Spectacular Time-Lapse from ISS

This is cool enough that I don't really need to comment. I suggest watching it in full screen mode (the button on the bottom right of the video player). And turn up the volume. What would it be like to see such things with our own eyes?


(h/t: Aaron Miller)

Freedom From Religion Foundation Turns Sights Upon Huntsville

We live in a country with hundreds of millions of people, all of divergent views on matters of religion and politics. In communities large and small, the tradition of prayers or invocations before citizen-based meetings, town halls, sporting events and graduation has been a staple of local civic life. Perhaps for some, over time, these brief moments have become more symbolic than substantive. But for years upon years in these communities, those who don't consider themselves religious demonstrated a healthy tolerance or respect for the tradition. Until recent decades, that is. Indeed, while I would wager that the vast majority would not get their feathers in a ruffle over the matter of a short prayer or invocation before civic events, there is a tiny, anonymous minority whose intolerance of such expressions (symbolic or otherwise) creates a firestorm of controversy that ensures their victory by mere intimidation.

This minority has now brought the battle to my area. The Freedom From Religion Foundation, an organization based in Wisconsin, is bringing its mission to destroy expressions of faith in civic life against the long-standing tradition of opening prayers at the Huntsville City Council. From The Huntsville Times:

In a Feb. 16 letter to Council President Mark Russell, the Wisconsin-based Freedom From Religion Foundation argued that prayer at government meetings is "unnecessary, inappropriate and divisive" and should be stopped.
…
The letter infers that the group will sue Huntsville in federal court if the policy is not changed.

The city, of course, is taking the threat seriously. In an era of tight fiscal budgets, no local government or agency can afford to spend taxpayer money to fight such cases in court. The remarkable thing is, the city might stand a decent chance to win in court. But the cost is prohibitive, so it is more likely that the city will lay down without a fight. Oh, they'll revert to a moment of silence or the like. Because that would be the politically correct, tolerant thing to do in the face of virulent, antagonistic intolerance.

I have not been to a Huntsville City Council meeting, so I cannot speak with authority as to the typical nature of the invocation. But at various events where an opening prayer is offered, it strikes me that they are often 30-45 seconds in length, and focused more on the appeal to providence rather than proselytization. From the paper:

"The prayers currently invoked at Council meetings impermissibly advance Christianity," Schmitt wrote, "and lead a reasonable observer to believe that the Council is endorsing not only religion over non-religion, but also Christianity over other faiths."

Unidentified Freedom From Religion Foundation members who live in Huntsville complained to the national office about the City Council prayers. The group says it has more than 17,500 members nationwide, including about 150 in Alabama.

This is part that bothers me the most. Out 150, how many members of this foundation actually live in Huntsville? Suppose it is 10%. Of those 15, how many would bother to attend a city council meeting? In all likelihood, less than 5, and that may even be too high an estimate (it's not like the council meeting is heavily attended by the public). So a couple of "unidentified" local citizens decide to hide behind the skirts of a Wisconsin-based organization that operates on the basis of intimidation to tear down a local civic tradition. We'll never know who the accusers are, because this will never go to court, and the FFRF will protect the privacy and the intolerance of its members. All over the matter of an invocation or prayer that lasts less than a minute.

I want to be charitable to those with opinions that differ from mine, even on a topic like this. But I really can only shake my head in wonder at the ongoing surrender to the tyranny of the minority in our civic life.

Stray Thoughts for Thursday

I always feel guilty when I let a week go by without a blog post, which is somewhat odd given that I'm not sure exactly how much of a regular audience I have. Unfortunately, I have nothing particularly interesting to share today, so I offer instead a gallimaufry of thoughts. (Gallimaufry, you ask? It means a "hodgepodge" or "jumble." Yes, indeed, my thesaurus is indispensable to me).

A year ago today, the warranty expired on my appendix, resulting in a rupture of great proportions. In so many ways, that experience doesn't seem that long ago. I still have phantom pain from time to time. But when all is said and done, I'm still here, and I'm glad to be here. I've been blessed. I still owe my wife a cruise vacation, though. Maybe this fall?

I was outside this morning while the kids were getting ready for school. Spring is most certainly in the air - in fact, it has been nearly all winter. Last year at this time, we'd had 15 inches of snow. This year, we've seen flakes twice, with no accumulation whatsoever. I didn't even have to put insulating covers on the outside spigots. The birds are tuning up their spring symphony, the purple clover is dominating my yard, but I'll be darned if you can make me pull out the lawn mower in February. Not. Going. To. Do. It. But it is a beautiful morning, the air is moist and cool but tinged with the promise of a warm day.

