Summary of Descent: The Heroic Discovery of the Abyss by Brad Matsen

Otis Barton, born 1899, first began exploring under water at age 16 when he created his own diving helmet with a breathing tube. By the time he had graduated from Harvard with an engineering degree, he had plans to create a device that could explore far beyond the 365 feet of the current submarines. He was dismayed to read that William Beebe, an acclaimed, self-taught naturalist and explorer, might beat him to it with his own plans for a diving tank. Seeing the engineering flaws in Beebe’s design, Barton approached Beebe about a joint, undersea expedition using Barton's own design for a diving sphere. Beebe agreed.

The construction of what would eventually be called the Bathysphere was an engineering wonder for the 1920s. It was a steel, metal ball with a viewing window, electric lighting, air-conditioning, oxygen, a search light, and telephone communication. The sphere was submerged slowly from a boat via a giant cable by a team of assistants. The author goes into detail about the engineering requirements for the sphere to withstand their goal of 2-miles deep. Each part was manufactured by the company that specialized in that particular product. For example, the lamps came from General Electric, and the phone system from Bell Laboratories.

Beebe and Barton made their first dive in 1930, setting a record of 803 feet. Going deeper with each successive dive, they topped off their record at 3,028 feet in 1934. Because of these unprecedented depths, Beebe and Barton were the first to observe the sea beyond the reach of sunlight: “The sun’s light and colors simply drop away in order of the position of their wavelengths in the spectrum, beginning with reds at about 50 feet, then yellows at 150, and greens at 300. Finally, only the faintest hint of purplish blue remains at 700 feet.”  As a result, fish which are one color in the sunlight become an entirely different color. Beebe observed a pilot fish whose “reds had gone to black, its grays to white…” (93).

Due to his frequent deep-net fishing excursions, Beebe was familiar with every fish known to science at the time. Nevertheless, some of these fish he had not seen alive until his Bathysphere dives. Others he had seen, but were considered shallow-water dwellers until now. Beebe also described many new fish that haven’t been seen since. His claim that these were as-yet-undiscovered species caused much controversy by a scientific community, many of whom felt Beebe was not qualified to make such a claim.

It was through the single viewing window that Beebe witnessed these discoveries of the deep, while Barton kept an eye on the operation of the Bathysphere. Having followed and idolized Beebe’s career during his youth, working with Beebe should have been a dream come true for Barton. However, it was clear early in their working relationship that they had vastly different personalities and even goals. Barton was an adventurer desiring eventual fame; Beebe’s passion was science. “Barton was good with mechanical things and fixed the generator…but he wasn’t a patient observer of specimens. When Hollister [Beebe’s assistant] was showing him around her lab, he picked up a dragon fish she was preparing and his rough handling broke off a part of its tail. Barton laughed. Later that night, Hollister told Beebe she’d just as soon not have Barton hanging around while she was working.” Barton, likewise, was put off by Beebe’s “break-neck, dawn-to-dusk pace” and authoritative manner (56-7).

Thereafter, their relationship would be strictly a working one, and often strained at that. Barton increasingly resented being overlooked for his part in the Bathysphere creation and expeditions. By the end of their diving career, Barton’s desire for fame prompted him to exaggerate the deep sea creatures they had seen. This shoddy reporting of their dives angered and dismayed Beebe, whose pop-icon status already placed him on shaky ground within the scientific community. The catalyst for their permanent separation was Barton’s shabby movie production sensationalizing the Bathysphere dives. A shark was killed and a battle raged between an octopus and a lobster. The movie, which closed in three weeks, was inaccurately credited to both Barton and Beebe and their Bathysphere associates. Beebe quickly set the record straight, publicly disassociating himself and the others from this embarrassing production.

Despite his life-long struggle to achieve scientific legitimacy, Beebe was eventually credited with having an understanding of ecology before the word was even in common use. “Beebe’s legacy as a pioneering ecologist rivals that of his contributions to ornithology, marine biology, and oceanography. The notion that an organism can only be understood when its surroundings and neighbors are taken into account was so radical during his time as to have been completely absent from most scientific discussion. The term ‘ecology’ was not in common use when, in 1909, Beebe published a twenty-page article in Zoologica entitled ‘The Ecology of the Hoatzin’ [a south American bird]…” (232). Beebe passed away at age 84.

Having far less interest in scientific recognition, Barton continued pursuing film-making until he was called to service in WWII. It was after his service that he designed the Benthoscope which took him 4,500 feet, breaking his and Beebe’s deepest record. He undertook small, naturalist projects throughout the latter years of his life. He passed in 1992 at age 92.

I found this book to be really engaging, even in some of the technical descriptions. Knowing this was accomplished in the 1920s was fascinating to me. I was disappointed by the conflict between Barton and Beebe, but that was part of the story’s pull. It was a perfect story for both readers of information and those seeking entertainment.

Mary of Guise by Rosalind K. Marshall

I just finished Mary of Guise, Queen of Scots by Rosalind K. Marshall. It was only 100 pages and Marshall says in the forward that it is a “distillation of [her] previous full-length biography of Mary of Guise.”

My decision to read about Mary followed my reading more extensively about her daughter Mary Stewart and John Knox. While Mary Stewart is a more popular subject, Mary of Guise is, in my admittedly novice opinion, a far worthier queen and perhaps nobler person.

Coming from devoutly Catholic parents (her father was a war hero in defending the faith), Mary’s faith to the Church and in God was unshakable even through severe heartache. After the death of her two children by James V, followed by the death of James himself, her son from her first marriage also died. In the face of such personal defeat, she wrote to her mother, “I think, my Lady, as you wrote to me, that Our Lord must wish for me one of his chosen ones, since he has visited me so often with such sorrow; praised be he for all” (75).

