Reality, pt. 2

We perceive reality.

And at that very moment, reality ceases to exist.

Allow me to explain.

The mind can't handle everything that comes in, so it sifts out all the things it deems "superfluous."

Then it applies its own morals and worldviews to the remaining shreds, manufacturing Opinion.

The mind then expresses its opinion, disguising it cleverly as "fact" in carefully constructed Reports.

And suddenly we, the rest of the world, are no longer stumbling around in darkness, or defining the elephant by its tail.

Suddenly, we are Enlightened.

Or so we are led to believe.

When one is surrounded by darkness, the tiniest patch of light looks massively important. And does it matter whether it's candlelight, florescent light, indiglo from a watch, or a colored stoplight?

No. As long as it lets us focus on something, as long as it lends some meaning, we won't care what kind of light it is.

If we already have our own little light, we won't greedily take in the light of another until it looks prettier.

Those lights are not Reality, because their light doesn't shine so brightly as to drown out all others. They are colored lights, tinting everything they reveal. They are Opinion.

They're the best any human can do, because a human has not Omnipotence.

This is the rather undramatic conclusion, but it's the truth anyway: Only if the Omnipotent is our filter and compass can we objectively illuminate, and only He can keep us from the lights of lanternfish and such.

Omnipotent lenses free us for objectivity. Everything else is the grasping of straws.

Which is my definitive refutation of "Religious Bias."

Reality, pt. 1

Random Realities, discovered between today and yesterday.

Watermelon-flavored GV Fruit Smiles taste like Lysol.

When it's late and I'm on caffeine I have no sense of balance, and also no sense of fear.

I scraped my knee on pavement after book club last night, and for the first time realized: Peroxide HURTS!!!!

Wolf spiders eat each other, but won't eat their cousins' heads. Only the abdomens.

An Einstein quote: "Learning is experience. Everything else is information."

Language is the ability to assign one specific meaning to a sequence of auditory sounds.

My brother watches so many old cartoons that he can imitate their "falling off a cliff" sequence: Running, flapping arms on the brink, plummeting into infinity. Very well. Anna got him on her digital camera this morning.

Alison Krauss sings happy songs, too.

Brain cells compose less than 3% of the brain, and they die off, starting from the time of birth. By the time one reaches the age of 35, over 100,000 of them die every day. (Vanity, all is vanity, says the preacher... here today, gone tomorrow...)

Two kinds of metronomes exist in the world today: Those that tick, and those that beep. The beeping metronomes annoy me out of my senses. I keep better time with a beeper than a ticker.

I stare around the room too much. (fess up, how many of you notice that? I only noticed it... yesterday.)

My sheets are very dirty. I washed them this morning.

One can compose a song in his sleep. I know; I 've done it.

Frac can walk in front of a swing, get bowled over, and not know what hit him. Literally.

John Roberts is our Supreme Court Justice, and nylon jackets should not be worn over wool sweaters. In other words, World came in the mail yesterday. :-D

There are three kinds of biographies: authorized, definitive, and didactic.

Altan has a version of "Mother May I Go to the Fair?" that I've heard three times this morning... : )

Japanese scientists videotaped a live giant squid, releasing the report this week...

If you want to be an overseas missionary, challenge yourself and ask the question: What am I doing right now?

The key to motivation is success.

Did you know the shortening of the calf muscle is directly correlated to high mental stress?

I'm a little tired of sitting here. Are you?

geek links for general reference

Potluck!
And let me warn you, these are not all as they seem to be labeled. . .

ISIDORE OF SEVILLE

MEXICAN WAR TIMELINE

E. L. EASTON LANUAGES

DR. BASIC'S ART HISTORY

OLIVER CROMWELL

MIND INSTITUTE PUBLICATIONS

BIBLIOMANIA LIBRARY

BLAKENEY MANOR

INTERACTIVE MUSIC THEORY

RECORDED CONCERTS ONLINE

MULTIMEDIA SEARCH ENGINE

CONGRESS LIVE

MEDIEVAL SOURCEBOOK

FOREST OF RHETORIC

Babinski

And what, may I ask, do Mari and Sam and Perv think I shall talk about next?

Go read "What To Do about Your Brain Injured Child" by Glenn Doman.

It doesn't say much about Babinski, however, and neither do I.

In fact, I've talked my head off about the content of this book in science lab today (qualifying me as a truly Mad Scientist, and my fellow-scientists as Extra-Mad...) and I'd better not say anything about it now.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Unfortunately for you all, I've learned something new since science lab:

One can force a person to breathe deeply by stimulating reflexes. (this is known as Reflexive Therapy, and it can be used for all different sorts of problems.)

Here are the two ways one can do this:

1. Apply ice to the patient's chest, and he will inhale deeply. (this only works one or two times, as the patient gets cold (desensitized) very quickly.)

2. Limit a patient's oxygen intake. The patient rebreathes into a bag sealed around the mouth and nose, and after 30 seconds, his low oxygen intake actually stimulates quick, deep breaths. This can only be done for maybe five minutes every hour, but will indeed teach better breathing technique without requiring the conscious effort of the patient.

That second method was discovered in the late 1950's and used to cure polio patients of chronic respiratory distress. It's still the best one they've found...

And by now I've lost my audience.

Farewell!

Excursions in Cookery

I have a recipe for you all.

Annie Laurie's Vanilla Pudding

Makes 4 servings.

In a 4 qt saucepan, blend:
2 T cornstarch
1/8 tsp. salt
1/3 c. sugar

Then whisk in:
2 c. milk

Heat at medium temperature until mixture boils.
Stirring continuously, let boil for 1 minute.

Pour half of mixture into separate bowl, and let cool for a moment.
Gradually add
2 eggs, lightly beaten,
while stirring continuously.

Pour egg mixture back into saucepan, and boil the whole thing for 1-2 minutes.

Remove from heat, and stir in:
2 T butter, slightly softened, and
2 t. vanilla.

Refridgerate for at least two hours.

When it doesn't set, pour it into pitcher and serve in glasses with nutmeg and ice.

:)

The recipe, when followed, works well. It's Betty Crocker's.
But when Annie made it, she tried something she should not have tried.

YOU figure out what that is!

Newss... precious...

I have none, by the way.

Now. Let me indulge in a soft tiny "snigger" at my sister, Pervinca.

As you all know, Pervinca went into a 4-day spasm of cross-stitching.

This took place the day after I mentioned it in Sunday School as a potential distraction from Bible Study. I, as you all know, begin obsessively needleworking as soon as I have something better to do. And so, before the whole class, I discussed how sins of omission have their apparent rewards. I mentioned, for the sin of not spending time with God: extra study time and better test scores, more time for recreational reading and friends, and progress on the cross-stitch project... and at that moment, Perv made a distinct "NOT ME" with her mouth for the benefit of the class, complete with beautiful blue eyes turned heavenward.

She'd never even THOUGHT of cross-stitch before that moment, and yet... the morning after she had expressed her just aversion to such activities, she promptly found me and asked to have a cross-stitch project of mine.

She now has no idea from whence her inspiration came. But we all know the truth, don't we?

:-P

^_^

No, I still don't have any news. Unless you care to hear that our piano was tuned yesterday morning and now sounds BRILLIANT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

In my Latin book (Lingua Latina: Familia Romana, Cap. XXIX), Lydia learns that Medus bought her ring with stolen money. She becomes very angry and tries to throw it into the sea, but Medus and the steersman jump on her too fast, and pry it out of her fingers. The steersman proceeds to tell the story of the tyrant King Polycrates, who thought that by throwing his most prized possession (his signet) into the sea, he would appease the wrath of the gods.

Unfortunately for him, the gods responded by having his ring returned to him in the belly of a fish. And Polycrates, after having his kingdom taken away, died a horrible death.

