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Showing posts with the label Mary

Pacho vs. Piero

Happy birthday to Mary.

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Some old-ish news:

For the second straight year, an Ecuadorian will win the UEFA Champions League. Paris Saint-Germain (the holders) and Arsenal will contest the final. Willian Pacho plays for PSG, and Piero Hincapié plays for Arsenal.

Both play for the national team, and they used to be teammates at Independiente del Valle.


I don’t care which club wins the Champions League. Arsenal once were purists; now they’re pragmatists. PSG are delightful to watch, but one can muster only so much enthusiasm for a propaganda arm of the Qatari state.

What about the players? Should I cheer more for Pacho or for Piero? Pacho won last year, and Piero hasn’t won. (Advantage: Piero.) But Pacho is likelier to play more minutes. (Advantage: Pacho.)

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Recent news:

CR7’s club failed to clinch the Saudi league title because of this very late “own” goal:

Reading report

Our first snowfall. Mary is polling the eight siblings and spouses – five of whom work for the schools – as to whether tomorrow’s school hours will be (a) normal, (b) truncated, or (c) canceled. My money is on (a). Not that money has been pooled. The prize is bragging rights.

UPDATE: It’s (b). I won’t have to go out early to put Samuel on the bus.

(I’ll have to drag Samuel and the other children down the snowy block two hours later, since Karin will’ve gone to work and I can’t leave Daniel and Abel at home.)

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My reading year is half over and I’ve completed just one-third of the intended total. I’ll have to devote the rest of the year to kiddie novels.

Eve Titus’s Basil of Baker Street, a.k.a. The Great Mouse Detective, will be my second “mouse” book of the year.

Later, I may attempt the “Watership Down” series, which is about rabbits.

(It’s time someone wrote a capybara epic. Or does one already exist?)

I also have begun reading the eight-novel “Adrian Mole” series: hugely popular in Britain, neglected in the USA, unknown to me until some months ago. The first book is very proto-Dog-in-Night-Time (there’s even a hapless cur). Except, the narrator isn’t neurodifferent, he’s just an ordinary, awful thirteen-year-old boy. He’s not literally a mole or any sort of vermin. The book also has things in common with Mike Leigh’s movies, and (I suppose) with What Maisie Knew.

I also must read two Agatha Christies/​Mary Westmacotts per month; and I’m chipping away at my second Ed McBain police procedural, Give the Boys a Great Big Hand (a title which, morbidly enough, is meant to be taken literally).

As for the group’s reading, six weeks have been allocated to Uncle Tom’s Cabin and associated texts. I also continue to read Austen and Trollope. In short, everything I’m reading, except the rather acid Mansfield Park, has broad, crowdpleasing, page-turning appeal; all the fiction, anyway.


Dandelions, again (redux)

I mowed on Saturday. The next morning, when we left for church, the dandelion stems already had perked up.

They were taller at lunchtime. By the day’s end, they were “in flower.”

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Happy birthday to Mary, my sister.

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This year, I’m reading all of Jane Austen’s novels: one chapter each day. It’s almost like reading a daily comic strip, the dosage is so small.

First novel: Sense & Sensibility. Poor, decrepit Colonel Brandon, on “the wrong side of thirty-five.” (Oh, to be thirty-five again.)

Good-night.

Penelope

Happy news: my niece, Penelope, was born on Wednesday to Mary & Martin.

Today she was discharged from the hospital. Alas, I am ill – still – as are Samuel and Daniel (who are much perkier). Who knows when we’ll be well enough to meet the wee lass.

Even so, we’re very pleased that she is out and about. Samuel ran up and down, shouting: “A girl baby cousin! A girl baby cousin!”

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Daniel, who hates to wear his own shoes, has “shoe envy.” He spent much of the week howling and trying to put his feet into Samuel’s shoes. So, we’d help him into those shoes. It would please him for about thirty seconds. Then he’d realize that he didn’t want to take any steps with his feet so constricted, so he’d howl and try to yank the shoes off of himself.

Tonight he put empty Cool Whip containers on his feet. Then he realized he didn’t want to walk in them, either. So, he howled and shook them off.

Children are strange.