I am starting to long for the day I can afford to start a second career - this one is beginning to wear on me. It still has its good moments, but every now and then I wish for something other than engineering. Of course, I don't know what else I'd do. Bottom line, it is good to be employed in this economy, so I will just have to continue to man-up.

I've been listening to a series of sermons via podcast on the topic of grace. In a strange twist, I find it much easier to extend grace than I do to receive it. On reflection, I surmise that our fallen nature predisposes us against the full embrace of grace. The dissolution of pride, I believe, is key to our transformation by grace. Because while mercy brings relief, the work of grace is far deeper when it is fully realized.

Finally, the annual Cub Scout Pinewood Derby Race has come and gone. I get great joy in letting my son design and craft his car, mostly with hand tools. When the power tools are necessary of course, I step in. Soon enough, I'll let him use the tools himself. But not just yet. His entry this year placed 23rd of 60-some cars, a small step back from last year's performance. He did well, though, and it was fun.

This concludes today's parade. Thanks for reading.

A Lesson from Twain

A few weeks ago, I discovered a neat website called Letters of Note. (To say I discovered the site is factually incorrect, as I became aware of it only through the recommendation of the author of another website. The point is, after that initial referral, I have found myself returning to the Letters of Note site almost daily). According to the proprietor, Letters of Note "is a blog-based archive of fascinating correspondence, complete with scans and transcripts of the original missives." The letters come from all walks of life, and are both contemporary and historical in context. I am enjoying it very much.

Today's entry is a letter from Mark Twain to author Edward Bok, on the subject of an interview Twain gave to Bok. The article based on the interview was never published, and Twain's letter was the primary reason. Reading the letter was delightful and fun, although to think so you'd have to appreciate Twain's mastery of the written word to understand why I enjoyed it so. Below are a few excerpts, but I would encourage you to go read the whole thing:

For several quite plain and simple reasons, an "interview" must, as a rule, be an absurdity, and chiefly for this reason—It is an attempt to use a boat on land or a wagon on water, to speak figuratively. Spoken speech is one thing, written speech is quite another. Print is the proper vehicle for the latter, but it isn't for the former. The moment "talk" is put into print you recognize that it is not what it was when you heard it; you perceive that an immense something has disappeared from it. That is its soul. You have nothing but a dead carcass left on your hands. Color, play of feature, the varying modulations of the voice, the laugh, the smile, the informing inflections, everything that gave that body warmth, grace, friendliness and charm and commended it to your affections—or, at least, to your tolerance—is gone and nothing is left but a pallid, stiff and repulsive cadaver.

…

So painfully aware is the novelist that naked talk in print conveys no meaning that he loads, and often overloads, almost every utterance of his characters with explanations and interpretations. It is a loud confession that print is a poor vehicle for "talk"; it is a recognition that uninterpreted talk in print would result in confusion to the reader, not instruction.

Now, in your interview, you have certainly been most accurate; you have set down the sentences I uttered as I said them. But you have not a word of explanation; what my manner was at several points is not indicated. Therefore, no reader can possibly know where I was in earnest and where I was joking; or whether I was joking altogether or in earnest altogether. Such a report of a conversation has no value. It can convey many meanings to the reader, but never the right one. To add interpretations which would convey the right meaning is a something which would require—what? An art so high and fine and difficult that no possessor of it would ever be allowed to waste it on interviews.

Again, go read the letter in its entirety. This latter paragraph above I find to be true and instructive. In this internet age, we are often subjected to "soulless" quotations and transcripts of what people say, utterly devoid of the manner and context in which their words were spoken. Not a few times have pundits and common folk alike latched on to spoken words in print, suffering outrageous outrage to erupt in fury, only to learn later (if they so cared to learn) that the context and manner in which the words were spoken did not fit the outrage leveled. This is true for venues like message boards and blogs (and Facebook too, I presume) - we write our thoughts, but run the risk of being misunderstood because tone and manner are often lost when posted to the digital page.

Sometimes, the printed word is all we have to go by. The transcript of a speech must stand on it own, and crafted well, the reader can capture a glimpse of the shadow of its soul. The spoken word is its own invention. To capture the spoken word in written form is shallow and two-dimensional at best. The written word has more potential for depth, but is a horse of a different color. Bridging the gap between each modus may be a nearly impossible feat. The article which Twain dismissed in his letter must have fallen quite short in its conveyance, but in contrast Twain's letter is masterful - and full of "soul."

How much of me appears in what I write? Are my compositions two-dimensional, or do they have depth? I do not know. I likely spend too much time writing "about" things, as opposed to writing "of" things. To write well is indeed "an art so high and fine and difficult" that I quail in fear at the thought that my aspirations are unreachable. But aspire to that art, I will. However, it will require effort to overcome lazy formulation and "hackery."

