I'm looking forward to doing three things during winter break: sleeping, reading, writing - in that order.

Last night, I finished the book I have been reading (Knife). It was excellent overall and beautifully written. In my head, I have snippets from memorable books that I have read over the years; for example early in the book, when Francie responds to the librarian "she is eleven" in A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. That evokes the image of the girl asking for a recommendation and anticipating the opportunity to reread a beloved novel that had been suggested many times before, as well as my own pleasure of reading a wonderful book. In the case of Knife, it came in the last chapter, when the author is preparing to revisit the scene of the attack after 13 months. He writes, “Maybe I was going to Chautauqua to face up to the unbearable knowledge, common to all human beings, that it would never be yesterday again.” What a poignant and exquisitely-crafted sentence.

 July already. I just finished reading Dead Wake, a 2015 book about the Lusitania. It was excellent. Next I am going to read Knife.

I've started to read Liz Cheney's book. I hardly have the time right now, but I limit myself to one chapter per night. It's hard because the book is riveting. I am in awe of her bravery. The message is scary, but it's so important to pay attention to it. If we ignore it or discount it or buy into the cult a dystopian future awaits.

I'm reading this book right now. I'm seven chapters in, and so far it is a good read. My only issue with it, and this isn't really a criticism, is that it's a young adult novel. In recent years I prefer fiction for people like me (in other words, OLD). LOL. Regardless, it's well-written and engaging. I discovered it because everyone in my school at the university is being encouraged to read it, with the suggestion given to faculty to include it in class. Initially, I was reluctant, because the last university-recommended book was awful.

An excerpt from my "Mimmie book" that I wrote in 2003, ten years after she died: 

Mimmie didn’t like to go many places, but she did enjoy strawberries picking; in fact, she even liked it more than she feared snakes. In my mind’s eye I can see her, wearing sneakers and a house dress, carefully navigating the rows, carting quarts of perfect berries, making sure that she didn’t step on any plants. She looked frail, but somehow strong at the same time. Mimmie never gave into temptation as the rest of us did, by sampling the berries while out in the field. That was due more to the fact that insects may have been on them at some point, than to a concern about pesticides. And if she discovered later that a bug had gotten into one of her quarts, she’s have to throw the whole thing out.

“Next spring, if I’m alive,” she’d say afterwards, her blue eyes sparkling as she looked off into the distance, as if she could see all the way until the following June, “I’m only going to pick medium sized red-orange ones, instead of ripe ones. They’re rotten by the time you get them home.  And the big ones look nice but they’re tasteless.”

The idiot who complained about "The Hill We Climb" and other school library materials in FL is quoted: "I’m not an expert,” she said. “I’m not a reader. I’m not a book person." Apparently FL is the right place for someone who wants to raise equally ignorant kids.

14 weeks.😢

April 13 would have been my father's 95th birthday. When things were "normal" (whatever that means), we'd have had a gathering to celebrate another milestone year. Instead, my mother was in the hospital from heart issues (she had a stent put in on Thursday). 

My father was a demonstrative person. Today I was remembering that for the past couple years, he would take my hand and put it to his cheek and then kiss it whenever I arrived or left. He did that to anyone who would permit it. It's a very dear memory.

The weather has remained cold and today feels especially "Marchy." That's what Elwyn would write in his diary about days like today. Such a wonderful image, I don't think I need to explain.

I have started to read the second book in Moody's Life After Life trilogy. I think I may have read it before. I am fairly sure I have never read the third book in the trilogy, which I will read next. 

The semester will soon be over and this semester it's my graduate class that is trying my patience. They are all adept at google and searching so I can't share more, but it is very irritating and stressful.

4.5 weeks ago I drastically changed my diet. No sugar (I am an addict), no simple carbs (not too bad except for sweets), and somewhat unintentionally, I cut down on dairy, but didn't eliminate it. I've been 98% compliant, even yesterday on Easter. It wasn't making a difference in how I felt until recently, and I think I do feel somewhat better. I didn't do it for this reason, but I have lost about 10 pounds.

Twenty-nine years ago, on April 5, 1993, Mimmie died. I think of her often, daily in fact. But since I'm currently reading a book we extensively discussed when it was first published, she is on my mind even more than usual. I remember her telling me that she would think about her employers, the Kearneys, at night when she was in bed. They had died in 1970 from murder/suicide. She would envision their faces in the dark, not their entire bodies, just their heads. For some reason we both found that funny, and we laughed.