Ancestry

There is a surge of COVID-19 across the land. Even so, last night, several dozen descendants of Karin’s father’s parents gathered in the small ancestral house for a Christmas party that had been postponed by December’s storm.

This photo shows representatives of three generations. Daniel sits upon his grandfather. Standing, hunched over, is Daniel’s young granduncle. (I am almost as old as he is.) Finally, there is Daniel’s great-grandfather – Karin’s grandfather. Karin’s generation isn’t represented in the photo.


I ate barbecued meatballs and wieners and bemusedly watched the many children scurry around. Our own boys were shell-shocked by all the relatives and gifts.

Now that we are at home and things have quieted down, Samuel’s favorite present is a miniature basketball hoop-and-balls set given to Daniel. Daniel’s favorite present is a large, plush, green dragon given to Samuel, which Karin has named Draco.

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Karin’s grandfather was adopted. Recently, he took a DNA test and learned about some of his biological relations. He spoke last night of Scottish, English, and Irish ancestors. (He used to say he was Hungarian.)

Karin’s mom also was adopted. Much of Karin’s ancestry – and our children’s – is unknown.

As for mine: Mary’s DNA was profiled a few years ago, and it turns out that I and my siblings are largely North African. “Which is hardly surprising,” David said, “when you think of what we share with Mohamed Salah, Zinedine Zidane, et al. …”

Ecuador 0, Chile 0

We had the Chileans on the ropes, and then one of our players was ejected for an unlucky foul.

Next qualifier: Thursday, in Montevideo – in Peñarol’s stadium, not in the famed Estadio Centenario.

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Today I mowed one of the lawns and pushed Samuel in his stroller for an hour, which didn’t put him to sleep. He’s been napping less and less. The good news is, he is very interested in numbers. He calls out the numbers he sees in books … and on billboards, keyboards, athletes’ uniforms, etc. He also has been saying color and animal names.

I can’t take credit for this. What has inspired him is Baby Einstein. Let no one disparage that show.

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Today, also, Karin & I cleaned house. Not the house we just bought, but the one we’re living in, my parents’ house.

In Ecuador, my parents loaded their belongings onto a truck and bought plane tickets to the United States. They’ll come to Mishawaka on Sunday. They’ll stay at Mary’s & Martin’s house until their things arrive.

1996, the best year in movie history, pt. 41: Normal life

Look who visited! Our high school teacher, Mr. Quiring – all the way from his new home in Nebraska. Here he poses with Mary, Stephen, and me.


Mrs. Quiring visited, too. We learned that she used to grade our reading journals (with terrific speed, as I recall). Credit to her.

Mr. Quiring was a good teacher when I was in school; ten years later, when I visited his class – Stephen was his student then – I thought he was even better. Afterward, he must have improved even more (although, now, he hasn’t been a classroom teacher for several years).

Yesterday he was brimming with pedagogical ideas – perhaps because he was in a room of teachers.

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Normal Life

This sad movie is in the tradition of Bonnie and Clyde, Badlands, Deep Crimson (also released in 1996), and, later, Monster. The criminal twosomes seem less glamorous and more pitiful with each passing movie. (I am not including The Honeymoon Killers, which I haven’t seen.) The distinctive feature of Normal Life is how mismatched and disconnected from one another the two criminals are. They quarrel their way through a pretty appalling marriage before they begin robbing banks. At first, they don’t even rob together; it’s the straitlaced husband, the ex-cop (Luke Perry), who does it by himself to make up for the spending of his unstable wife (Ashley Judd). But it’s the chilling, heartless wife who’s the adrenaline junkie. Once she learns what her husband is doing, she wants in on the fun, and it’s only a matter of time until each of them goes out in a (separate) blaze of glory. Another good movie that Normal Life reminds me of is At Close Range, with a criminal father-son duo played by Christopher Walken and Sean Penn. Both of these movies evoke a brutal U.S. ordinariness – in At Close Range it’s rural Pennsylvania, and in Normal Life it’s the blander Chicago suburbs. No poetry here – this isn’t Badlands. Normal Life opens with a long drive past suburban housing developments and strip malls. It’s almost painful how similar they are to the housing developments and strip malls of today. The movie was filmed on streets and in parking lots and banks where the real-life robbers operated; the locations couldn’t have been more generic if they’d been scouted.