Besides her faith, her qualities of leadership were remarkable. She exercised wisdom and won hearts at times when a lesser leader might have enacted vengeance. For example, when some Scottish soldiers deserted during a battle against the English, she personally visited each house where they were hiding, and said, “Is it thus, my friends, that you support the French? Is it thus that you set them a good example? Before God, if I had not seen you with my own eyes and if anyone had told me that you were like to forget your honour in this way, I would not have believed them. I should have thought such a thing incredible, having praised you so much all my life for what I believe and still do believe to be true, that no nation on earth would equal your courage.” She also allowed for the possibility that, instead of deserting, they had merely returned to regroup and rearm, and “she knew that they would not want to miss the opportunity of avenging the death of their relatives and friends.” Abashed, the soldiers returned to the army immediately. She followed their service with personal gifts, promising more to come after battle (67-8).

She likewise handled the fickleness of her nobles’ allegiance with the same shrewdness. The Earl of Arran was particularly notorious for switching his loyalties back and forth between Scotland and England, and during one of his wavering moments, Mary “hastily persuaded Henry [King of France] to offer a wealthy French Bride for young Lord James [the earl’s son]” (66). It worked for a time, but, although the Earl was eventually made Duke of Châterherault , he was supporting the English again by the time of Mary’s death – even to the point of denying Mary the Bishop of Amiens at her death-bedside when the other Scottish Lords consented. (Sadly, because her rule was weakening with the often violent growth of Protestantism, the French support she had relied on throughout her reign ceased until after her death when France resumed negotiations with Scotland) (96).

The Protestant subjects’ hostility toward Mary, fueled by the ever antagonistic John Knox, never seemed justified to me. Maybe it was more a reaction to the bloody reign of Mary Tudor, whose reign lasted for 5 of the 6 years of Mary of Guise’s reign. For the nobles, the devotion to either church was usually politically motivated, a spiritual void I can hardly fault them for in an age where the church and state were one in power and corruption.

Even in her Catholic devotion, Mary recognized the flaws of the clergy, once asking the Pope to send a cardinal to deal with the problems, which included “lack of ecclesiastical discipline, the dispersal of church property, and the immorality of monks and nuns.” Her request was not granted, and Mary later asked the Archbishop of St. Andrews to call for a council to “consider the Protestants' demands.” The death of Mary Tudor put a halt to these plans and the Protestant Elizabeth took the English throne (85).

Obviously, a 100 page biography is more of a primer, but it gave me a favorable view of Mary of Guise, and it also reinforced to me the hardships of being a monarch. I believe she met the challenge with the strength and wisdom required, and would have been a more formidable opponent for Elizabeth I than her daughter was.

Report/Review of John Knox by Rosalind K. Marshall

My reason for reading a biography of John Knox was to get a more in-depth view of his character. He is so demonized today, particularly by women, and references to him in my readings on Mary Stewart left me disgusted with him. I eventually decided that any assessment would be unfair until I’d read at least one biography.

At the beginning of this book, when reading of his often-misunderstood relationship with his eventual mother-in-law Elizabeth Bowes, I got a picture of a very sensitive, compassionate man able to openly express emotion and affection.  By all accounts, he retained his kind nature when dealing one-on-one with his female family and parishioners.  

Queen Elizabeth and Queen Mary were never to see this side of him. The opinion for which he is most disliked today is his outspoken objection to female rule, a sentiment that was largely fueled by the abuses he and his contemporaries suffered at the hands of the Catholic Mary Tudor in England. This prejudice was firmly affixed by the time Mary Stewart took the Scottish throne. Despite her efforts to reason with him and even charm him, as she did most people, he retained his opinion for the rest of his life: a female monarch was acceptable only if she submitted to the true (Protestant) church and, eventually, to a husband.  She was never to be considered the final authority, as it was unnatural for women to be in positions of leadership, to say nothing of their natural inclination toward sin. This is, perhaps, an oversimplification of his beliefs, but that’s the basic impression I came away with. A more in-depth look at his views can be found in his treatiseThe First Blast of the Trumpet against the Monstrous Regiment of Women, which angered both Mary and Elizabeth.  

While Knox supported the protestant Queen Elizabeth, he did not find much more favor with her than with Mary, largely because of The First Blast.  Knox’s genuine surprise at her reaction shows what I consider to be a naivete rooted in the confidence of his doctrine. He expected her to understand that such statements weren’t personal, but true, and if Elizabeth simply followed the correct faith, he approved of her rule within its proper boundaries.

His incredibly obstinate refusal to temper his views or even the expression of his views is what defined his character until his death.  Elizabeth’s disapproval and Mary’s tearful rage did not faze him, even when Mary came close to charging him with treason. It is certain he would have chosen to be martyred before he would recant.

While his belief in the Protestant cause overrode his sense of self-preservation -  an admirable trait as far as convictions go – his focus on establishing an earthly kingdom is disconcerting from my personal Christian perspective. As the daughter of a minister descended from a line of ministers on both my paternal and maternal side, and someone who has chosen the Christian faith of my parents, I cannot read such a biography from a purely objective perspective.  Instead, I find myself despairing over the state of the spiritual kingdom that surely must have been stunted while Knox wreaked havoc in its name. Yes, historically, it was a tumultuous time and it was the way of things to shed blood over doctrine, but even Calvin had to occasionally distance himself from Knox’s proclamations.  By contrast, I cannot see Knox as merely a product of his time. His antics baffled his peers almost as much as they do our more moderate, modern minds.

Of course, Knox was patterning himself after the Old Testament prophets, much as many Christian historical figures have.  It really isn’t clear how appropriate such a role is anno domini.

My final conclusion as to Knox’s character is that he was a generally kind-hearted man, but without the slightest sense of ecumenism or diplomacy.  His resolve helped establish Protestantism in Scotland, but also alienated two monarchs as well as hosts of their subjects – on both sides of the religious argument.

There are so many “what-ifs” that come to mind should Knox have been more moderate: What if Mary Stewart had been swayed toward Protestantism, what if Knox had been better able to join forces with Calvin, and – most importantly to me – what if, by showing grace and love, Knox had managed to further the real, unseen kingdom over the earthly one?

I don’t propose to have the answers, nor am I assuming that Knox always did the wrong thing in the eyes of God. The Church has passed through many unseemly phases and only in the end will we be able to fully distinguish the wheat from the chaff.

As far as books go, this one wasn’t an overly fascinating read, but I feel it did give as objective a view of Knox as possible. I would personally like to see Jane Dunn undertake a biography on Knox, but he isn’t the most fascinating character to write about. Rather than the soap-opera drama of his monarchs, his life was characterized by the “straight and narrow,” his famous flares of anger against the Catholic church and its supporters eventually falling into the rhythmic noise of artillery – always loud, but always the same. 

Cross Stitching, My Unlikely Hobby

Of my many hobbies, one of the few that actually places me in more common circles is cross-stitching. I picked it up on a whim around 2005 or so when my husband and I took to listening to Coast to Coast AM in the evenings (we're Streamlink members).  I bought the Eeyore pattern you see below and took off rather quickly on it.  Then I set it down for 7 years.  I mean, I was so close to finished, and I just set it down.  It became one of those monkey-on-your-back projects that seems to grow heavier with every day you ignore it. So, 7 years later, which would bring us to the fall of 2012, I pulled old Eeyore out and tried to send him home with a friend to finish, telling her she could do whatever with it afterward, but just knowing it was completed would give me peace of mind.

After she'd left and I realized she'd forgotten to take Eeyore with her, I suddenly found it within myself to continue working on it, very much like the whim that had caused me to purchase it 7 years earlier. I was pleasantly surprised to find that locating the row where I’d left off on the now yellowing chart wasn’t impossible after 7 years.  As I stitched, my feelings moved from obligation to actual enjoyment.  It was the moment I sewed the X-es for his eyes and thought “now he can see!” that I knew I was hooked.  After roughly two weeks of wrestling the demon of backstitching, during which I had to undo and redo the same section multiple times to achieve the 3D effect (I’ve attached Eeyore pre-backstitch so you can see the difference) I had him made into a pillow for my mom’s Christmas present.

Following Eeyore, I worked the seahorse cross stitch for my friend’s mom. The pattern I chose was shipped from New Zealand and was my first lesson in the varying styles of needlework directions over the world: the chart told me which symbols correlated to which colors, but the problem was that that colors were all so similar. I had such a rough time distinguishing “purple” from “medium purple and “purplish blue” that I concluded that company should have had the threads pre-labeled. I finally sorted it out and found it a fairly simple project – until the end where I abandoned my newly-learned “nun stitch,” which was causing the material to prematurely fray,  for a simple backstitch.  And just as I was proudly putting the finishing touches on the seahorse, my friend – whose mom was to be the recipient – asked hopefully, “Are you going to put her name on it?”

They say all you have to do is chart the name in the squares, but I can tell you after stitching words (not pre-printed) on two projects now it is not that simple.  I had to restart her name several times to adjust for even spacing, etc.

After she learned I was stitching a bookmark for a friend’s mom, my own mom suggested I do my next one for her. I thought long and hard before settling on the Scottish Piper pattern that hails to a joke we’ve long had since our trip to Scotland. The pattern was, in fact, shipped from Scotland, and ironically, I found myself back in Scotland while finishing it. I was in a pub, in fact, and never more glad to say goodbye to a project in my life. The New Zealand company’s instructional deficiency had nothing over that of the Scottish. While the chart told me where to put the backstitching and outlining, only the picture (small as the life-sized bookmark) told me what colors to use. If you will observe the detail in my Scottish Piper, you might get an inkling of the tedium this involved.  It was exhausting, especially as I had to move back and forth between studying the chart and studying the picture. Furthermore, the chart and the picture had some differences in spacing that forced me to improvise. On more than one occasion, I thought I was almost finished only to find I had missed or erred on a section.

I finished it in an Edinburgh pub, trying to beat the setting sun in the window behind. A couple sat next to me, watching with interest. I explained with embarrassment that I hadn’t originally intended to cross-stich a Scottish Piper in Scotland, as if I were an obsessive tourist. (I was relieved to learn they were Irish.)

The finished product, as you see, is framed for my mom. (It’s going to be a surprise, but I’m posting it now because I don’t think she ever visits my blog.) The puckering you might notice along the border is how I learned the hard way not to stitch so tight, but I wasn’t about to redo it all again.  Plus, what mom is going to care about that?

I’m currently working on the dragon that is going to be all for me, framed to hang in my study.

So, with apologies to my students for stealing their conclusion style, that is the story of how I began cross-stitching - if you don't count the large-print kitten I stitched as a child and the goose I never finished when I was 14.

Review of Elizabeth and Mary by Jane Dunn

This book was excellent. I read one review where a reader complained that Dunn repeats herself too often, reiterating points as if you aren't going retain them otherwise. That's one reason I loved this book!  The reinforcement kept the important stuff fresh in my memory and left me feeling, by the end, I could probably given an impromptu lecture on characters of Mary and Elizabeth.

As for the impressions I personally came away with: Mary was an unfortunate product of the French court that taught her that rule was hers by right. She honed the art of charm but never wisdom. Between her chronic self-indulgence and her (likely) manic depressive cycles, she made a life-long series of decisions that sealed her fate. I have a difficult time with the enduring myth of her Catholic martyrdom; her behavior throughout her life was characterized far more by self-indulgence than faith. I felt as though her role as martyr was a last-ditch effort to improve her legacy. (Dunn seems to present it this way.)

Elizabeth, by contrast, became queen by a chain of uncanny events and never took rule for granted. She was discerning and so careful in her decision-making that indecision (contrasted with Mary's trademark rashness) was a weakness. Her eventual decision to behead Mary can hardly be called a decision at all,  as you will see if you read, and even though Mary was skilled at flattery and deference to Elizabeth in their early acquaintance, I got the impression that Elizabeth had more genuine feelings for and loyalty to Mary -- something she couldn't afford to entertain. 