It's April. Weather is still fairly cold, but it hardly matters. I knew it would be a cold spring, and it won't be a surprise to me if it is a crummy summer. I am going to have a hard time this month. When the world was "normal" (whatever that means), preparations would be underway for celebrating my father's 95th birthday in two weeks. 

I finished "Hello from Heaven" and learned that they interviewed 2,000 people over seven years. I am now reading "Life After Life," which I first read when it came out in the 1970s. Moody is the best writer of all the authors on this subject that I've read recently.

 One year ago today, sweet little Rosie died :-(

I got a new Kindle and I am happy with it. I can read at night again!

11 weeks :-(

 A couple days ago my Kindle keyboard stopped working. Sniff. I bought it in September 2011 as a gift to myself for my 50th birthday. I looked at new ones and learned that I am going to be disappointed because features I love have been discontinued. Bob said I could have his old one (he has a Fire which he prefers and he is not much of a reader anyway). It isn't a keyboard and won't fit in my case, but otherwise it is the same as my broken Kindle (screen size and buttons to turn pages). I have a Fire and a smart phone -- not to mention several computers -- but the plain Kindle served a different purpose. Last night I tried to get my Hello from Heaven book on Bob's Kindle without success. When he got it, he made an amazon account to set it up, because he was not an online shopper at that time. Since then he shops using my account. I was otherwise occupied today (writing a grant) so did not have time to troubleshoot. It's a minor annoyance but I am pretty upset I can't get a new one.

I'm still reading the book about ADC, and naturally doing much thinking along these lines. I teach a lot of philosophical ideas in my classes, so debates surrounding materialism/realism v. idealism/spiritualism are right up my alley. I also like studying the subject of time: our modern conception of unidirectional progress over time v. cyclical v. chaos. Months ago I re-read (or actually listened to, since I could find an audiobook but not an ebook, and I am not reading paper) The Third Wave and enjoyed his mention of time during the Second Wave.

I'm working on a grant and loving it!

Spring ahead last night -- I hate that!

I am currently reading Hello from Heaven: A New Field of Research-After-Death Communication Confirms That Life and Love Are Eternal. It's a qualitative study. The researchers interviewed a large number of people all around the United States about their After Death Communication with friends, relatives and colleagues. I haven't gotten to looking at the precise numbers, but I will if it is in an appendix (not sure yet; one of the few downsides of ebooks). Something the authors mention is the social stigma surrounding ADC. It is not a rare occurrence in our own society, but most people don't talk about it because they feel inhibited by skepticism or they are afraid of being labeled a nut. Even a lot of religious believers aren't accepting of ADC. In many other cultures, ADC is embraced as normal. 

As I have written a few times, when I was a teenager I did a lot of reading on the subject of life after death, and talked to Mimmie about it many times. From the Hello from Heaven book, I learned that having a compact, as we did (I will contact you after I die) is not uncommon. I have also discovered in the book that being contacted during a dream, as I was, is a fairly common ADC method. I wrote several posts ago that based on this, I am hoping to have a similar dream featuring my father.

I have had two glimpses in dreams, but I wasn't sure whether either were true ADC or a figment of my fevered brain. In the Mimmie dream, I woke up convinced it was her ADC promise. It was so vivid and real, and the message so clear, detailed and nuanced. The first glimpse of my father was a very quick, fleeting image. I couldn't see him too well, but I knew it was him. We were dancing. I was wearing a purple outfit that I recognized. I remember how much I loved it. The second glimpse was a little longer, although not by much. I was looking out of the sliding glass door in Samsonville. There were a bunch of people in the yard. My father was standing next to Marty. It was noisy, and he was staring straight ahead, not looking at me. I was yelling "Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!" But he couldn't hear me. Suddenly he did! He looked over, our eyes met, and then the dream was over.

The dancing dream was not too long after my father died. A couple of weeks ago, my nephew sent me some links to videos he has converted from VHS to streaming. One is of my MPA graduation party in 1991 at my parents' house. The number of guests who have now passed away is startling. My nephew texted that he hopes the party is what heaven is like. That day I was wearing the purple shorts set I had on in the dream! At one point, I danced with Bob; I remember the winter before, we had taken ballroom dancing lessons. I did not remember or think about any of this before watching the video. Did I pull the party out of the recesses of my mind, and the dream was a coincidence?

