Carolina in My Mind

Alison Krauss sings James Taylor song

[via FoxyTunes / Alison Krauss]

I always liked this song, but I love it now that I live in South Carolina. Just wanted to share.

The Year of Magical Thinking

I haven't posted in a while, so I'll just jump in for a minute and tell you that I'm reading Joan Didion's The Year of Magical Thinking, which has had high reviews. More later.

I love this Poem

I just discovered this wonderful poem by Dylan Thomas. It's especially nice for an insomniac like me; I'm going to try to memorize it. My friend Debbie would scold me for that "try" --- so, I'm going to memorize it.

In country sleep

I

Never and never, my girl riding far and near
In the land of the hearthstone tales, and spelled asleep,
Fear or believe that the wolf in a sheepwhite hood
Loping and bleating roughly and blithely shall leap,
My dear, my dear,
Out of a lair in the flocked leaves in the dew dipped year
To eat your heart in the house in the rosy wood.

Sleep, good, for ever, slow and deep, spelled rare and wise,
My girl ranging the night in the rose and shire
Of the hobnail tales: no gooseherd or swine will turn
Into a homestall king or hamlet of fire
And prince of ice
To court the honeyed heart from your side before sunrise
In a spinney of ringed boys and ganders, spike and burn,

Nor the innocent lie in the rooting dingle wooed
And staved, and riven among plumes my rider weep.
From the broomed witch's spume you are shieldedby fern
And flower of country sleep and the greenwood keep.
Lie fast and soothed,
Safe be and smooth from the bellows of the rushy brood.
Never, my girl, until tolled to sleep by the stern

Bell believe or fear that the rustic shade or spell
Shall harrow and snow the blood while you ride wide and near,
For who unmanningly haunts the mountain ravened eaves
Or skulks in the dell moon but moonshine echoing clear
From the starred well?
A hill touches an angel. Out of a saint's cell
The nightbird lauds through nunneries and domes of leaves

Her robin breasted tree, three Marys in the rays.
Sanctum sanctorum the animal eye of the wood
In the rain telling its beads, and the gravest ghost
The owl at its knelling. Fox and holt kneel before blood.
Now the tales praise
The star rise at pasture and nightlong the fables graze
On the lord's-table of the bowing grass. Fear most

For ever of all not the wolf in his baaing hood
Nor the tusked prince, in the ruttish farm, at the rind
And mire of love, but the Thief as meek as the dew.
The country is holy: O bide in that country kind,
Know the green good,
Under the prayer wheeling moon in the rosy wood
Be shielded by chant and flower and gay may you

Lie in grace. Sleep spelled at rest in the lowly house
In the squirrel nimble grove, under linen and thatch
And star: held and blessed, though you scour the high four
Winds, from the dousing shade and the roarer at the latch,
Cool in your vows.
Yet out of the beaked, web dark and the pouncing boughs
Be you sure the Thief will seek a way sly and sure

And sly as snow and meek as dew blown to the thorn,
This night and each vast night until the stern bell talks
In the tower and tolls to sleep over the stalls
Of the hearthstone tales my own, lost love; and the soul walks
The waters shorn.
The night and each night since the falling star you were born,
Ever and ever he finds a way, as the snow falls,

As the rain falls, hail on the fleece, as the vale mist rides
Through the haygold stalls, as the dew falls on the wind-
Milled dust of the apple tree and the pounded islands
Of the morning leaves, as the star falls, as the winged
Apple seed glides,
And falls, and flowers in the yawning wound at our sides,
As the world falls, silent as the cyclone of silence.


II

Night and the reindeer on the clouds above the haycocks
And the wings of the great roc ribboned for the fair!
The leaping saga of prayer! And high, there, on the hare-
Heeled winds the rooks
Cawing from their black bethels soaring, the holy books
Of birds! Among the cocks like fire the red fox

Burning! Night and the vein of birds in the winged, sloe wrist
Of the wood! Pastoral beat of blood through the laced leaves!
The stream from the priest black wristed spinney and sleeves
Of thistling frost
Of the nightingale's din and tale! The upgiven ghost
Of the dingle torn to singing and the surpliced

Hill of cypresses! The din and tale in the skimmed
Yard of the buttermilk rain on the pail! The sermon
Of blood! The bird loud vein! The saga from mermen
To seraphim
Leaping! The gospel rooks! All tell, this night, of him
Who comes as red as the fox and sly as the heeled wind.