I don't want to take the time to chronicle the numerous and critical mistakes that marked Mary's reign, but I will list three decisions I believe hurt Elizabeth's chances of solidifying a trustworthy relationship with Mary: her refusal to ever meet Mary face-to-face, her stall tactics over selecting a possible husband for Mary, and her refusal to grant Mary the asylum she sought when she fled Scotland. Her decision on these matters were complicated by the volatile political and religious situation at the time, and my opinion is an amateur one, but there it is. 

Overall, these historical females were brought to life for me in a very personal way, and I am anxious to read more historical books, especially written by Jane Dunn.

C.S. Lewis and Focus on the Afterlife

I've been reading C.S. Lewis's book Reflections on the Psalms, and in it he explains how the Jews perceived the Psalms vs. how Christians perceive them. One thing he addresses is the Christian focus on the afterlife. He says that traditionally in Judaism, there was little to no belief in an afterlife. Then he says this, which I love because it so succinctly states my own objections to scaring people into salvation via hellfire and brimstone: "The truth seems to me that happiness or misery beyond death, simply in themselves, are not even religious subjects at all... the hopes and anxieties aroused are overwhelming. But they are not on that account the more religious. They are hopes for oneself, anxieties for oneself. God is not in the centre. He is still important only for the sake of something else" (emphasis mine).

That is also how I feel about the "Left Behind" mentality. Having been through my own Last Day obsession, I came out of it realizing how little it nourished me spiritually. My focus was on things so literal.

 Anyway, he goes on to theorize why, in all God's revelation to the ancient Hebrews, he didn't reveal to them the importance of the afterlife: "It is surely, therefore, very possible that when God began to reveal himself to men, to show them that He and nothing else is their true goal and the satisfaction of their needs, and that He has a claim upon them simply by being what He is, quite apart from anything He can bestow or deny, it may have been absolutely necessary that his revelation should not begin with any hint of future Beatitude or Perdition. Those are not the right point to begin at. An effective belief in them, coming too son, may even render almost impossible the development of (so to call it) the appetite for God; personal hopes and fears, too obviously exciting, have got in first" (emphasis mine).

Brilliant. It shows exactly the theological flaw in using scare tactics to present Christ. I realize some Christians have a "whatever-it-takes" mentality, but I just can't believe that such "salvation" leads to a true understanding of Christ.  It may do more damage in the long run.I was brought up being taught, and have continued to experience, that the Kingdom is in operation every day, every moment.  Christ is Risen.  And living the Kingdom every day automatically keeps us in a state of preparation because we have the proper focus.

The Silent Scuffle

There have been several events in my life that have seemed paranormal but could possibly be explained away, even if by a far-fetched theory. 

Tonight's event was not one of those.  At least I can't think of an explanation.

I will back up:  two days ago, I had a couple experiences with texts I knew I had composed and sent only to find later that they were nonexistent.  This happened with two different text messaging services.  Still, technology will be technology, so, while I find it intriguing, I know it could just be a glitch -- even, coincidentally, in two different text messaging services.

This morning, I noticed two of my rats starting what I like to call a "silent scuffle."  Bishop and Farnsworth are such good friends that when they DO appear to have a fight, they go through the motions, but there is none of the squeaking and screeching you hear with two less affectionate rats.  It's kind of like watching a silent movie.  So when I saw this silent scuffle about to start up, I grabbed my iPhone to get it on film so my friend Jocy could see it.  She had heard about their scuffles, but I'd never filmed one. 

Disappointingly, just as I started recording, Bishop and Farnsworth toned it down and just sat there sort of swaying their heads back and forth, merely considering starting a scuffle.  I thought to myself, "Well, this is boring.  But Jocy would probably find it interesting since she would be able to tell what they are actually doing." (Jocy knows "rat language" very well.) 

But when Farnsworth started grooming Bishop, I realized the show was over and I just stopped the recording and went about my morning.  The video wasn't worth sending even to Jocy.

This evening, Jocy accompanied me to a vet visit for my brother's dog.  On our way, I asked if she had seen the two rat videos I had sent her yesterday.  She said, "Yes, I saw them this morning." then she laughed.  "I saw the one with the 'silent scuffle.'"  I looked at her in confusion and she continued, "You know, where the two rats were swaying back and forth in front of each other."

I knew I hadn't sent her the video she seemed to be describing; I hadn't even told her I had recorded one of their scuffles.  So I just decided she was referring to a video with a part I didn't remember happening, or she was just confused.  We were interrupted, but resumed the conversation later.  When she again brought that video up, I said, "I didn't send you that video."

She insisted I did, and she grabbed her phone to pull it up.  Meanwhile, I grabbed my phone to pull up the video of the near silent scuffle.  When I showed it to her, she said, "Yes, that was it."
"But I didn't send this to you," I said.  "I just decided it was too boring and I quit recording and did something else."

Again, she insisted I did send it to her.  And, like I said, she had already described the video, even before I'd shown it to her.  She decided that maybe my iPhone had sent it automatically. 

However, when she went to her email to show me -- it wasn't there.  Only the two videos I remember sending her were there.  She told me it had been a Youtube link within an email, like the others.  I showed her no such email in my own sent messages OR in my uploaded videos in Youtube.  I then showed her the steps I have to take to send her a video (with this particular one, I'd have had to clip it and that takes me some time since I have to decide which part to send) and there are even more steps to uploading it to Youtube then sending it as a link. 

But the fact remained that she had been able to describe this video before we had realized there was no way she could have seen it. (Also note that I have only ever sent her three videos total. Two of those were yesterday and one was months ago. None of them had a scene like the one she had just described that I had filmed.)

To make this more interesting, she told me that as she was watching it, she had figured - considering the boring content - that I had wanted her to tell me what the rats were doing -- which was exactly what I was thinking at the time of recording. 