Cagney Weekend

As part of my recovery from the Dauphin Island expedition, I took some time this weekend to copy some James Cagney movies from the DVR out to DVD. Included in this batch were a few I had yet to watch all the way through, including Pitcher Snatcher and City for Conquest. I also enjoyed Mister Roberts, in which Cagney plays a crank of a captain on a U.S. Navy cargo ship, alongside other Hollywood greats Henry Fonda and Jack Lemmon. In Shake Hands with the Devil, Cagney plays an Irish surgeon who doubles as an influential leader in the Irish Republican Army in 1921 Dublin. In this feature, Cagney's plays a character given over to violence for its own sake, with the blackest of hearts who meets a fitting end in the final scene.

This afternoon (while I'm supposed to be cleaning up the house), I'm watching The West Point Story, where Cagney plays a Broadway director helping West Point cadets to put on a show, with an ulterior motive to get one promising cadet out of West Point into show business. According to the reviews, this was the first song-and-dance movie Cagney did following Yankee Doodle Dandy. Its star-studded cast includes Virginia Mayo, Doris Day, Gordon MacRae (Carousel and Oklahoma!). More enjoyable for me was to see Alan Hale, Jr. playing alongside Jimmy. Hale's father, (Hale Sr.) starred in 3 Cagney movies (including my favorite, The Fighting 69th), and was perhaps best known as Errol Flynn's sidekick Little John in The Adventures of Robin Hood. Hale, Jr. had his own impressive career, although he was arguably best known as the Skipper in TV's Gilligan's Island. I just thought it was kind of neat that father and son Hale both got to act with Cagney. There aren't too many scenes from this movie on YouTube, but the one linked here gives you a glimpse of Cagney, MacRae, Mayo and Hale, Jr.

As an aside, MacRae had a heck of a voice. What I wouldn't give to sing like that. Here's MacRae crooning to Doris Day:


This batch of Cagney flicks was a good one. I'm not sure when I'll get to set aside this much time again for a while, but this was good.

Dauphin Island Adventure

Every year, February's calendar ends up packed to the gills, and this year is no exception. Aside from the standard pinewood derby race preparation for Cub Scouts, and merit badge fairs for Boy Scouts, this month featured a middle school excursion to Dauphin Island Sea Lab (DISL) sandwiched between two math competitions. The first math competition was last Saturday. My oldest son placed 8th in individual performance in the pre-algebra group, out of some 80-100 students, to earn his first individual trophy in his first ever math tournament. He was the sole representative of his school (which doesn't have a middle school math team) out of 22 schools in his division. He is out again this morning, competing in a MathCounts event, again as a sole representative for his school. While he is off doing that, I'm assisting my younger son on his derby car and other Cub Scout work.

The big event of the week, however, was the 4-day, 3 night adventure to Dauphin Island. Officially called a field study, the middle school sends 7th graders down to this small island in Mobile Bay in Alabama. From here, it is about an 9 hour drive by bus, with stops. I served as a chaperone for my son and 68 other 7th graders, and not only did I manage to survive, I actually managed to enjoy the experience (although as an aside, I must confess that the social drama of 13 year olds is really something to behold - I didn't understand it when I was that age, and I don't understand it now).

The students participate in two full days of scientific discussion and activity, pertaining specifically to the unique ecology of the Mobile Bay estuary (all together now, an estuary is where fresh water systems and salt water systems meet). Activities include a trip out into the open waters of the Mississippi Sound and the Gulf of Mexico on board a DISL research vessel, several lectures on the marine and marsh life, a visit to the estuarium, a trip into the salt marsh, and the dissection of a squid. Also included is a look into the history of Dauphin Island and Mobile Bay, with a unique focus on the history of Fort Gaines and its sister forts Powell and Morgan (the site of the decisive Battle of Mobile Bay in 1864). For history buffs, this is the battle where Farragut is reputed to have proclaimed "Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead!"

The DISL program was really very good. My favorite, not surprisingly, was the few hours we spent on the research vessel. The vessel crew cast a net and trawled for a while, pulling in a variety of marine life specimens that the instructor used to educate the fully engaged students. While the trip itself only lasted a couple of hours, I could have stayed out on the water all day. Being on the water does me good, no matter where it is.

Below are a few other pictures of the trip. From the salt marsh:

Inside Fort Gaines:

Of course, I would be remiss if I failed to mention the wildlife adventure that was the boys hallway in our dormitory. Then again, perhaps I should simply be remiss. The species known as the teenage boy is something to behold. By and large though, they are good kids, and I enjoyed getting to know them. One last picture, to remember the all too brief moments of serenity: