Saturday, May 26, 2012

Don’t let geometry define you


The "Given" is essential in geometry and in life

We’ve had more than one child struggle with geometry. Even Bryan, our son who ended up majoring in math, recently admitted at his college graduation that he was “not a geometry guy.” Along with many others in high school, he had a tough time grasping the spatial relationships of points, lines, angles, and figures. 

“I don’t want to major in triangles!” complained another smart but disgruntled guy who joined the ranks of those forced to face the world of geometry. Like Alice arriving in Wonderland, many frustrated teenagers often find themselves puzzled and bewildered by unfamiliar rules and strange new ways of looking at circles and other once-ordinary objects.

Thursday, May 24, 2012

Hiding our passions


We're lucky when passions and obligations intersect


For a long time, we had to tuck away Mark’s Harry Potter audiobooks in my drawers. During that same time, we stuffed piles of Grant's favorite books under our bed and buried his Game Boy in a secret place. For a briefer period of time, Ken tried unsuccessfully to conceal Craig’s guitar and ukulele in our closet. Most of these attempts were in vain, however, because somehow the boys always managed to find their cherished CDs, books, or instruments and return to their pleasures.

Wednesday, May 16, 2012

Just 3 foods meant to be shared


Eating with others is just more fun


Emeril Lagasse, the flamboyant American celebrity chef, says, “Food is meant to be shared, especially with friends like you." Although not universally true of all food, some foods are, indeed, meant to be shared and have the power to bring us together with friends—old and new. Besides some of the obvious choices, such as chips and dip, pizza, and fondue, the irresistible and tantalizing aromas of certain foods seem to invite us to enjoy eating them with others. Other foods are simply too much work to make for one person. Here are just three:

Saturday, May 12, 2012

Strong Women


Black Widow, an Avengers superhero, is an admirably strong woman

I’m not a big fan of superhero movies, but, I’ve got to admit, I loved that opening scene in The Avengers when Black Widow, tied down to a chair, manages to break free, take out every man in the room, and coolly walk away in her skin-tight, black jumpsuit. Immediately, she won my respect, and I was anxious to see the next scene packed with her superpowers on display. After all, she was the only female superhero in the movie, and I wanted to know if she would be strong enough to keep up with The Big Boys. 

Like good chocolate, strong women come packaged in assorted ways. On Mother’s Day particularly, we women consider our own mothers and wonder which of their strengths we carry forward. I’ve found it sometimes takes looking back a few generations to figure out who we really are and where we get our strengths.


Athelia Sears Tanner (my mother)

My mom's mother was a polygamist, the second wife of a man several years her senior who ruled the roost in typical English style. So, every night like clockwork, Grandma Sears faithfully and cheerfully served him a hot dinner on a freshly-pressed linen tablecloth. She was a strong woman. She had to be. After she had ten children, her husband and Aunt Aggie, the first wife who could never have children, were called to serve a three-year church mission in Samoa, leaving Grandma Sears and several daughters behind to manage the household. Fortunately, this grandma of mine could pull it off because she was not only strong but also extremely capable and, I think, secretly competitive. In those days, every Monday was “wash day,” and she would arise early to be the first in the neighborhood to hang her clean laundry on the line. Her energy and zest, though, did not seem to get in the way of her compassion. In addition to looking after her own children, she cared for all the widows she knew, faithfully baking homemade birthday cakes for them every year.


Athelia Viola Sears Call Irvine (my grandmother)

In spite of her heavy workload, Grandma Sears had a legendary sweet demeanor. Called “an angel” by those who knew her best, she sang from morning till night, encouraging her children to work out differences by hugging each other, and her family swears she never raised her own voice. As a mother and homemaker myself, I find such a pleasant disposition to be remarkable and almost unbelievable. In fact, such claims make it difficult to see much of myself in her.


Mary Theresa Thompson Call (my great-grandmother)



Pamela Elizabeth Barlow Thompson (my great-great-grandmother)

Going back further are two more grandmas also full of kindness as well as fortitude and grit. Mary Theresa Thompson Call was exiled three times from her home in Mexico during the Revolution; however, in spite of the upheaval in her own life, she was always compassionate and never idle. With a keen sense of who was suffering, she would often slip away from the dinner table to deliver a hot meal to a neighbor in need. Also an excellent seamstress, she would frequently sew through the night so the dead could be buried in proper funeral clothes within the 24-hour period allowed by law. Her mother, Pamela Elizabeth Thompson, was kidnapped by Indians at age six but, fortunately, rescued by her father, and later in life she gave birth to her ninth child just six weeks after her husband was killed. Neither grandmother was a stranger to tough times. These were strong women.


Elizabeth Haven Barlow (my 3rd great-grandmother)

Reaching back just one more generation, though, is a woman I can really relate to. Just two summers ago I learned about Elizabeth Haven Barlow, my 3rd great-grandmother. Talk about a strong woman! Described now in the 21st century, she may not sound very impressive, but in her time she was an independent thinker and a feisty feminist. Indeed, set in the context of the early 1800s, she emerges as a real fireball. Motherless at age nine, she sought comfort and learning in ancient books, old letters containing discussions about Puritanism, and the family Bible, which was her personal favorite

Thus armed early with a deep and keen understanding of Christian beliefs, Elizabeth later boldly challenged her minister when he tried to convince her of false doctrine. On that very day, she left the church without compunction, taking her friends with her and never returning. This passion for truth stayed with her throughout her life. In fact, her intellectual curiosity motivated her to pursue a teaching degree from Amherst and Bradford Colleges at a time when most American women had very little education, thus “fulfilling one of her heart’s greatest desires,” as her daughter would later report. 

When I “met” Elizabeth, I finally realized whose blood was in my veins. I felt I met part of myself and that I finally fit in with this group of strong women. Like Elizabeth, I love a lively intellectual discussion and am not the retiring, quiet type. In fact, truth be told, I openly challenge opinions, speak my mind freely, and have been known to question authority. Other kinds of strengths—patience, kindness, and compassion—don’t come so easily to me.

We commonly revere gentle, soft-spoken, compliant women—the peacemakers and bread bakers—and raise eyebrows at outspoken, nonconforming women. Especially on Mother’s Day, it’s good to remember that all kinds of women can be strong. I come from a long line of them. 

Sunday, May 6, 2012

The glass is half empty, thank goodness!



Why can't we call a glass half full and half empty?

Why do we buy into the notion that we can see the proverbial glass only one way—either half full or half empty? Why can’t it be both? I reject the notion that our view of the glass automatically relegates us to the ranks of either optimists or pessimists.

I’ve been slacking a little in my blogging, and I don’t have a terrific excuse except that I’ve been doing quite a bit of thinking about my life. Looking back on my almost-five decades, I’ve done a lot of really good living. By almost any standard, my life has been rich and full. Now, as I’m closing in on 50, some might say I’m only halfway through my mortal journey. If that’s so, then I’ve still got plenty of undetermined, unchartered, unlived years ahead of me. In other words, my glass is only half full; the other half is half empty, thank goodness!