There is no explanation as of yet for this.  But it's not the first time Jocy has experienced what appears to be an alternate reality.

Chickens Come First

Yesterday in after-school tutorials, one of my students, Danny, asked me where to find a certain passage in the play we've been reading.  He was retaking a test and needed to refer to part of the play.  Annoyed at his laziness, I told him to find it himself.  He became frustrated and said he had to go soon, but I remained firm.

A few minutes later, I heard what sounded like a bird chirping outside my door.  I knew it must be Mark, a student that makes the perfect imitation of a bird chirping.  He does this so often he doesn't even know he's doing it.  I looked up, saying, "Here comes Mark."  To my surprise, it wasn't Mark that walked through the door; it was Brandon -- with a box of cheeping chicks.  I jumped up in delight and began pulling them out of the box, kissing them and fawning all over them.  I didn't even ask why he had them or anything -- I was just so excited to be cuddling baby chicks for the first time in my life. 

Well, after a few minutes, my classrom phone rang.  I asked a student named Greg to get it for me, since it was closer to him.  He answered the phone and after a pause, said in a formal and apologetic tone, "She's holding a chicken right now." 

I set the chicken down and hurried over to the phone.  It was another teacher, whose first sentence was "He said you're holding a chicken?!"

"Yes, I was," I said, but she went into her reason for calling without asking any more about it.

Once off the phone, I went back to the chicks.  After a few more minutes of croons and kisses, the chicks suddenly began pecking at my hands, then at each other. It looked like the box was about to become a cock-fighting ring.  I asked what was wrong with them and Brandon said, "They're hungry!"

"Well, feed them!"  I said, distressed.

"We have to go get the food!"  He explained.  "I'm waiting for Danny!"  (Danny and Brandon are both FFA kids.)

I turned to Danny.  "You need to feed those chickens!"

"That's why I needed to find that passage!  Because I have to leave to get the food!"

"Put that test down and go get those chicks some food!"  I exclaimed.  "You don't need to be in here taking a test when those chicks are hungry!  You can finish it another day!"

He quickly put the test away and he and Danny booked it before I could scold them any longer.

Good grief.  I may be an English teacher but I'd shove Shakespeare in a ditch before I'd let a tiny, yellow, fluffy, cheeping bit of cuteness go hungry.

Pub Quiz Mystery

In our trip to the UK the past two weeks, my husband Richie and my cousin Jeremy and I got in on a pub quiz in York. We weren't really interested at first, so we didn't take any answer sheets, but to pass the time I went ahead and started writing down the answers on my own sheet of paper. I started with number one, so we didn't miss any. Around number 15, I believe, I heard the lady calling out the questions skip to 17 or something. I can't remember the exact numbers, but I know she skipped at least two. As Richie was at the bar, I looked to Jeremy for confirmation that I had heard correctly, and he agreed she had skipped a couple numbers. I expected some participant in the quiz to correct her or ask about it, but nobody said anything. The lady went on calling out questions. She continued in order to number 25, then suddenly she skipped to 29. Again, this anomaly was confirmed by both Jeremy and Richie, and again nobody corrected the lady or asked about the skipped numbers. I could only assume 1) the quiz worked in some odd way we weren't familiar with that the locals were or 2) somebody would point out the mistake before the lady called out the answers, maybe ask what the number to those questions were.

However, that never happened. The questions stopped at 30, and then the lady began calling out the answers. I waited curiously for her to get to the numbers she had skipped. I was positive that when she called out those answers, somebody in the pub would protest and say she had never even given the questions. Instead, when she DID get to those numbers 16-18, 26-28, I remembered those questions being called out. By the end of the answers, I realized that every answer she had called out had been to a question that I had, in fact, heard her ask. What's more, Jeremy and Richie both remembered those questions too.

We couldn't figure it out. We never did figure it out. There appeared to be no confusion in the pub whatsoever. Unfortunately, we didn't think to ask anyone else in the pub if they had observed the same thing we did. I wish so much that we had.

2 UFOs and a Possum

Two nights ago -- that would be the 12th -- my husband and I, along with 4 other people, saw an object in the sky we couldn't identify. It was a solid, bright light traveling with no sound at the altitude of an airplane. It was so low and bright that we knew it wasn't a satellite. It went in a straight trajectory west to east. My husband has worked with military craft for years (he tests weapon systems) and even he was unable to identify the object. This sighting took place around 10:30 or so. It was a cloudless night.

Tonight as I was taking my dog out, I saw another object. At first I assumed it was just a common aircraft because it was blinking, but then I realized it was one single light blinking completely off and on, exhibiting none of the blinking lights other of a traditional aircraft. It was also flying around airplane altitude (which I realize can vary but my point is it was not in space). It, too, was noiseless. It would blink on for maybe a second and a half and blink back out for just as long. It was also a cloudless night.

In another instance of strangeness tonight, when my husband took our dog Tiberius out to use the bathroom, Tiberius came across an opossum that Richie hadn't seen and tried to attack it. Richie snatched him back into, but the poor opossum went into shock. It lay there a few minutes, appearing to be asleep. (This is what people mistakenly believe is the opossum playing dead, but in reality, it is in shock.)

I felt so badly for it that I sat down a safe distance away and prayed for it until it recovered. When it did, it slowly raised its head and looked around, bleary eyed, like it didn't remember what had happened. Then it got up and walked away. I think I found that more interesting than the UFOs.

Salvation

I'm one of those Christians who isn't comfortable dividing people into the 'saved' and 'unsaved'. I do believe there is a hell and some people will go there. I do believe in Christ, and I believe He is the only way to the Father.  With that said, I love and respect people who don't even believe there IS a Christ or a Father.  Despite what many nonChristians assume about us Christians, I don't mentally place them in a "damned" category.  I can't possibly know where they stand - or will stand - with God.  (Of course, I don't imagine that people who are living their lives with intent to destroy others -- serial killers, rapists, etc, presently belong to God.) Only He knows their hearts, their hurts and disillusionments, the reasons for what they believe or disbelieve. I remember a conversation with one of my closest friends, a Pagan, in which we both agreed there was a darkness in a particular store in town, owned by someone my friend suspected did black magic.  Traditionally, a Christian and a Pagan would not be entering into agreement over what was dark and what wasn't.  But I knew my friend, I knew her heart and her sensitivity and I trusted her instincts.