The steersman is just wrapping up the story when Medus notices a ship on the horizon.

PIRATES!!!!

I hope we find out what happens before the book ends, that's all I have to say!

The Woman in White

So far?

Well, there's this woman who wears only white. She's from an insane asylum, and she's not insane. This evil baronet holds her there against her will. Well, he did. Then she escaped.

The Woman in White has a look-alike. And the same evil baronet is betrothed to her (the look-alike).

And the main character (drawing-master) has fallen in love with the aforesaid look-alike.

(Why don't I just use the real names?)

Of course we all know that the drawing master will marry the girl in the end. Of course. All books go like that, especially if Wilkie Collins wrote them.

But now the question arises:

~what motivation does the evil baronet have for doing all his evil deeds?~
and
~what will befall the Woman in White? What is her significance?~

And that we will discover presently, as soon as the drawing master gets his act together. :)

Also, this is for Daisy Baggins: I DO know what "The Moonstone" is about, because I DID try to read it once, and it IS by Wilkie Collins (just like what I'm reading now). And that's why I said it looked familiar.

The only problem being: Daisy doesn't read this blog.

Now. About Wilkie Collins:

He has an engaging and colorful style, a cut below Dickens. Nevertheless, he manages to write brilliant passages here and there.

His women are either nice, brain-using women, or they are victims, or they are overemotional wilting pansies. But there are women in his stories, and more often than not, one of them helps solve the puzzle.

And his choice of names. Sometimes perfect, sometimes ridiculous, always wierd. (For instance, in one of his short stories, there is a young doctor by the name of Launcelot Linzie.)
X-/

Other names of interest? Well, from the book I'm reading now, there's...

Anne Catherick
Marian Halcombe
Laura Fairlie
Sir Percival Glyde
Walter Hartright

Collins writes thriller novels. Which means he occasionally borrows from the world of the supernatural or (especially in this novel) pathological fear.

I've read The Frozen Deep, which was the inspiration for Dickens' Tale of Two Cities. It's a short story. . .but not necessarily worth the read. The main girl (I think her name was Clara) had some prophetic power where she would go into trances and see the future. And that was a little too wierd for me, even though the rest of the story is cold and sad and dramatic and all that.

:)

Tim O'Brien...

has a new cd out. You can hear two tracks a week at the Sugar Hill Listening Room, if you'd care to, and the link is in My Favorite Haunts box. :)

Specimen of Fatigue no. 2

from Sunday night:

the harvest moon is red.

Yes, I know. Quite profound, no?

And no, it's not really red. It's orange.

Remember that passage from Acts, where Peter quotes Joel as saying "the sun will be darkened and the moon will turn to blood," and declares that it has been fulfilled on the day of Pentecost?

I dunno. It seemed to have some minute significance.

Western-ness.

FALL HAS COME TO OKLAHOMA!!!!

I was reading over old blog posts recently and noting how wierd some of them are. Those appliance stories, for instance, should have never been published. NEVER.

But it is too late to look back! No, the damage has already been done, and it is not for me to rewind the course of history. . .

And really, I have nothing to say. Check out Perv's blog (Cloaked and Dangerous, actually now entitled Insanity Comes Naturally) for some things that I also witnessed today.

Fall weather, unlike all other seasons, actually brings back memories. Homecoming Parades, tree-climbing with Merry, excursions in the rain, the flavor of school and textbooks and walking to and from the library in the evening, going to concerts and recitals, and things like that.

And it was actually cold this morning! I ran to the closet and put on a turtleneck, just to celebrate.

BJP came over yesterday to do therapy with Fric, and we walked around outside for a bit waiting for Mrs. P to pick her up. Mostly, we played with Miss Fric, who has a truly wild imagination. We rode our horses home, lived in the pine tree, shot bears and roasted them for supper, ran away from the mean bad guys (thanks to the boys' western movie-watching, I'm sure), and locked the gate behind us. Though Fric was allegedly the littlest girl, she dictated the course of the whole game, even to the supposed-to-be mother. ("Mother? MOTHER! Now You 'posed to say [in falsetto] 'Yes darling?' ")

And anyway. When one has no life but school, it's rather hard to find anything for the blog. Thank goodness for little sisters!

Specimen of Fatigue no. 1

and yes, there will be more to follow, I'm sure.

Some parts of your head just go to sleep after nine o'clock PM.

And other parts of your head barely wake up by then.

The latter statement refers to bizarre philosophical analogies involving whatever you have in your hand.

Like, Life is as a long strand of embroidery floss: for every bit that shows on top, there's a bit holding it in place underneath. Or, Some thread was meant to be woven in, and some was just meant to pull everything else along. Or, one stitch isn't beautiful all by itself, and every cross stitch has two threads in it..

And you get the idea. O_O

The first statement, about the parts of the head that fall asleep after nine, refers to the Common Sense part especially.

Last night, I was brushing my teeth in the guest bathroom. It was late, and I ran the water for quite some time. Then I shut it off, and must have pushed the faucet handle too hard (though I don't remember), because the hot water line under the sink came loose and started spraying water.

I immediately realized that it required my father's assistance. So, while water sprayed out of the pipe at a tremendous rate, I walked nonchalantly into the family room and said: "Papa, we have a problem. There's water coming out of the pipe under the sink. I don't know what we need to do, but we probably need to hurry. . ."

Papa thought I was talking about the girls' bathroom. So, while I grabbed some towels from the middle bathroom and ran back to the guest bathroom, he was in the girls' bathroom wondering what on earth I was talking about.

The water had flooded the bathroom floor and also the carpet outside the bathroom. I put down the one towel I'd brought and greeted Mama, who actually used her head and pulled out the guest towels hanging right there. I wish I'd thought of that before the carpet flooded. Duh.

But I made yet another trip to the middle bathroom and grabbed a bigger towel. By the time I'd come back, Mama had (duh) turned the hot water line off. Yeah. I know. There's a nozzle down there that stops the water from flowing through the pipes.

Both those events happened last night after nine PM. I rest my case.

Tired and Grouchy

Yes, that's Yours Truly!

The Phantom of the Opera: Boy, am I behind the times! I only liked the movie because of the music. Otherwise, it was too romantic and crude (how French!).

The plot was so so so so sllloooooowww. (in fact, it seemed to me that the plot was incidental framing of the music and costumes.)

And then, to top things off, I went to the Gamgee's house and heard their library-loaned recording of Sarah Brightman and thought: I can't believe I ever liked it the other way...

So, MW, you have been vindicated in your outspoken opinion. However, I don't mind the movie singers nearly as much as you do. They worked. It's just that the Broadway cast worked better. :)

And as for the rest of everything else...

We found a kitten in our juniper bush yesterday. Actually, it was our neighbor's kitten Pickles. And we knew him already. But one of the large dogs of the neighborhood chased it out of its own yard and into ours. And the boys made it a nest in the juniper bush down by the corner.

I WANT A CAT! WAAHHHHH!

:(

Also, I finished reading A Chance to Die. But Mama's calling me to go to choir practice, and so.

Farewell.

Sights and Sounds

Sight:
Fric in Ruby's lavendar velveteen dress, princess crown, and white pumps:

"Wow! Are you a princess?"

"That me is!"

Sound:
~brothers talking to Mama about cleaning out the garage:

"We picked up ALL the cardboard off the garage floor."

"Is it in the trash-can?"

"Yeah."

"I hope you put it in a bag."

"Mhm. But we probably can't get it out now that we pounded it down with sticks and boards."

"We tried, but it wouldn't budge!"

(and yes, I went out later to verify this story: the trashcan was chock full of pancake-like cardboard, wedged tightly into a bursting bag)

Sight and Sound:
~Beverly Hillbillies: Garden Party

On Wednesday, we saw a hummingbird playing in our sprinkler. Oh, was that funny!