I read one chapter per night from the book. Yesterday's was about contact through animals, plants and inanimate objects, sort of the "pennies from heaven" idea (which I've always viewed as a little too Reader's Digest for me). I think about my father almost constantly, and he is the first thing I think of when I awaken. Usually I realize I didn't have an ADC dream. This morning I went downstairs to the bathroom and thought, St. Jude, God, Daddy, send me a sign that all is OK.

I came out of the bathroom and sat down at the table. Usually Bob brings my mail to me while I am in my office, but yesterday he put it on the table. I didn't notice it before I went to bed. There were two pieces, one was a fundraising appeal from MHHS, and the other was a letter from someone whose name I didn't recognize and my address was in handwriting. Unusual. I opened it, and pulled this out:

On the flip side it's a brochure from JW, and there was a hard-to-read handwritten letter combining boilerplate and personal information accompanying the brochure. I am not at all interested in that religion, but I was pleased to get the ADC. Bob says my father would find it funny.

When I was a teenager the question of life after death really captured my attention. At that time, I read a lot on the subject: Elisabeth Kubler-Ross books (On Death and Dying), and some popular works, for instance Life After Life and The Evidence for Life After Death. I found a lot of comfort in that reading.

Mimmie and I talked a great deal about the topic. She promised she would let me know someday, as it was likely I would outlive her. The summer after she died, I felt the world was different; somehow less colorful. Oh, the grass was green and the sky was blue, but it wasn't the same shade or brightness or something. Then one night I had a dream. She was sitting there, as always, at the little table in her kitchen, but her mobile home had been transported to a stunning hillside, surrounded by hay and Christmas-tree sized spruce trees. We had tea. She was OK. I felt better afterwards, though I still think of her, and miss her, a lot.

Quite a few years ago, a friend gave me a book called Embraced by the Light. I was impressed by the book at the time, and even shared it with a friend’s father, when he was grieving the loss of his wife. I re-read it recently, and even though I still liked it, I was not as taken with it as I was the first time I read it. I am reading Proof of Heaven: A Neurosurgeon's Journey into the Afterlife and so far, I’m enjoying it. After I bought it, I learned he taught at Harvard and worked at MGH. How about that!

Due to the magic of the Internet archives, I discovered this story, Compost Pile:

I have neighbors two houses away who are unusual. They live in a row house identical to mine. When I was on the village board people complained about them endlessly. They moved into the village from a more rural setting. They seem to be junk collectors. They also have a huge number of kids, mostly tweens. The kids are noisy and play constantly on the street. They have several dogs that they walk numerous times per day past my house. The bedlam causes all dogs in the neighborhood, including mine, to bark. The tweens trail by with the dogs on leashes, bouncing a basketball, skateboarding, toting a boom box. They are not on phones or tablets; they play games like tag. It is refreshing and joyful, even if it is also distracting especially while working at home and admittedly, annoying. Yesterday when the stream of tweens and pitbulls and basketballs paraded by, the image of a Dr. Seuss illustration popped into my mind. I'm not a proponent of cancel culture, even though I have always hated Disney and as a child I disliked cartoons on television unless they featured a dog character. But I must add that the picture in my mind's eye was not one of his canceled drawings. "...all the Who girls and boys, would wake bright and early. They'd rush for their toys! And then! Oh, the noise! Oh, the Noise! Noise! Noise! Noise!"

 

 

A note about the prior post: when I shared similar sentiments on Facebook, many friends commented sympathetically -- as if I was mourning. I finally had to jump in and explain that I was not sad about it at all. Also, yesterday, I became eligible for the vaccine!