I once met a Muslim guy in London who was undergoing a depression over his ex-fiance's marriage to someone else.  He was confiding in me and my husband about how after a year his depression was as deep as ever, and he didn't want to live sometimes.  He said that he had been praying a lot and he had recently made his first pilgrimage to Mecca.  There he had experienced an intense and personal experience with God.  He told us that he was starting to think that God was trying to show him that it wasn't about his relationship with this girl, it was about his relationship with God.  "That's exactly what He's trying to show you," I told him.  I knew He was hearing from God because that is the God I know -- the one who loves us intimately and wants to be close to us.  It didn't trip me up that he was Muslim because what he had spoken was truth.  And I'm not a relativist -- I do believe certain universal truths.

I have come into conflict with a few fellow Orthodox Christians over my concept of salvation.  They think that I am saying Christ is only one possible way.  Well, I'm not saying that.  I believe Christ, the 2nd person of the Trinity, is salvation.  Otherwise his atonement was just an option.  It makes His sacrifice meaningless to say it wasn't necessary.  I believe there is evil and darkness that can only be cancelled out by a divine, infinite holiness, not our falteringly human attempts to 'be good.'  We pretty much suck at that, even in our best attempts.  That's why I believe the blood sacrifice of Christ, the only sinless human, was necessary. 

Anyway, today I came across a transcript of a conversation between Billy Graham and Robert Schuller.  Graham really articulated exactly what I believe about salvation (even though the person who had posted this transcript has condemned Graham as a heretic).  Here it is:

Dr. Schuller: "Tell me, what is the future of Christianity?"


Dr. Graham: "Well, Christianity and being a true believer, you know, I think there's the body of Christ which comes from all the Christian groups around the world, or outside the Christian groups. I think that everybody that loves Christ or knows Christ, whether they're conscious of it or not, they're members of the body of Christ. And I don't think that we're going to see a great sweeping revival that will turn the whole world to Christ at any time. What God is doing today is calling people out of the world for His name. Whether they come from the Muslim world, or the Buddhist world, or the Christian world, or the non-believing world, they are members of the body of Christ because they've been called by God. They may not even know the name of Jesus, but they know in their hearts they need something that they don't have and they turn to the only light they have and I think they're saved and they're going to be with us in heaven."

Dr. Schuller: "What I hear you saying is that it's possible for Jesus Christ to come into a human heart and soul and life even if they've been born in darkness and have never had exposure to the Bible. Is that a correct interpretation of what you're saying?"

Dr. Graham: "Yes it is because I believe that. I've met people in various parts of the world in tribal situations that they have never seen a Bible or heard about a Bible, have never heard of Jesus but they've believed in their hearts that there is a God and they tried to live a life that was quite apart from the surrounding community in which they lived."

Dr. Schuller: "This is fantastic. I'm so thrilled to hear you say that. There's a wideness in God's mercy.

Dr. Graham: There is. There definitely is."

And there it is.  I believe in a God who isn't so unreasonable as to require the every living person hear one specific story to be saved.  After all, God, Christ, is omnipresent, omniscient, and omnipotent.  Hearing and believing the story of Christ is the ultimate revelation, however.  Knowing Christ is knowing love and forgiveness, is knowing that every person, despicable or righteous, was created in His image, is precious beyond words, and is able to be redeemed.  It's knowing that every living thing on earth has His breath of life, that every little creature has its own value and unique essence and is also an object of His very personal love. (That latter part is my own personal doctrine.)

I have run into hostility from Christians who think I'm heretical and I've run into hostiliy from nonChristians who scoff at my "simplistic" belief in Christ.  I'm learning, for the first time in my life, to be at rest with opposition from both.  And I'm thankful for my friends -- Christian, Pagan, Muslim, etc. -- who really know how to love, which is the ultimate thing God requires of us anyway.

Todd in Class

This morning in 5th hour, my students were discussing something we had read, and one student in particular was giving some very insightful comments.  I was keeping in the background, as I had arranged the discussion to be entirely student-centered, but after a few comments, it dawned on me that this boy's voice was unusually raspy.  So I said, "Todd, you sound like Clint Eastwood today."  A lot of kids laughed, but Todd replied in a dazed tone, "I feel like crap."  I told him I was sorry he felt bad and I had just been trying to make him laugh.  The discussion continued and Todd again contributed with intelligent commentary.  We were all just listening and I was marking down his points.  Then, completely out of the blue, he concluded with, "And I just want to say that a .44 magnum is the most powerful handgun in the world."  We all lost it.

More Telepathic Experiences

I had a couple friends over weekend before last, and after some chatting and a couple drinks, I casually suggested one of them send me an object mentally.  She had never done this with me before and she sent me four different objects total. 

With the first one, I saw straw, like maybe a scarecrow, but my instinct told me to go with the properties.  (Sometimes I can tell if I'm just getting the properties or the exact item.)  So I said, "I'm getting straw."  She said, "I sent you a red basket."  She sent me a second object and I got simply a big orange ball.  It was just too simple so I figured I had missed it, but I said, "OK, I just got a big, orange ball."  She looked astonished, almost uncomfortable, and said, "I sent you the sun."   The third thing I saw was definitely black and had a large, solid shape to it -- long.  I wondered if it was a whale.  Finally I said, "It's black; it's long, maybe cylindrical."  She said, "I sent you a top hat."