Illumination of music! The lulled black-backed
Gull, on the wave with sand in its eyes! And the foal moves
Through the shaken greensward lake, silent, on the moonshod hooves,
In the winds' wakes.
Music of elements, that a miracles makes!
Earth, air, water, fire, singing into the white act,

The haygold haired, my love asleep, and the rift blue
Eyed, in the haloed house, in her rareness and hilly
High riding, held and blessed and true, and so stilly
Lying the sky
Might cross its planets, the bell weep, night gather her eyes,
The Thief fall on the dead like the willy nilly dew,

Only for the turning of the earth in her holy
Heart! Slyly, slowly, hearing the wound in her side go
Round the sun, he comes to my love like the designed snow,
And truly he
Flows to the strand of flowers like the dew's ruly sea,
And surely he sails like the ship shape clouds. Oh he

Comes designed to my love to steal not her tide raking
Wound, nor her riding high, nor her eyes, nor kindled hair,
But her faith that each vast night and the saga of prayer
He comes to take
Her faith that this last night for his unsacred sake
He comes to leave her in the lawless sun awaking

Naked and forsaken to grieve he will not come.
Ever and ever by all your vows believe and fear
My dear this night he comes and night without end my dear
Since you were born:
And you shall wake, from country sleep, this dawn and each first dawn,
Your faith as deathless as the outcry of the ruled sun.




From Dylan Thomas: The Poems, published by J.M. Dent & Sons Ltd., London, 1971
Copyright © 1937, 1945, 1955, 1956, 1962, 1965, 1966, 1967, 1971, 1977 The Trustees for the Copyrights of Dylan Thomas.

Creating a Medicine Wheel

I've got wheels on my mind.

"The wheel in the sky keeps on turning,
don't know where I'll be tomorrow."

I read about how Ezekiel saw the wheel when I was reading the Bible a week or so ago, and then I had to go find videos of choirs singing the song on YouTube. Then I started thinking about creating a medicine wheel (I'm still planning that). I have an idea for a virtual wheel with angels at each direction and in the center. Here are the angel images I chose. Earth Angel, Angel in Black and White, Classical Angel, Urban Angel, and the Angel who Wrestled with Jacob.

I got the idea about the angels when I consulted my tarot cards for inspiration, and immediately drew the Wheel of Fortune. Synchronicity. This particular card features what first appeared to me to be an angel, but now I believe it is just a woman in various stages of mental health and spiritual well-being.

If I complete the medicine wheel, I'll need to do a ceremony with music, sage, and drums.

Can't See the Forest for the Trees?

I'm reading a book about writing called The Forest For the Trees: An Editor's Advice to Writers, by Betsy Lerner. Here are a few choice passages from today's reading:

"I often get very tense working," said novelist and critic William Gass. "So I often have to get up and wander around the house. It's very bad on my stomach... My ulcer flourishes and I have to chew a lot of pills. When my work is going well, I am usually sort of sick."

For others, writing is the only way to alleviate what ails them.

"When I'm writing I find it's the only time that I feel completely self-possessed, even when the writing itself is not going too well," remarked William Styron. "It's fine therapy for people who are perpetually scared of nameless threats as I am most of the time --- for jittery people. Besides, I've discovered that when I'm not writing I'm prone to developing certain nervous tics, and hypochondria."

Which one of these is you --- or are you somewhere in between? It might be worth exploring this issue.

Poems

Some Beat Poems

http://www.allenginsberg.org/

It's the first time I've heard some of these --- so we're listening together.

Let's see; what else is on the agenda today? Well, I'm going to try a new approach to solving my insomnia and other physical problems such as weight gain. I'm going to cut out certain "highly reactive foods" (according to Elson Haas, M.D.) and see what happens. I'm going to do this for the remainder of August.

No cheese, corn, cow's milk, eggs, oats, pineapple, wheat, or yogurt. The hardest will be wheat because I really don't know what has wheat in it, and I have also developed a very firm habit of eating wheat bread all my life, thinking it was the healthiest choice. It may be difficult for me to remember. But I'll do my best.

The Absence That Zero Stands For

I am reading a book by Robert Kaplan about the zero. It's called The Nothing That Is: A Natural History of Zero. There is a note to the reader in the front suggesting that the book should not be too intellectually threatening to anyone who has had high school algebra and geometry. We'll see. I'm on the third chapter, and just about fifteen minutes ago, I stopped reading because I felt a poem coming on.

Here it is: (and the title is the same as my title for this post).

Lovely word to look at, zero ---

like a snake who has eaten lunch

and becomes satisfied but remains open,

casually, to a second meal.

For there to be nothing, there must be

something, which is what a person

means when he or she says, "I feel nothing" ---

clearly a lie.

What he feels is anticipation or recollection,

and she wears her zero like a collar or a halo ---

struggles in its chokehold,

enters its noose and waits.

Either way it accompanies him

with the ominous sound of a gong

or at least the meditative "ohmmmm."

She is not alone as long as she

has the zero --- even if she is in its belly,

having been eaten, and now lies unmoving.

Even then, she fills a hollow space.

Catch Me on Facebook, Too

Shark Week

I can't wait for this series on the Discovery Channel, for some strange reason. It just looks compelling.

Library Thing

I love this website, which helps you to organize/catalog your personal library of books. And I love the Sarah Ban Breathnach books. I have three of them: The Simple Abundance book, the Something More Book, and the Illustrated Discovery Journal. The journal is used for visualization of the good things you want to bring into your life (the subtitle is "Creating a Visual Autobiography of Your Authentic Self.")

