphan here in the States, so spare parts and repairs may be pricey.  On the other hand, one might recoup the price of the pen if you sold it to a collector some day.

While not my favorite pen, the Rotring fountain pen is a great pen with a great feel and smooth writing with my favorite ink.

Book Review: The United States Coast Guard and National Defense

This review was written for LibraryThing Early Reviewers.

I know several young men and women who are Officers in the Coast Guard, and that was my main reason for requesting this book from the LibraryThing Early Reviewers. I hoped to get a feel for the history and adventure that has to be a part of this vital but overlooked component of our national defense. I anticipated a book full of history, fleshed out with biographies and information that would increase my admiration for the men and women of the United States Coast Guard. Instead, I got a book which read as if it were constructed from a collection of after-action reports.

For the reader who is looking for detailed information about the Coast Guard, this book would be an excellent reference. The footnotes and bibliography are very thorough. This book will one day be an excellent reference for a future historian who needs to find out ‘which ship was where when.’

I don’t like writing negative reviews, but this book was not written in a style to inspire any young man or woman considering a career in the Coast Guard.

Sorry.  I just review the books.

Movie Review: For Greater Glory

There may be spoilers in this review.  You have been warned....

For Greater Glory is a movie about the Cristero movement which arose in response to the Mexican government's crackdown on the Catholic Church.  This occurred in the 1920's, and gave the Church many martyrs to the Faith, such as Blessed Miguel Augustin Pro.

This movie features several characters who were involved in the struggle against repression of the Catholic Church.  It seems providential that this movie shows up at the same time our own government is mandating that the Catholic Church participate in things which are against our core beliefs.  I also found a line from the movie amusing - you can see it in the trailer above - where the General tells Jose that 'I never had a son, but if I did, I would want him to be just like you.' 

That line reminded me of the quote from our fearless leader:

"If I had a son, he would look like Trayvon Martin."

Which reminded me of this picture and quote:

But back to the movie.  The movie is 'R' rated because of a lot, a WHOLE LOT of violence.  Granted, a lot of people get shot and stabbed in the movie, but at least one doesn't see intestines and other viscera go splat all over the place.  We are spared a close look at some of the more gruesome and disturbing things which happen in the movie.

We went to the movie after instructing two of our oldest children that we would leave if there were any nude scenes.  Thankfully there were not any scenes, but we spent the whole movie anticipating them.  There was one very brief scene where we see some young women smuggling bullets by placing them in cloth wrapped around their middles, but the camera did not spend a long time lingering on this subject.  Compared to a couple of movies from the 1950's, where a lot of women dance around in their undergarments (think dance scenes in Seven Brides for Seven Brothers, and Oklahoma), For Greater Glory is rather tame.

There is another scene where a married couple are in bed - modestly dressed - and kiss each other.  That is as far as the scene goes, without implying anything followed that rather chaste kiss.

One of the best scenes in the movie had to be where a priest refuses to give Holy Communion to a character who had been away from the Church for years.  The priest insisted that he must go to Confession first, even after the man points out that God already knows his sin.  It was great to see proper respect for Our Lord in the Blessed Sacrament in a movie. 

There were times I had to remind myself that I was just watching a movie.  Even so, I found it very hard to watch a child suffer and die.  For me, such scenes bring to mind things which have happened in my own life.

The actors were all good, with no stereotype 'saintly' Cristeros or nasty government folks.  I was kind of surprised that Andy Garcia has gotten oooooold.  I recall he was in the movie 'Stand and Deliver' twenty five years ago.

I would watch this movie again, and I would recommend it for older teenagers and up.  This is not a movie for the little children, as the body count is enormously high and there are many tense moments throughout.  Like so many other movies, I left the theater wanting to learn more about the history of the Cristero movement.

One last thought:  if you stay to watch all of the credits, pay close attention to one which mentions tobacco products.  I kidded with Carolyn that they should have added that 'no cigar was wasted in the making of this movie.'

Poetry Review: I Wandered Lonely As A Cloud

 Annunciation Catholic Church in Houston, Texas.  The scaffolding covers the steeple, which is undergoing some needed repairs.

I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud, by William Wordsworth

I WANDERED lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:                                  10
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed--and gazed--but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,                               20
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
                                                              1804.

It is Summer time in Texas.  Well, let me qualify that.  For most Texans, Summer starts when school ends.  But for us Homeschool types, school never ends.  I actually think that doing school throughout the Summer, sitting in the air conditioning is a good thing for our children.  Let them go out in the morning or the evening, when the temperatures are milder. 

The poem above is one of those things which one of the Noisykids has to analyze today.  I figured that I could review it on the blog, since I had to read the poem, read my son's analysis of it, and then critique his writing.  It is all good, since the way to become a writer is to write, and to review other people's writing.  It goes along with this quote, which really struck me:

 

"Fifteen years from now, after you have mastered your craft, you will yearn to return to the things that most fascinated you when you were undergraduates."

- Anonymous Law School Professor


Yep.  Carolyn has never asked me to whisper medical facts in her ear when she is feeling romantic.  Seriously, though, I really enjoyed the few literature classes I took, and consider reading and writing to be a great avocation.

First, let us look at the anatomy of the poem:

1.  Twenty-four lines, broken into four stanzas. 

2.  Each line consists of 8 syllables.  There are a couple of lines where there are actually 9 syllables, but one could slur the words to make it more like 8 syllables.  Look at lines 6 and 7.  If one skipped the second syllable in 'fluttering' and pronounced it 'flut-RING,' or pronounced 'continuous' as 'contin-yoose,' the 8-syllable rule is observed.

          Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

          Continuous as the stars that shine

I have a thing for syllables, because I like writing Haiku poems, and there one has to watch that the syllables don't go over the limit.


3.  The rhyme pattern is A-B-A-B-C-C, where the first line of each stanza rhymes with the third, and the second and fourth rhyme with each other.  The final two lines in each stanza form a separate couplet.  There are no rhymes which connect any of the stanzas.

4.  The only symmetry in the poem is that the poet starts out by looking at the daffodils, and ends up recalling the pleasure that came with seeing the flowers. 

So, What does the poem say?

In the first stanza, the poet discovers a field full of daffodils.  The title and first line of the poem imply that the writer was sad and feeling very lonely when he encountered the flowers.  In the next two stanzas, he describes the flowers as numerous as the stars in the sky, and as dancers on the shore of the lake.  He ends the third stanza by commenting that he did not appreciate just how much gladness came from seeing the daffodils.  In the fourth stanza, he writes how his memory of the daffodils fills his heart with joy and consolation when he is sad.

By the way, for those of you who wondered, jocund means cheerful, merry, glad.  Try to use it in a sentence today.

What does this poem mean to me?

This poem reflects my own experience, which automatically makes it a good poem.  All of us have past experiences which we recall with joy.  In Wordsworth's poem, he saw a field of daffodils alongside a lake.  For me, there are many memories which can bring back such happiness that they may brighten any difficult or sad time.  All of us have pleasant memories which can bring a smile to our face, even those which seemed trivial at the time.  William Wordsworth has shared this thought with us in just a few lines of simple poetry.

Memorial Day Compilation

I started putting some poems appropriate for Memorial Day on facebook, but then I figured it would be better to just put them all on here and link it to facebook.  So, here goes....

Prayer of a Soldier in France

Alfred Joyce Kilmer (1918)

My shoulders ache beneath my pack
(Lie easier, Cross, upon His back).
I march with feet that burn and smart
(Tread, Holy Feet, upon my heart).

Men shout at me who may not speak
(They scourged Thy back and smote Thy cheek).

I may not lift a hand to clear
My eyes of salty drops that sear.

(Then shall my fickle soul forget
Thy Agony of Bloody Sweat?)

My rifle hand is stiff and numb
(From Thy pierced palm red rivers come).

Lord, Thou didst suffer more for me
Than all the hosts of land and sea.

So let me render back again
This millionth of Thy gift. Amen.

Then there is this one: 

In Flanders Field

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow, Loved and were loved, and now we lie,
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

LTC John McCrae

Canadian Physician and Officer during World War I.

I know of many veterans who died; however, most of them did not die in combat.  Two stick out in my memory, though.  One was a Nurse Anesthetist who had some sort of malignant cancer which killed him within six months of the diagnosis.  I recall seeing him at a Christmas Concert with Michael Martin Murphy, and he was dead by May of the following year shortly before I separated from the Air Force.  I can't hear a song by Michael Martin Murphy without thinking and praying for the repose of the soul of LTC Tom Vezie, USAF NC.

The other deceased veteran was a pediatrician who was on temporary assignment in Korea when he was stabbed to death while walking through an outdoor market.  He left a wife and several young children behind.  I can't recall his name.  I never met him, but his death reminded me that our lives are truly not our own.  This is especially true for the soldiers, sailors, and airmen of this great nation.

 

And then there is this last poem, allegedly written on a grave marker for a Marine killed on Guadalcanal in World War II:

  

Eternal rest grant unto them , Oh Lord, and may perpetual light shine upon them.

 

May their souls, and all the souls of the Faithful Departed, rest in peace.

College Graduation and Coffee Update

We spent the weekend in Front Royal, Virginia, where Dominick, our oldest, graduated from Christendom College with a Bachelor's degree in Political Science and Economics.  We are very proud of his accomplishments, especially at such a challenging school.  The graduation ceremony was excellent, with all of the comments and addresses to the students full of good advice. Even the Salutatory and Valedictory Addresses were worth listening to.

One of the speakers was Rev. Kenneth Baker, S.J., who was the editor for Homiletic and Pastoral Review for many years.  He encouraged all of the students to become active in writing.  He went on to give examples of famous writers who persisted in their craft, and how they dedicated hours of their day to writing.  He also mentioned how important it is to not give up, even if one gets nothing but rejection slips for one's work.  He mentioned how Richard Back, the author of Jonathan Livingston Seagull, endured many rejection slips before getting his book published.  At the mention of the word 'seagull,' one of the children leaned over and whispered, "he's talking about that seagull book you reviewed, Dad!"

Fr. Baker gave some solid, practical advice for writers.  First off, in order to be a writer, one must WRITE.  Second, the two easiest ways to get published are to:

1.  Write letters to the editor, and
2.  Write book reviews.

Wow.  That gave me some encouragement to get back to writing.  While I shall never have enough free time to dedicate a couple of hours to writing, I can still do something with the time I do find to write.  Fr. Baker did not mention blogging, but for now that will have to be my main avenue for writing.  Regarding the other two, I have had a few letters to the editor and book reviews published, and I shall continue to pursue that area of writing as well.

But I digress.  I am sure when Carolyn reads this, she will observe that anything I write eventually becomes a personal lovefest, with me at the center.

Dominick's thesis is titled, Marxists, Guns, and Money: Three Case Studies of Left-Wing Latin American Insurgencies.  I look forward to reading it, although it might be a bit above my head.  I can't stop thinking that the thesis title is a reference to a song by the late Warren Zevon.

Speaking of music, here is a lousy picture from the graduation dance.  This is Cornelius dancing with his youngest sister, ZelieLouisa.  They really enjoyed dancing, with only one child refusing to dance.  I can relate, because I was the same way when I was his age.  

 Here are all the children who could attend the graduation.  The teenagers still had their home school Co-op going on, so they could not attend.  Bernadette, who just completed her second year at Christendom, was also there, of course.  From left, we have Cornelius, Maximilian, and ZelieLouisa in front of Dominick.  Marcellinus is standing in front of Bernadette, who is holding onto Bernard:

Here is the graduate, sandwiched between his proud parents.  We pray that Dominick continues to be open to whatever God calls him to in this life.  He is off to a good start.


We

Now let us talk coffee.  I have tried three different types since the last time I posted, and want to make a really quick comment about them.  First, the Green Mountain Coffee Breakfast Blend Decaf was good.  I would buy it again, especially since it is described as "bright, sweet, and engaging."

That sounds like a description for Carolyn, not coffee.  Anyways, I liked it and would buy it again.

Next up is Tully's Coffee.  Tully's.  Yes, it is good coffee.  I have known about it for years, ever since one of my former partners from Seattle told me about it.  I have nothing against the coffee, but it is the ONLY Keurig cup which has obstructed, causing coffee to leak out of any opportune part of the brewer instead of the coffee dispenser.  Imagine what happens when a saturated diaper is filled with even more urine by the baby wearing it.  For me, this is not something I have to imagine, but for those of you without children please bear with me.  Fluid leaks out of everywhere.

I called the Keurig company after this happened with a previous shipment of coffee, and they were very understanding and promptly sent me a box of replacement cartridges.  Now that it has happened again, I think I shall just pass.

One reason I can skip Tully's coffee is this Belgian coffee:  Van Houtte.  This stuff was so good that I think it might just become the only coffee I purchase.  I also feel as if I am making the world a better place drinking 'Fair Trade Certified' organic coffee.  Or maybe because this Belgian coffee is actually made in Canada.....

Finally, here is a picture of Carolyn, Dominick, and I after the Baccalaureate Mass on Friday.  Once again, I have to comment that Carolyn 'sure do make some beautiful babies!'