We took a short break and a few minutes later, I asked her to send me another. This time I got a blanket, very clearly.  Again, I felt it was too simple, but I said, "OK, I got a blanket or quilt."  She said, "I sent you a green blanket." She was a bit freaked out over it, and she wanted to stop because it makes her head hurt.  My other friend there, with whom I've always played the game with incredible success, said that it makes her head hurt as well.  They both agreed the pain comes in the center of the forehead.  So while I was disappointed, I didn't request any more objects.  I am going to find out if it makes any of my other friends' heads hurt.

So far, the exercise has worked consistently with whomever is willing to do it with me --  except my husband, my cousin, and my brother.  I was starting to conclude that it only works with females, but recently it worked with a male friend and in the past there was another male friend it worked with.  So I don't know exactly what the criteria are at this point, or if there is a certain type with whom it works best.

Early Morning Excitement

I had a terrible time going to sleep last night.  It seemed that, for the first time ever, the night time cold meds I took had a reverse effect and my heart was beating a little too quickly.  I lay awake for what seemed like hours, right on the edge of sleep.  At last, somewhere in the dead middle of the night, I drifted off, only to be waken in the predawn morning by my dog Salem barking.  She was perched on the end of the bed, looking toward the window.

Salem barks at everything and oftentimes nothing, and, as is my custom, I grabbed her and shoved her back under the covers where I spent perhaps the next half hour holding her snout while she continued to bark.  I don't remember the last time she behaved this way in the middle of the night, but I was dismayed that I might never be able to go back to sleep.  When I heard other dogs barking -- Mom's dog Henry and what sounded like other dogs in the neighborhood -- I knew it was never going to end.  Once one dog hears another barking, it causes a chain reaction.

Suddenly, I opened my eyes to see a red glow at the window.  I jumped out of bed and lifted the blind to find two flashing police cars.  Richie and Mom and I were soon in the patio room, where from the window we could see  that several police cars and one fire truck lined the streets in front of and alongside Mom's house.  There was a man cuffed and lying on the street, with a cop standing over him. 

As the dogs needed to go outside anyway, it worked out that the cop and apprehended man were only feet away from where the dogs had to potty.  We shuffled around in our PJs, catching some of the interrogation, while the dogs did their business.  It seems the man wasn't telling the cops where a gun or something was, and the cop was explaining to him that the dogs would find it anyway.  We also noticed that the man had been injured somehow and his leg wrapped. 

Meanwhile, Mom returned inside, but the ever frustrating Salem still hadn't gone to the bathroom.  So the conversation between the cop and suspect became punctuated by my prompting "Go potty!  Go potty!"

Once back inside, we observed the man lying on the snowy street and began to feel sorry for him.  Mom speculated that he might need a blanket, but I reminded her that the cop wasn't getting any answers out of him and they probably wouldn't appreciate us making him more comfortable. 

We all watched for the next thirty minutes or so, and eventually the police helped the man into the car.  The policeman who had been questioning the man saw us watching and came over to the house to explain what was going on.  We learned that the man had been robbing a house nearby and ended up fleeing the scene.  He ran into this neighborhood and was caught hiding in Mom's hedge.  When he tried to run from the police, one of the police dogs bit him  -- hence the injury we saw (and the blood that is still in the snow). There were three robbers total and all three were caught.

I reminded Mom that just yesterday I had alerted her to the fact that her front door had been unlocked when nobody was home, and that she had replied it was OK, that this was a really safe neighborhood.  Oh the irony.

So, Salem was right for a change.  And she finally pottied, which is no easy thing to get her to do.  Perhaps, with my powers of persuasion, I should have helped the cop interrogate the man.  But I probably would have ended up bringing him a pillow.

The pics show the bloodstains from where the dog bit the burglar and the window from where we watched.  The hedge by the window is where the burglar tried to hide.

Another strange case of synchronicity

As with every Christmas season, I have been receiving books I've requested.  As with every day of the year, I'm already behind on books I have been intending to read.  I'm currently undertaking everything Orson Scott Card has ever written, but because I'm kind of a slow reader due to some degree of attention deficit, that will likely take me a couple years. 

Two weeks ago, I was concentrating my energies on Ender in Exile.  Richie had just bought OSC's latest (Pathfinder), so that was next on my list, followed by Anne Rice's latest angel book. That would take up the next three months for sure, and that's not including my plans to continue reading The Ender series with my uncle. 

Suddenly, for no reason I can identify, I dropped everything and began reading The Owlman and Others by my friend Jonathan Downes.  Why in the world I chose now, halting my already ambitious reading plans, to pick up this book that had been in my possession for two years is mysterious to me, but why I would choose the Christmas season to immerse myself in the part of cryptozoology that deals with the more sinister side of the unknown is even stranger. (The Owlman is the British version of the Mothman.)

Richie and I are presently at my mom's for the Christmas holidays.  Two days ago (and two weeks into my Owlman book) we received a phone call from MUFON (Mutual UFO Network) for whom we are field investigators.  This was an unusual case they were assigning us to: an apparent man-bird sighting in San Antonio.  MUFON does not typically address cryptid sightings, but a lady who, with her husband and son, had seen a giant man-bird flying over her neighborhood back in April had just decided to report it to MUFON. 

I find it nothing short of bizarre that the report this of sighting -- the first of its type that has ever come my way -- would occur the very time I had chosen, for no known reason, to read a book on this very thing.

I cannot believe this is coincidence.  As George Noory says, there is no such thing.

Strange Occurences in My Friend's House

I have a friend I will keep anonymous who has now had four bizarre things happen to her over the past year.  These are things that many people would dismiss as absent-mindedness, but she is one of the most together, alert, and deliberate people I know.  I told her she needed to keep a record of these experiences, so I'm doing it for her:

First incident: Last year, she was leaving the house with her daughter.  She grabbed her very bulky keys and stuffed them into her coat pocket.  She remembers this specifically.  She got the car and they keys weren't there.  She went back to the house, opened the front door (I can't remember if she hadn't locked it or what) and the keys were hanging on the hook next to the front door.