House hunting, pt. 1066 and all that

Karin & I took Samuel to the St. Joseph County fair, and, for the first time, he saw cows, chickens, horses, hogs, goats, and kangaroos. Then we drove across town and walked through a well-kept house with fifties decor. Martin, Mary, and David were with us. Everyone was very positive about this house, and so, a few hours later, we made as handsome an offer as we could; it was refused.

Tonight: two more houses.

A special day

Lo, the Birthday Sheep returns – this time, for Samuel.


Today Samuel is one. Had it not been for the Leap Year, he would have turned one yesterday. Had he not stayed in utero an extra week, he might have turned one even earlier.

So, for his age, he is rather … old.

Even so, this Birthday Sheep is a bit much for him: he cannot straddle it: it was designed for 18-month-olds to ride. The Sheep isn’t everything he might have wished for (as you can see from the photo).

I expect he’ll learn to love it, though.

In other respects, the birthday was quite satisfactory. Around noon, the temperature was in the seventies, and Samuel and I spent a few hours out on the back porch; Samuel had his post-brunch nap in the fresh air. Then, quickly, everything cooled. There was a rainstorm, and by four or so the temperature was in the fifties. I dressed Samuel in his winter jacket and stocking cap for our afternoon stroll.

When Karin came home from work, she brought Samuel an Arby’s roast beef slider, of which he ate about a quarter. And Martin & Mary also brought Samuel a nice gift: a Radio Flyer “busy buggy” for him to push around the house.

The back porch; the back lawn; 1990s NBA

We’ve cleaned up the spacious, shaded, screened-in back porch, and I’ve been trying to spend time on it each day, out of doors but not really out of doors. Samuel is very interested in what he sees outside. Jasper and Ziva also like to explore out on the porch; I must supervise them, however, because Karin keeps a dahlia there, which is poisonous to cats.

On Saturday, we all gathered on the porch with Mary & Martin and Stephen & Edoarda. Each family stayed some ten feet from the others.

Then, on Sunday, I had to mow in the rain.

(It really is a soggy lawn. I understand why on Midsomer Murders the English are always wearing Wellingtons. Everyone says our tree looks like a willow, and then remarks that willows don’t usually grow away from water. I think there’s plenty of water.)

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The outstanding documentary series of the quarantining period isn’t Tiger King; it’s The Last Dance, about the 1990s Chicago Bulls. I haven’t seen a single episode of The Last Dance – we don’t have cable – and yet I know it’s good because every day my Facebook feed is crowded with articles riffing on this or that point it raises. I’ve been inspired to rewatch quite a few old basketball games on YouTube. (Samuel likes them, too.) These are the three conclusions I’ve drawn:

(1) The Chicago Bulls were awesome (pick any year).

(2) The 1994–1995 Houston Rockets were awesome, though they didn’t win many games in the regular season. Hakeem Olajuwon was just tremendous: powerful and very smooth (and a crafty ball stealer).

(3) The 1997–1998 Indiana Pacers were as good as I remembered them (i.e., very good). Would they have beaten the Jazz in the final playoff round? I don’t know.

These impressions are borne out by two fine articles by Sam Quinn: one about the Rockets, and one about the Pacers.

Mary; Samuel; carrots; Samuel; Samuel

Happy birthday to Mary, who’s, what, thirty-three? Pretty old. Martin bought her a “unicorn” cake with an upside-down cone on top.

In Mary’s honor, Karin took these photos of Samuel:





A few days ago, for the first time, we gave him solid food: a jar of minced carrots.


Then Karin put this on Facebook and got quite a response:


And this just goes to show how, when you have a baby, you can start out writing about one thing (your sister) and end up writing about something else (your darling, darling baby).

Tonight we put the boy to sleep using Ravi Shankar’s Three Ragas. He kicked and cried at first but ultimately succumbed to the hypnosis of the sitar.

Closing credits

In this last week of a momentous year, Karin & I are quite sick, and Samuel is sicker. He’s been congested, feverish, and lethargic. He’s struggled to breathe and to drink enough milk. At night, I’ve lain awake, worrying, listening to his creaks and gasps.

Mary helped us to take Samuel to the doctor.

Karin & I have decided to delay our move to my parents’ new house by one week.

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What more can I say of Samuel? Though it wrenches me to see him suffer, he’s a tremendous blessing. He’s so small, so quiet, so new. I regard him with awe.

Karin sacrifices herself for us. I do what I can for her and for Samuel; or, rather, I unceasingly think of what to do for them. I often fail to do it.

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I’ve spent most of the year indoors, on couches or in armchairs. (It didn’t help that in January I sprained my ankle.) There were a few exhausting weeks outside the apartment – touring Ithaca with Karin; hunting for jobs in South Bend. On the whole, though, I’ve been sedentary, and I’ve felt poorly.

I don’t mean that I regret sitting with Samuel or finishing the Ph.D. On the contrary, they’re two of the best things I’ve done.

Both endeavors attracted many helpers. My dissertation’s “acknowledgments” section mentions dozens of people: Cornell philosophers, Ithaca Salvationists, family members, and many others who helped in one way or another to remove that millstone from me. And when I’d completed that project, I again found a large group eager to help with the project of raising a child. Apart from my family, I’m especially grateful to my fellow churchgoers.

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I’m grateful, also, to the teenaged race walker Glenda Morejón for bringing glory to Ecuador this year. Ecuadorian soccer players also performed well in the U-17 and U-20 World Cups. (The grownup team looked hopeless.)

Ecuador’s president faced a severe challenge to his position. So is the U.S. president now being challenged in a more ritualized fashion. These politicians provided material for this blog.

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Two people I haven’t discussed much are my old school friend, Dan, and his wife, Lizzie, who lifted my spirit by moving to the area and going on several outings with Karin & me. Also, it’s been a pleasure to observe the life of Ada, my new niece.

Of course, no yearly review would be complete without Jasper and Ziva. It’s obvious, now, that they’re incorrigibly naughty; but they more than compensate with their affection and their sheer being.

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The last book I’ve read this year is James Hilton’s Goodbye, Mr. Chips. It’s debatable whether that old teacher influences his charges in any substantial way. What he does better is to invite them to enrich their lives through the enjoyment of his person.

My own influence is meager; nor is the sheer enjoyment I provide very great. But then, neither does Mr. Chips blossom until he’s in his forties. And this blossoming is due to his wife.

A house; visitations; a cold

My parents just bought a house in Mishawaka – the first they’ve owned. Since they’re living in Ecuador, Mary performed the negotiations and signed the papers on their behalf.

Samuel and Karin & I will benefit considerably from this purchase. Later this week, we’ll move into the house, and we’ll pay a discounted rate to live there. (We won’t relinquish our apartment until the end of January, however.) Jasper and Ziva will come with us, of course, and they’ll benefit from having more space in which to run around.

We toured the house last Friday night. A ceiling fan captured Samuel’s interest:


My parents will remain in Ecuador until they take their next furlough in the United States. That will be their first period in their new house. Afterward, they may return to Ecuador, or they may retire in the United States.

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David is visiting. He hides at Notre Dame and writes for many hours each day. He hopes to complete a dissertation chapter for his university, Rice, before Christmas Eve. Then he’ll have more time for extracurriculars.

Meanwhile, in Texas, his daughter, Ada, and his wife, Ana, are visited by Ana’s parents.

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Today, Samuel is two months old. He is enduring his first cold. His chest is heavily congested. He shrieks bitterly when we use a tube to suck fluid from his nostrils.

Initiation in the dark

In this photo, Mary and one other nursing student lead their cohort in a recitation of the Nightingale Pledge. (Mary is on the left.)

Photo credit: Stephen

This (near-) nurses’ “pinning” ceremony was held on Monday, in the dark: IUSB abruptly lost electricity. Audience members illumined the proceedings with their cell phones. (You can see, in the photo, one bigwig doing this.)

You also can see the huge screen that automatically lowered itself when the power went out. It crushed a few of the initiates.

Despite these misfortunes, each person was adequately recognized. Mary wore two tassels, and her name was printed in the bulletin four or five times for various honors.

She’d been studying to become a nurse since 2015.

The meeting of needs

I thank (a) Mary & Martin for reading the previous entry and, this evening, bringing us a new coffee pot (and some footlong sandwiches from Subway); and (b) Nora, Karin’s friend, who already had donated a used coffee pot. Our pots overfloweth. Indeed, dozens of people have shown generosity to us upon hearing that Samuel would be born. What we expected to be one of our leanest periods has been a quite comfortable one.

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I’m rereading Agatha Christie’s Third Girl (1966), one of her least celebrated books. It’s notable for its disparagement of the Sixties’ youth. I find it raucously entertaining. Poirot’s friend, the detection novelist Ariadne Oliver, Dame Agatha’s alter ego, is made to surveil suspects across London and even receives a blow upon the head. Agatha was in her “old lady” phase when she wrote this, but she hadn’t yet gone into steep decline: her next book, Endless Night, would be one of her most acclaimed.

Ada; “Lava”; a golazo; a textbook

Much fawning over little Ada. She’s quite a pretty baby, and rather anxious.

Fortunately, she’s calmed by the “Lava” song. I’ve heard it played to her fifteen times in the last three days.

(Mary has made a playlist of Hawaiian music for Ada. I suggested adding the version of “Nothing Compares 2 U” performed by the Coconutz, from the movie Forgetting Sarah Marshall.)

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Yesterday, West Ham United enacted one of the nicer pre-goal buildups I’d seen in some time. I was pleased when the ball went in the net. (Crystal Palace won the game, however.)

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My Uncle Tim lent a textbook I’ve long wanted to peruse: The Norton Introduction to Philosophy (second edition).

A few remarks:

(1) The body text fonts are quite small. One doesn’t get the same impression previewing the pages online.

(2) Surely, much of the painstaking editorial content has been honed over dozens or hundreds of class lectures. Some of it, however, seems too opinionated:
Paley’s argument is sometimes taken to be an argument from analogy. … But arguments from analogy are notoriously weak. (27–28)
I can’t find any explanation of why such arguments are weak.

Instead, an example is offered:
Living things are like watches. Watches are made in factories. Therefore, living things are made in factories. (28)
But an example of a bad inductive argument is offered, too:
In the past, every time a presidential election has been held in the United States, the winning candidate has been a man. Therefore, in the future, every time a presidential election is held in the United States, the winning candidate will be a man. (xlix)
What’s more, concede the editors, it “turns out to be impossible” for there to be “some formal test for distinguishing the good inductive arguments from the bad ones” (xlix, cont.).

The editors suggest that this difficulty is handled by “the theory of statistical inference.” But, as far as I can tell, they don’t say what this theory is or how it handles the difficulty. Still, they issue no blanket condemnation of induction.

There may be a powerful reason for holding that analogical arguments are much less adequate than inductive ones; however, an explanation accessible to beginners is lacking. Such an explanation may be impossible to provide. My complaint, though, is that readers are left to take the comparative inadequacy of analogical argumentation on faith, though it isn’t admitted that this is what they’re left to do.

(3) Speaking of faith, the volume mixes classic readings with new articles that spell out “cutting edge” positions on the same topics; and faith is the topic of the article that I read tonight, “When Is Faith Rational?” by Lara Buchak.

There is much to commend Buchak’s view, and I think its gist probably is intelligible to the bright undergraduate reader who perseveres to the last page. The presentation is also helped by some well-chosen examples.

Alas, at key argumentative steps, the article simply refers to formal presentations in Buchak’s other work. This is unhelpful to readers who’ll have little further exposure to philosophy. Interesting and relevant though Buchak’s view may be, I worry that the argument for it just isn’t accessible to the book’s intended readers.

Perhaps, also, other new readings have been included because they present views that, like Buchak’s, are exciting and “trendy” and maybe even true, rather than because they help the novice to learn to philosophize. But I wouldn’t accept this conclusion purely on the basis of analogy. I’d have to read more of the volume to find out.

Birthdays; visitors; dinners; autumn; Ray Bradbury; hyphens

Happy birthday to Karin! She looks about to burst, but the doctors say she could remain pregnant for three more weeks.

Tonight’s dinner was provided by Karin’s mom and grandpa.

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Happy birthday, also, to our sister-in-law Ana, who has flown up from Texas with Ada, our new niece.