The other book pictured here is Spiritual Literacy, a fabulous work that can keep me busy for hours. Here's an example of one of the readings (from the chapter on Joy):

"Why aren't you dancing with joy at this very moment? " is the only relevant spiritual question," Sufi seer Pit Vilayet Khan tells us. Your life is a glorious gift and you are loved by Lady Wisdom.
Israeli theologian Martin Buber also opens our eyes to this truth: "The beating heart of the universe is holy joy."
Look around and you'll see how the flowers, trees, squirrels, and stars all emanate delight in their being. The flowers give off a fragrance, the trees dance a samba for the breeze, the squirrels perform acrobatics, and the stars twinkle with glee.
Whenever you see an image of Buddha, Zen master Thich Nhat Hanh reminds us, he is always smiling. That smile reflects inner peace and joy.
When he is about to leave his disciples, Jesus tells them, "These things have I spoken to you, that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be full." What a beautiful legacy --- passing on abundant joy.

"Tammy's in Love"

The bird on the top left is a whipporwill, whose song is one of the most unusual that I have heard and one of my favorites. You can learn more about the whipporwill here. Notice that there is a list of songs that feature this nocturnal bird (including one I love, "I Got a Name," by Jim Croce.) I have an orginal copy of this album. Note that "Croce died in a plane crash just days before the album's release."

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/I_Got_a_Name

Here are the words to that song:

Like the pine trees linin the windin road

I've got a name, I've got a name

Like the singin bird and the croakin toad

I've got a name, I've got a name

And I carry it with me like my daddy did

But I'm livin the dream that he kept hid

Movin me down the highway

Rollin me down the highway

Movin ahead so life won't pass me by

Like the north wind whistlin down the sky

I've got a song, I've got a song

Like the whippoorwill and the baby's cry

I've got a song, I've got a song

And I carry it with me and I sing it loud

If it gets me nowhere, I'll go there proud

Movin me down the highway

Rollin me down the highway

Movin ahead so life won't pass me by

And I'm gonna go there free

Like the fool I am and I'll always be

Ive got a dream, Ive got a dream

They can change their minds but they can't change me

Ive got a dream, Ive got a dream

Oh, I know I could share it if you want me to

If you're going my way, I'll go with you

Movin me down the highway

Rollin me down the highway

Movin ahead so life wont pass me by

These words mean a lot to me for several reasons: one, my uncle Leeo and I have been tracking down our ancestors and piecing our genealogy together. He's been doing mostly leg work --- on the road, driving, finding graves, talking to people face to face. I've been doing mostly internet work, tracking down data and names and dates and locations. But what we share is a name; well, several names --- but it all started for us with the Hyatts and Briscoes on my grandmother's side, and the Moons, on my granddaddy's side. We haven't made much progress with the Moons yet, but we'll just about filled in a whole fan chart for the Hyatts and Briscoes. Yesterday, Leeo found his 4th great and my 5th great- grandfather's grave (Green B. Hill, a solder in the War of 1812). He found it because God took him to it, basically --- because it's a miracle that he found it, out in the middle of nowhere with the grass all grown up around it and only one other grave in the old GoldRidge Cemetery in Randolph County, Alabama.

As Croce sang, we're carrying these names with us, like my granddaddy did, and his granddaddy, and so on. But we're "living the dream that he kept hid."

The second reason that I like this song is that it reminds me of a friend of mine from the past,Rob, who loves Croce as much as I do and thinks the world is better for the brief time that he lived and wrote music. We listened to his songs together many times and shared the strange sense of melancholy and pride that it brings. And Rob kind of looked like Croce, smoking his endless cigarettes in his cool, private, and elegant way.

Anyway, back to my original thoughts on the whipporwill, which are leading up to something eventually.

The article also explains that there is a legend associated with the whipporwill.

"In New England, legend says the Whip-poor-will can sense a soul departing, and can capture it as it flees.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Whip-poor-will

The one on the right is a mourning dove. You can learn more about it here:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mourning_Dove

I wanted a picture of a dove because it is mentioned in the song below. The mourning dove seemed especially appropriate since I am in mourning for my mother. The other birds are also mentioned.

Now, getting around to my main point,I missed Mama this morning, so I went to a website where I could get the lyrics and audio for the song, "Tammy's in Love," which she used to sing to me when I was little. It's from a 50's movie with Debbie Reynolds, Tammy and the Bachelor.

I hear the cottonwoods whisperin' above,

Tammy ... Tammy ... Tammy's in love

The ole hooty-owl hooty-hoos to the dove

Tammy ... Tammy ... Tammy's in love

Does my lover feel

What I feel

When he comes near?

My heart beats so joyfully,You'd think that he could hear

Wish I knew if he knew What I'm dreamin' of

Tammy ... Tammy ... Tammy's in love

Whippoorwill, whippoorwill, you and I know

Tammy ... Tammy ... can't let him go

The breeze from the bayou keeps murmuring low:

Tammy ... Tammy ... you love him so

When the night is warm, Soft and warm,

I long for his charms

I'd sing like a violin If I were in his arms

Wish I knew if he knew

What I'm dreaming of

Tammy ... Tammy ... Tammy's in love

This morning one of my friend's asked me if I would go back and be six years old again if I could. I said I would, if I could have my mother back, singing to me.

Book, Pencil, Understanding

"The type of writing a student uses can affect comprehension gains."

(This blog entry is something I'm doing to prepare for a workshop I'm giving on Friday, so if you're not into education strategies, you might skip this one.)

I'd first like to acknowledge the source of much of the material I'm about to examine. The source is not in MLA format.

"Learning the Write Way: The Writing-to-Learn Approach Can Be Used Across Disciplines to Foster Critical Thinking Skills." Deidra M. Gammil, The Reading Teacher 59.8 (May 2006): p 754(9).

The introduction to Gammill's essay invites readers to consider the connection between reading, writing, and understanding --- thus, the three elements I've listed in my title above. You'll notice that my book is open and blank. It might as well be blank if I can't understand what I'm reading or if I can't retain the information it contains. We're going to look at an example section of a great book by Barack Obama, The Audacity of Hope, and do a reading exercise. So if everyone will turn to the section of your workbook called "Obama", let's give it a shot. First, put away all pencils and paper and just read the couple of paragraphs of the material.

What do you remember?

Now, let's try it again. This time, as you read, take notes on a separate piece of paper. Just phrases that stick out or ideas you'd like to remember, or direct quotes.



Put your paper away and tell your neighbor what you remember about the passage now.

Okay, third time around, we're really reading for understanding. When you write this time, use active verbs that describe the passage you've just read. Example, "Here Obama challenges misconceptions about politicians" (by ..., including ...) or "Here Obama reveals personal anxiety about the political climate (with images of ..., when he writes...).



Finally, do you now find it easier to summarize what you've read and to understand it, and possibly communicate it to someone else? Well, that last part is good, but let's first focus on the first two parts.

According to Gammill, "Writing to learn is different than writing to communicate" because writing to communicate means that we focus on conveying, instructing, or swaying --- rather than shaping, ordering, and representing our own experiences.

Let's look at the difference, using an example from Algebra.

"A set is a collection of objects, which are called the elements of the set. The roster method of writing a set encloses a list of the elements in braces.

The set of the last three letters of the alphabet is written (x, y, z).

The set of the positive integers less than 5 is written (1,2,3,4).

How to use the roster method to write the set of integers between 0 and 10.

A= (1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9)

A set can be designated by a capital letter. Note that 0 and 10 are not elements of set A."

Now, let's say I want to write about this passage in order to learn. What do I have to do? Shape, order, and represent my understanding of the passage. I'll try it:

This passage teaches me definitions of terms related to writing sets and provides examples of how to write them. So I can see the shape of the passage:

definition>examples>how to. The concepts are presented in this order because the definitions are most important? Or are we moving from least important to most important? Well, there are only a couple of definitions but there are several examples, so maybe I need to focus most of my efforts to understand on the examples. Should I memorize the examples? Is there an activity associated with this passage. If so, I guess I should do it so that I understand very clearly what a set it, what the roster method is, and how to practice at least this method. Eventually, my sets will look more like this one:



--- what I'm getting now are simple examples.

The writing I just did, which was fairly brief, demonstrates Gimmell's point that "the writing process is very similiar to the speaking, thinking, and learning processes," if we let it be. "This type of learning creates a personal transaction through which the student takes ownership of learning and buildings meaning" (1). It's like sending a text message to your own brain.



As Gimmell points out, "the physical act of writing plays a large part in the development of metacognitive skills."

http://www.gse.buffalo.edu/fas/shuell/CEP564/Metacog.htm

"As students become comfortable with writing-to-learn processes, teachers can gently prompt them to produce just a little more, to expand an idea or follow a line of questioning to its logical conclusion." One way to achieve this is through the KWL chart, which represents "what students know, what they want to know, and what they learn."



You have a KWL chart in your workbook. Take a look at it and then let's try it. Looking at page 140 in the textbook, Hole's Essentials of Human Anatomy and Physiology. We can look quickly at the headings (Support and Movement, Facial Skeleton, and Infantile Skull), and then write what we know about these subjects at this point. We may not think we know anything, but let's try it.

I know that joints and bones and muscles and circulation are important in the support and movement of the human body. I also know that these elements are important in shaping the face and in communicating our emotions and ideas. I know that the infant skull is fragile, that is not completely enclosed for several months or even years, and that there is a reason for this, but I don't know what it is. So there is something to go on my want to know chart. Let me take a look at that section and see if I can find the answer. Oh, yeah --- I remember that word now: fontanels (soft spots). And there's my answer. The skull of an infant has to be flexible as it passes through the birth canal. I can move that to the what I've learned section. But there is so much more. How long does it take for the fontanels to close? (want to know) --- why doesn't it tell me? How can I find out? Does it matter in relation to what I'm learning?





"The average time for the anterior fontanel to close is 18 months, but the timing varies widely. As early as 9 to 12 months is considered normal." I found this by quickly searching on Google with the prompt "When do the fontanels close?" I found this website and spotted the answer.

http://health.yahoo.com/topic/parenting/baby/article/drgreene/Parenting_drg_fa_00013955

This is an example of how my writing led me to ask an additional question and get an additional answer ---- in other words, to expand my learning.

"Learning logs can also help students refine their understanding by connecting with prior knowledge and experiences." Let's look at the topic of evolution as an example, drawing from Biology: Concepts and Connections. Using the KWL chart, or just writing a parapraph based on its principles, I am going to freewrite my way through this:

I know little about evolution except for what I've read about Darwin's experiments and theories --- survival of the fittest, etc. I recall something about how birds descended from dinosaurs and people descended from apes (an insult to the apes, according to Mark Twain). I know that certain species have adapted to changing environments, though I don't immediately recall what they were. I read today that human breast milk in the developed West is not as beneficial to infants as the breast milk of "ancient" times was. Is this evolution in reverse? Another important association I have with evolution is the Scopes trial and the movie version. Another is the evolution vs. creation controversy and the attempts to reconcile the two. So what do I want to know? Well, I want to know the answer to the question posed at the top of 15.8 of our textbook, "Is the temp of evolution steady or jumpy?" So let's see how the book goes about answering this question.


In the first paragraph of 15.8, the author suggests that "we might conclude that evolution can occur either in jumpy spurts or at a slower and steadier tempo." It depends on whether the species evolve by polyploidy, or by geographical isolation. Now I can pretty much figure out what that last term means, but I'll need a good definition of polyploidy.

Here's a website I found that offers a reasonable definition:

http://www.don-lindsay-archive.org/creation/polyploidy.html

(I quit writing here on Tuesday, and now it's Wednesday, and I have pretty much forgotten what that website definition for polyploidy was. Let's see, it was something about two chromosomes sticking together, wasn't it? I've got to look at it again, but first let me tell you where my mind is going. (This is part of that "What I Know" question). I'm remembering a baby that I lost in 1995 because of a freak occurrence --- trisomy 21, Downs Syndrome. My husband and I saw a geneticist, Dr. Virginia Proud (great name, huh?) and she told us there was nothing genetically wrong; it was just that sometimes the 21st chromosome is sticky. Is this something like that polyploidy? I've got to take another detour and look up that syndrome.

http://www.ds-health.com/trisomy.htm

I quickly scanned this article, and although my understanding of trisomy is somewhat improved, I still can't tell if this is related to polyploidy. Let me try again.

http://faculty.clintoncc.suny.edu/faculty/Michael.Gregory/files/Bio%20101/Bio%20101%20Lectures/genetics-%20human%20genetics/human.htm

Um, I've scanned that second article twice, and now I don't think the two events are related, but I still don't really understand much. It's at this point that I realize I need to talk to someone who knows more about this --- probably another teacher on campus. I think of calling Mary Pittman. In the meantime, though, it's probably time to get back to my original objectives for studying. I haven't gotten past the first paragraph of section 15.8.

The first term in bold is gradualist model, so I note that and read the rest of paragraph three (I've scanned two) with the idea that the paragraph will focus on that model. When I finish, I recall that the writer referred to Darwin's views and used butterflies as an example of gradual evolution. Changes occurred in the original butterfly species as a result of movement to different local environments and the necessary adaptations that were required to survive. This happened "over long spans of time." (I'm wondering how long.)



http://www.biology-online.org/biology-forum/about809.html

I quickly locate this forum and wonder if it might be useful to me as I study. I need to ask Mary Pittman if she knows about it and what she thinks. I notice that one of the students writes, "My English is not that good, so I hope my questions don't confuse you." It's interesting because it reveals how hard it can be to even ask a question when you feel inferior in some way.

Ah ha. The next paragraph gives me the bottom line: the gradualist model depends on little changes resulting in big changes (microevolution, "changes to allele frequencies in gene pools can lead to the divergence of species.") So I make a little chart to show myself the order of events.

butterflies>move to different location>face different obstacles>develop small changes in alleles>eventually develop into a new species

Is that right --- a new species, or a new variety of species? Do I even really understand what "species" means? Oh, boy. Here we are at the "W" stage again --- what I want to know.

http://www.biochem.northwestern.edu/holmgren/Glossary/Definitions/Def-S/species.html

Well, that doesn't help. I need to ask Mary. (Hopefully this is what a student will be thinking: "I need to ask my instructor --- and could be encouraged to post this question on the CC message board, chat forum, or by e-mail).

Anyway, it appears from further reading of 15.8 that fossil records do not always seem to support the idea of gradual evolution. In fact, "few sequences of fossils have ever been found that represent gradual transitions of species." It is more likely, explains the author, that the periods in which the species went relatively unchanged were much much longer than those in which they changed. Thus, it's time to examine a non-gradualist model: punctuated equilibrium, in terms of the butterfly species we considered earlier. In this case, it appears that the changes in the butterflies happened in spurts rather than gradually over time. These spurts indicate a significant change in the gene pool to butterflies who drift from the parental environment (in a few hundred or a few thousand generations --- " a short period in geological time.")










The next examples of evolution offered by this section of the text are related to landscape and water. (Death Valley region of California and Nevada, wet climate 50,000 years ago>drying trend, 10,000 years ago> resulting 4000 years ago in desert). Lakes,rivers>isolated springs>deep clefts between rocky walls. Some of these springs house different species of pupfish (a desert-pool fish) that don't exist anywhere else in the world but apparently evolved from "a single ancestral species whose range was broken up when the region became arid").



Saratoga Springs, Death Valley --- one of the places that features the pupfish.










(species of Cyprinodon). "Each adapted to its home spring."

All of a sudden, the text jumps back to the question of whether "thousands of years" can be called "abrupt," and refers to the fact that "fossil record suggests that successful species last for a few million years, on average." (This makes me wonder about how long human beings will last.)

Then, in the next paragraph, we find a reasonable argument from the gradualists about why fossil record does not appear to support their model: fossils can only indicate external factors of extinct species, and "Changes in internal anatomy, body functions, and behavior would go undetected." An excellent point, to me. I have this feeling that I just understood something very important about evolution --- that much of it may be internal and therefore may be difficult to detect.

I've spent a good bit of time on these two pages in the biology textbook, but it was worth it because of the strong impressions I've developed. This is writing to learn.

As Kimerly J. Wilcox and Murray S. Jensen (University of Minnesota), authors of "Writing to Learn in Anatomy and Physiology" point out, recognizing the benefits of writing to learn in science may depend more on subjective data rather than objective data. The entire study is available in your workbooks. Basically, the instructors assigned short and long papers intended to help students learn the course material. When both of these instructors used short papers in their classes as learning assignments,nearly 90% of their students reported at the end of the semester that these assignments had been "Helpful," "Very Helpful," or "Extremely Helpful" in learning the material. In fact, only one student found that the papers were not helpful. For the instructor, the short papers revealed student misconceptions and allowed time for clearing these up prior to exams.

See the "Examples of Several Writing Prompts" beginning on the next-to-last page of the article. What do you think of these assignments?

A Little Wisdom Gained

In my office, for a few years now, I've had posted a poem called "What I Want."

After I'm dead, cremate me.
Take what is left over from my body,
put it in a black cotton cinch-bag
with a long strong cord.

Wait until mid to late July,
and at sundown
hang me betwixt the branches of
the Bishop pines north of Caspar.

Take precautions to tie me high up
in the black green of the shadows.
Make the knot tight.
I never liked to fall.

Don't look at me as you drive past.
I want the bag to rot in its own sweet time.
I want the first rip to start froma bird
needing a string for a nest.

I want my ashes to spill out,
ride on the wind with the pollen
from the pine cones.
I want my bones to scramble to earth
so an owl can pick one as a stone
for its belly to grind food.
Then the owl in freedom's flight
I can trust, will say,
"Who."

I love that poem, and I thought it went along with my philosophies about death and funerals and the like --- none of that for me --- I wanted to be cremated. Then, in March of this year, my mother died. She was honored and buried and memorialized in the traditional way. I was surrounded by family --- my mother had thirteen brothers and sisters, and I have dozens of cousins who also have children. They held me close, made me smile, and brought me photographs and memories of my mother when she was young and healthy and happy. I had nearly forgotten those times before Mama got sick and suffered so much and changed so much. Seeing her in the late 70's, with her long red hair blowing in the wind as she sat on a bicycle brought her back to life for me, and the memories have continued to flow back as time goes by. What I learned from all this is that we need to be with family when we are grieving. The shared experiences, shared memories, shared pain, and shared love mean so much and help us to heal. I am deeply thankful to my family for teaching me this lesson. So, when I die, even if my daughter still wants to follow the advice in the poem above, that will be fine with me --- as long as she gathers her loved ones close --- and people who knew me and can help her remember the happy times. It isn't good for us to grieve alone, and even seeing Mama laid out to rest, with her hair done and a little touch of a smile on her pretty face, in her beautiful dress with her sweet hands resting --- it did me good. It helped me to say goodbye again --- a different, more celebratory goodbye than the one we had at the nursing home, when I held her as she took her last breaths. I realize now that there are these different kinds of goodbye, different acknowledgments of the letting go --- and then there are, again, the hellos. Hello, Mama. I see you smiling proudly in the photo on my desk, sitting as you always did with your excellent posture, surrounded by your sisters and brothers and Granny and Papa Moon. You are with me always.

My Mother

Yesterday, the nursing home social worker called to tell me that Mom has become agitated and verbally abusive to her roommate, whom she has loved deeply and who has loved her in return. She and Mary have been the best of friends and depended upon each other, so this is a sad development. I'm not certain if the changes in Mom's mental state and behavior are due to the disease itself (Multiple Sclerosis) or the combination of medications she is on, or simply depression, frustration, and anger. She is being moved out of her room with Mary and will have a different roommate. In the meantime, I have begun the process of trying to have her moved closer to me, perhaps to Augusta, Ga --- but have just received a phone call from the first nursing home I contacted, and they have said they cannot manage her because of her behaviors. They suggested two other places that might accept Mom. All of this is, naturally, very painful. I will see Mom this weekend, and maybe I can make a difference in how she is feeling. I appreciate the prayers of anyone who happens to read this blog. I wish my mother the peace of a holy dove lighting upon her.

Genetic Memory

Those valentines are from the 1920's and 30's. They belonged to my maternal grandmother, and seeing the delicate penciled messages on the backs takes me back to a different time --- a time I haven't been to, at least not in this body. but a time from which I have a piece handed down. Now look at my face and the face of my daughter (above left) and mother (above right) --- both of them at about 15 years old, by the way. What has been handed down in our faces? In our mannerisms? In our tendencies toward certain illnesses? In our "natural" talents? Are we the living memories of our ancestors? This is how some theorists explain the uncanny natural talents and skills of savants --- their abilities which appear to come out of nowhere --- remarkable genius in some areas despite the failure to do something as simple as tie their shoes or feed themselves. Somehow these people have carried down their genius in their genetic material --- although other parts of their brains appear to be stymied or blocked. For more on this, take a look at the following link. http://www.wisconsinmedicalsociety.org/savant/genetic_memory.cfm

Somewhere in those features must be little pieces of my ancestors --- on my mother's maternal side, I know their names back to the early 18th century; on her father's side, I know at least some of their names. However, my father was adopted, so I know nothing about my paternal ancestry. Still, I carry in my body and mind their essence. I believe in genetic memory, and so it is possible that I "saw" these old valentines before --- through my grandmother's eyes. She processed the memories of them, and I supposed it makes a considerable difference if she moved the memories into long-term storage. I assume she did, since she kept a scrapbook with the valentines in it for about 50 years. So if scraps of her memories were carried down to me, maybe I simply remembered the valentines rather than seeing them for the first time. What a cool concept. This all gives me an idea for a short story. A mother is looking over her daughter's designs for valentines (she's an illustrator) when they begin to look familiar, so she pulls out her own mother's scrapbook and is amazed to find that they are remarkably similar. When she asks, she is dumbfounded to know that her daughter has never seen these valentines, or if she has, it has been years, and she certainly did not study them or memorize their design elements. She begins to explore the concept of genetic memory, attempting to separate that concept from psychic phenomena --- and along the way finds her way back to God and to spirituality: to the love of God, to His valentine to humanity.

On Music in Public Places

I've just skimmed two articles that more or less claim music in public places is irritating. If you want to check them out, they are Fran Lebowitz's "The Sound of Music: Enough Already," and Andrew Mueller's "Can't Stop the Muzak. " You'll have to find Lebowitz on your own because my copy is in a textbook, but here's the link to Mueller: http://www.andrewmueller.net/scroll.lasso?ID=178&story=CAN'T%20STOP%20THE%20MUZAK_full_story

So anyway these two articles have got me thinking about whether I enjoy hearing music when I'm out and about, and I'd have to say mostly yes, I do. On the other hand, when I'm feeling down and blue and lovesick I don't want to hear the love songs --- so I probably pop out of a store more quickly than I would have. And when I'm in a music store, it's kind of hard to get the feel of the music I'm considering when I've got rap blasting in my ears. I think those stores in particular would fare far better by playing a mix of styles in fairly rapid success. You know, first 50Cent, then Barry Manilow, then Jack Johnson, then Carly Simon, then Disturbed, then Mick Jagger, then Travis Tritt. You get the picture.

One good point that Lebowitz makes is about other people's clock radios. Personally, I don't like to wake up to a morning show --- well, maybe if it's Rick and Bubba's "The 7 O'Clock Song." Nor do I want to wake up to "My Humps, my humps my humps my humps, my lovely lady lumps" or anything with vocals really. If I'm a guest at your house and you must have your clock radios set to wake me up with music, please make it classical or piano or acoustic guitar only, turned down very low. Now that would be kind of nice.

Music in restaurants? Only if I can talk over the music without yelling. And match the music to the atmosphere, the food, the clientele, the weather --- I mean, if you are going to be a d.j., make it mean something. Mexican restaurants nearly always get it right. It's nearly impossible to leave a Mexican restaurant in a bad mood --- if a spinach burrito with pico de gallo doesn't cheer me right up, the lively music does.