 

Warning, this post will be vulgar. The New York Times makes me feel like puking. Latest example...A front page story dissing the health department. As an outsider, I see it on a daily basis because of the "new normal:" The staff works 24/7 to contribute to the fight against the pandemic, and that snarky elitist scum J**** et al play "gotcha." I've never been a fan of its self-absorbed urban hipness POV; I remember once during a grad school presentation that I gave on Gould's Mismeasure of Man (for a class I now teach), I described the book as having been panned by the popular press (ie, the NYT), the (spacey, snotty) instructor interrupted me, all offended, to say, "the liberal intellectual press" and I shot back, "hardly, it's written for eighth grade reading level!" Years later, they were exposed for shoddiness when articles were written in Brooklyn that alleged to be eyewitness reporting from Iraq--complete with photo-shopped images! So not only are they grade 8 but unethical too. Well - the NY Times was once used to wipe asses in outhouses, and it still is used to train puppies, shredded to fill cat litter boxes, and line birdcages. In other words, it's only good for absorbing piss and shit.

This is maddening. Heslep (1996) assets in The Moral Presuppositions of Multicultural Education that because of multicultural education’s limits on tolerance, some of its advocates have tried to restrict hate speech, politically incorrect speech, and other “linguistic modes of cultural disrespect.”

According to Heslep, cultural respect is a virtue in multicultural society. Cultural disrespect is a vice because it is the opposite of cultural respect. Disrespect is also bad because it is offensive to individual members of targeted cultures; being offensive, it also is antagonizing, thereby encouraging cultural discord, another vice for multicultural education.

He argues that the use of a linguistic sign of cultural disrespect might offend members of the involved cultural group regardless of the innocent intention of the user of the sign. Such is the case with youth - sometimes they absorb elements from popular culture and don't understand the context of the words they casually use.

Then, some cultural groups have language of cultural disrespect as one of their features. Teaching intolerance of the language of cultural disrespect might be self-defeating in that it might promote cultural disrespect. Outsiders may judge users of those linguistic signs as being offensive, when the insiders do not mean each other harm. Heslep writes that multiculturalists answer that such intolerance is simply a necessary socially therapeutic act. A multicultural society cannot exist in harmony if any of its cultural groups are inclined to speak ill of each other.

How to remedy? It is not enough for multicultural educators to instruct their students to be intolerant of linguistic signs of cultural disrespect, explains Heslep. We must learn discernment - how to determine what the user of a linguistic sign actually intends in using it. Both speaker and listener are important. It is one thing to be intolerant of ethnic jokes whose users intend to be culturally disrespectful in telling them; it is another to be intolerant of such jokes when their users do not mean to be culturally disrespectful. They may be innocent, or ignorant, or mean-spirited.

Heslep is being generous - two decades later we tend to believe that what the speaker said hardly matters. What the listener heard is what is important, and if someone feels uncomfortable, those sentiments are valid and should be respected.

Yes, Chris Cuomo overreacted and his language is not what I'd use, but there is no question that the guy who said Fredo to him intended it as an ethnic slur. And who cares whether wop means guappo or without papers? You're really going to cite Google? It is also intended as an ethnic insult, no matter its origin. Maybe Casey Seiller & Rex Smith have never been called an ethnic slur or been close to anyone who has been insulted. But they shouldn't have to be to understand they are defending a wrong and being insensitive.

BTW, I have never seen or read any of the Godfather, nor have I watched the Sopranos.Not sure why that would invalidate a point of view.

And for something completely unrelated that I haven't bothered writing about here this year (although I do address on Facebook, to the (I suspect) chagrin of a (small) group of so-called "friends:"): It is animal abuse season, that disgusting time of year when the Capital District media, including the TU, gushes about how glamorous horse racing is and ignorant, plastic people can't wait to go to Saratoga. >:-(

The Fall semester begins next week. I did not accomplish the same things I normally do during my long summer bread (gardening, reading, writing). Instead I wrote four grant proposals and did many other things for the Village, along with teaching my usual two classes. Let's hope the proposals pay off in some way and don't work out to be a waste of time that could have been better spent growing green beans, writing here, and reading Mark Twain! I'm pretty much ready to start the semester. I'm sad about the end of my long summer, but it will be good for me to get out of the house. The animals will be sad though!

L-R: Martin Eckert, Marty Giuliano, Elwyn Davis

 

The Diary of Elwyn Davis is finished! (*Pretty much.) I just ordered 1974-1975, the last volume. This is the cover, from an April 28, 1960 Onteora Record story, "Census Taker On the Job!"

Some more ephemera, from the 1990s. Had many good times here, when Main Street was admittedly blighted, but nothing like 2015.

^I do have some future tasks planned, but the big lift is over