Karin & I saw them yesterday, and then we were all fed by our Aunt Lorena & Uncle John.

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Not many leaves have fallen, but the weather is unambiguously autumnal.

I remarked that this is Ray Bradbury Month.

Mary: “What? You’re going to name your child Ray Bradbury?”

John-Paul: “No.”

When a nosy person asks what our child’s name will be – as Karin’s mom did, again, tonight – I say, “His name will be John-Paul-Karin.”

Harvest moon

Thanks, Martin & Mary, for paying for the clothes dresser I said I needed.

Thanks, Martin’s parents, for finding and bringing it.

There’s been good weather this Friday the 13th, and a good moon.

Job hunting, pt. 3.14

I had a bizarre series of interviews with a certain company.

On Wednesday, I met with some of the company’s top people about job X. You are a very strong candidate, they told me. We will certainly consider you for this job. But would you mind also being considered for jobs Y and Z?

All right, I said.

On Thursday, I got a call. My résumé had been passed on to the director of job Y. Would I come in for an interview on Friday morning?

All right.

(It was good that Mary had helped me to choose two sets of interviewing clothes.)

During the interview for job Y, I was told I was overqualified. Something like job Z would be more suitable, and it would pay better. Would I like to go to the highest floor to meet the very top person in the company? He’d seen my résumé and asked to be introduced to me.

OK.

The very top person was in a meeting with other top people. I was ushered into their presence. The very top person leaped up. What sort of work would you REALLY like to do?, he asked.

I told him.

The very top person turned to one of the other top people. Do we have any jobs like that available?

Yes. Z-1 or Z-2.

Would you like to go down to Human Resources to start the paperwork?, the very top person asked me.

Yes.

(This last interview took less than a minute.)

The director of job Y took me downstairs to the human resources department, congratulated me, and went away to continue interviewing candidates for job Y. After a while, two human resources workers appeared.

Yes?, they said.

I’m here about either job Z-1 or job Z-2.

Those jobs are not available.

But this person, that person, and the other person said they were.

Well, they aren’t. Perhaps you would be interested in [other job]?

I’d have to think about it, I said. I left the building. I felt like I’d just passed a series of complicated video game levels only to come back out in level 1.

That afternoon, I had a phone interview with a different company located out of town. It lasted fifteen minutes and was much more straightforward. It was about whether I could do specific tasks, not what would satisfy my innermost longings.

I hope to find out early next week whether I’ve made the first cut.

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I wish to thank Karin for going online and figuring out how to tie a Windsor knot for me. In five minutes, she accomplished what I’d been trying to do for about an hour.

That isn’t all she’s figured out how to do. Some fruit flies have infested our kitchen. Karin went online and learned how to build a trap for them. She used a jar with an old banana peel in it.


As you can see, the flies have been trapped in the jar, but they’re doing better than ever. Karin, out of tenderness, has refused to put immobilizing dish soap in the jar. Now the flies are enjoying their fruit and each other, and they’re making children. In effect, as Karin’s friend Nora put it, Karin has built a fruit fly love nest. From time to time, a fly escapes the jar.

Back to the salt mines

On Sunday, we attended a large, Amish-style meal for the birthday of Karin’s grandpa. Then, yesterday, we entertained visitors from noon until five. We liked those visitors, but it was a tiring conclusion to the weekend (what with our sitting in chairs all those hours).

Now that Labor Day has ended, the real labor must begin.

No, not the kind that produces a child. That can wait another month. What I mean is, tomorrow I’ll have another job interview – the fifth one of this job search (I guess I’m not so impressive in the flesh).

Tonight, Karin & I went to our church’s small group meeting. One of the children who’d tagged along volunteered to pray for us:

“Dear God, I pray that John-Paul gets hired so that he and Karin can have lots of money to buy things for the baby.”

Mary took me to the store to help choose some clothes for tomorrow’s interview. After I brought them home, Karin realized that the security tag was still attached to one of my new shoes. She spent an hour figuring out how to pry it off without spilling ink everywhere (that’s what the tag is designed to do to shoplifters). I offered to help, but she was intent on doing it herself.

She watched YouTube videos about how to pry it off with a couple of forks. In the end, she managed with a flathead screwdriver, the claw of a hammer, and some pliers.