I'm going out to lunch now; we'll see what's playing.

Nostalgia and Memorabilia

"Till We Meet Again": http://www.firstworldwar.com/audio/tillwemeetagain.htm

"God Be With You Till We Meet Again"

(These are two different songs, but I wanted to include the link for the first one, which is from 1918 and is lovely). The one Papa Moon refers to in his letter is this one:

"God be with you till we meet again;
By His counsels guide, uphold you,
With His sheep securely fold you;
God be with you till we meet again.

Till we meet, till we meet,
till we meet at Jesus' feet;
Till we meet, till we meet,
God be with you till we meet again." (Jeremiah Rankin, 1880)



Today, I'm browsing through postcards, photos, etc. of my own and of my grandparents and parents. They include: a letter from the U.S. Government to Oscar Moon, date?; poem from Oscar Moon (my grandfather) to my grandmother, 1935; letters from my grandmother (Dollie Jeanette Moon) to my grandfather and vice-versa, in 1935 (before they were married) and 1945, when he was Private Oscar F. Moon; a letter from Nathaniel Moon, my great-grandfather, to his son, 1945; a letter from Dollie and two of her children (Larry and Mary) to Oscar, 1945; a letter from another of her children, Dexter, to Dollie and Oscar, 1961; a letter from my great-grandmother, Mary Lou Hyatt (Dollie's mother), to Dollie; letters from my grandmother's friends, Gladys and Mildred, 1935; and a letter from my mother (Sylvia) to Dollie and Oscar, 1970. There are a few business transaction papers also dated in the 1930's and 40's.

In the letter featured here, Papa Moon is writing by the light of the moon, lying on his bunk at Camp Blanding, 1945. I thought it would be nice to include a photo of the moon as it might have looked to him that night, and also a selection from the book, Goodnight Moon (it's the page that says, "Papa, please get me the moon.")

The River is Famous

I love this poem by Naomi Shihab Nye:

The river is famous to the fish.

The loud voice is famous to the silence,
which knew it would inherit the earth
before anybody said so.

The cat sleeping on the fence is famous to the birds
watching him from the birdhouse.

The tear is famous, briefly, to the cheek.

The idea you carry close to your bosom
is famous to your bosom.

The boot is famous to the earth,
more famous than the dress shoe,
which is famous only to floors.

The bent photograph is famous to the one who carries it,
and not at all famous to the one who is pictured.

I want to be famous to shuffling men,
who smile while crossing streets,
sticky children in grocery lines,
famous as the one who smiled back.

I want to be famous in the way a pulley is famous,
or a buttonhole, not because it did anything spectacular,
but because it never forgot what it did.

Sighing

I've been sighing a lot today --- I think it's just a little Spring fever, a little restlessness, a little too much Mexican food at lunch.
That little frog to my left: he looks like Spring, I thought. So today's theme is frogs. I don't know why. Check out the cartoon. Hee hee. Whew; that brings back memories of slimy afternoons in biology lab and the smell of formaldehyde and trying to figure out what all those frog innards were. I've provided a frog skeletal view for anyone who is interested.

And now a conservationist poem from a Mississippi writer, Luke Wallin (sorry I couldn't keep the poem's original structure):

A Few Words From the Frog Highway

If I could leave you just two words, then you would know your simian soul the way I know my older one, reptilian-fine, sensitivo-so.These are the last hot days of Earth, with all life bathed in the light of death, with your skin foul, so thick and dry, yielding up To the dermo knife, to the laser gun. My tribe lives in the deep green shade, in moisture breath of ground and leaves, our delicate membranes pass the word --from swamp to heart, from breeze to mind; We knew the ancient balance well, from the bedrock’s cold to the sun’s red fire. We know when to Leap a toad, or float so still in the lily lake, its yellow flowers drinking moon, the air abuzz with gifts for lightning tongues. We see air conditioned walls, your speeding cars, your bodies wrapped. We understand that the time grows shortand the water’s gas, and the land is paved--We know how much shade is lost.But I’m not here to bring you down, my mission calls forjust two words, two lovely words with a vision thing, and it’scheap and easy, you’ll admit, make it part of yourPolitics, all that reverb lipsinc feedback. Here’s the deal, if you like our songs, ourSunglasses, our bug control. If you want to see uson the scene, here’s the way you want to go:Just cover Earth with wide green trails,Shady and wet in a Worldwide Web. Tie the net together in a round round map, Outfit the planet for Slideby travel.Think you’ve got it? You greedy-eyed mammals. Reachyour reptile’s underbrain, down in your Heartshade, down in your music. Inside you lives an old old bullfrog, a billion years of Memories and a feeling for the stars. It wouldn’t cost you very much, each could add a little,Frogways up the countryside from pond to shining pond. Two words, Apefolk, try to remember. Focus all your body heat onFrog Highway.