Second incident: She woke up one morning to a bizarre noise.  She discovered it was coming from her deceased grandmother's electronic keyboard which had been turned to full volume.  The cover -- which takes some effort to get on -- was still on it.  My friend not only meticulously turns the keyboard off when she is done with it, but she always turns each volume adjuster all the way down.  Her little girl is too small to have messed with the keyboard and replaced the cover.  My friend shut the keyboard off, turned it back on, and could never get it to duplicate that odd noise again.

Third incident:  the evening before last, my friend was washing her dishes and came to the last thing -- a bread pan.  There was some cheese stuck in the bottom corner of the pan and she considered just soaking it all night.  Then she decided against it since she had a brillow pad or something and she scrubbed it, rinsed it, and put in the dish rack.  The next morning when she got up, the pan was soaking in the sink, cheese still stuck to the bottom, as if she had made a different decision.

Fourth incident: the same evening (evening before last) she specifically remembers putting her phone on the charger because her mother-in-law had tried to call right before she did so.  She ignored the call, joked with  her husband, then plugged the phone in.   The next morning the phone was in its case next to the charger station. Her husband witnessed  her put it on the charger and can't figure it out.  He also is pretty sure he saw her wash and put away the bread pan.

Inconsequential weirdness, but weird nonetheless.

444

I have never been one to take notice of a recurring time on the clock, such as the famed 11:11.  I have actually never paid much attention to the significance of numbers, but a couple weeks ago I started noticing that I kept seeing the clock right at 4:44.  There isn't any particular thing I'm doing at that time to explain why I would suddenly look at a clock.  In fact, I get off work around 4:30 and often go to the gym.  I don't even pay attention to the time.  But over weekends and days when I wasn't at the gym, I kept noticing 4:44.  I don't know why, or if there is a "why."  But it's interesting.  I did finally research 444 and found there is a web site devoted to it. 

Coincidence, Dimensional Cross-over, or Crazy Couple?

I teach high school English in Texas. Back in 2010, my husband and I went to the San Antonio Riverwalk for one last getaway before the school year started. We were eating at Joe's Crab Shack when I noticed that a boy in the family we sat next to looked like one of my students from two years prior.  I didn't want to stare long enough to be sure, though, that it was him.  However, a while into the meal, I heard the young girl (who I assumed to be the sister) call this boy "Keenan," which was the name of my student.  I turned quickly now to look at him, and they all looked at me curiously.

"Are you the Coles?"  I asked.  [I have changed their last name.]

"No," they replied.

"Oh, I'm sorry," I said, "I just heard her say Keenan and I taught a Keenan Cole two years ago --"

"Oh," the father cut in, "This is Keenan Cole!"  he said, pointing at the boy.  Keenan smiled quietly, as was characteristic of him.  "This is Keenan Cole," he said again, "But we aren't the Coles." 

So I assumed perhaps this was Keenan's mother and a stepfather, hence the different last names. 

"He's been saying you look like his teacher," the mother said.

"Well, guess what," I said smiling at Keenan, "I am teaching juniors this year, so I might get you again."  He was still just smiling and the sister now had him in a playful headlock. 

"I hope we don't get any bad notes home this year," the mother said. 

I told them that while I didn't remember Keenan being a problem himself, he had been in one of my rowdiest classes, and I had sent a few emails to parents that year. I reviewed some of the names of the more "energetic" boys in Keenan's class, and he nodded in agreement, laughing with me at the memories. 

So that was that and we said goodbye when they left. 

When school started, I did end up with Keenan on my roster.  On the first day of school, I mentioned seeing him on the Riverwalk.  He said nothing until I mentioned it again later, and this time, he said, "That wasn't me."  I questioned him, not just that day, but for several days because he stuck to his story -- he had never been to the Riverwalk this summer.  He even swore to God and he never swore to God, he said. "I was supposed to be at the Riverwalk that week," he did say during one conversation, "But I didn't go. You can ask my mom." Because this was a personal matter and not school-related, I chose to Facebook-message his mom instead of using school email. That is when I saw that she was not the same woman I had seen on the Riverwalk. She replied that they were never in San Antonio this summer. "I work nights, and he was home taking care of his sister." She went on to express some anger at the people who must have been trying to trick me. 

Other people have suggested it was a prank, but believe me when I say that they didn't have time to plot like that. This was all instantaneous conversation. Also, we live over two hours from San Antonio, so it's not like Keenan could have snuck to the Riverwalk and back home while his mom was working. 

My husband is my only witness - he saw the family and heard the conversation. To this day, I cannot explain what happened. 

Another psychic moment involving Jamie

Today during a faculty meeting, my friend Jamie (from the flux capacitor and garage door "pointless psychic stories") was sitting on my right beside me.  I was doodling, as always, and since parallel universes is always a hot topic of conversation with me and Jamie, I began drawing them.  I began with a point -- a small dark circle -- and drew two parallel lines coming out from the top of it.  I began adding smaller lines coming out from each parallel line so that it started looking sort of like tree branches. Jamie had been listening to the speaker intently.  A little bit later, I noticed Jamie had started doodling and I glanced down to see.  In the middle of her page, she had drawn a dark circle with two parallel lines coming out the top of it. The picture took up a good part of her page. I laughed and elbowed her.  "Is that parallel universes?"  She nodded, and I said, "So you saw mine?"  and pointed to my doodles.  She glanced down at my doodles, which were very small and in my left margin.  Then she started cracking up. "No," she said, "I didn't see yours!"  Then she started laughing even harder because she noticed I had started with a dark circle as well.

I was more astonished than amused.  I know that to anyone who doesn't know Jamie, this story doesn't seem that significant -- as you could assume she was lying or that we had drawn parallel universe diagrams before.  But she wasn't and we hadn't.  Something that our principal had said had given her the idea for her parallel universe drawing.  I had started mine long before for a whole different reason.

Dobsonfly (originally what I thought was an Early Brown Stonefly)

This was in my garage. Freeky looking! I put the spoon by it for scale.