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Showing posts from September, 2009

A Conversation With Margy

I know that some of you have heard this story before, but it illustrates a point that I hope to remember when my time comes: Sometimes people who are at death’s door need permission to give up and pass peacefully. This is one such true story. On Monday afternoon, August 21, 2006, I played bridge at Luther Acres. Since my mother-in-law, Margy Dissinger was a resident in the extended care unit, I decided to stop in and visit her for a few minutes after the game. She was not in very good shape. She was alternating between gasping for breath for 15 seconds, and not breathing at all for as long as a full minute. Her eyes were partly closed, and since she was heavily medicated, I am not sure if she even knew I was there. But I decided to hold her hand and have a conversation, one-sided I’ll admit, with her. I told her that I had just come from playing bridge, and if she had been there, she could have beaten me just like everybody else did. (I had been playing for about a year, and whe

A Moral Dilemma

“Is what is moral commanded by God because it is moral, or is it moral because it is commanded by God?" is the modern version of the so-called Euthyphro dilemma posed by Socrates. If God commands what is moral because it is moral per se , then God is merely a mouthpiece passing on to us what we could find out for ourselves. Conversely, if something is moral because God commands it, then he could make anything – rape, murder, incest, etc. – moral and we would be obliged to obey Him regardless of how heinous His command is. As is usual for such a dilemma, philosophers and theologians have argued this proposition ever since Socrates voiced it, and as is also usual, both sides are partially correct. Let’s examine the record. First we need to come up with a working definition of “moral.” I propose the following as a starting point: Morality is an informal public system applying to all rational persons, governing behavior that affects others, and has the lessening of evil or har

Is Anyone Out There?

The Search for Extra-Terrestrial Intelligence (SETI) began two years after the Soviet Union launched Sputnik, the first man-made satellite. Two physicists published a paper detailing the ease of sending certain radio waves to the stars. Since that time numerous organizations around the world have launched SETI projects. The object, of course, is to find signals that have some characteristic that indicates they were produced by intelligent life. (An example would be a repeated transmission of the value of pi.) SETI organizations are searching for some indication that we are not alone in the universe – that someone else is out there. I, too would like to know if someone out there in cyberspace is reading my blog. I have received comments from three people, all members of the same family, indicating that they are checking my writings. But if you read my blog, and have not commented on anything, I would like to hear from you. Here are a few possible comments you could make: 1.)    

TV Jobs I Would Not Want

There are some high profile jobs on TV that, for one reason or another, I would not want. For example: Anchorperson – It looks easy to sit there and read whatever comes up on the teleprompter, but to do so with a straight face would be difficult for me. For one thing, the writing is usually not very good. I have written elsewhere about the use of “troop” to mean one person; it actually means a whole bunch of troopers, soldiers, whatever. Other questionable writing is also commonplace. (See my blog for September 14.) I would probably have to sigh while shaking my head. Not good PR. I also have a hard time keeping my expressions to myself when I don’t particularly care for a situation. For example, when I am in a restaurant, and hear someone order a steak well done , I reflexively cringe. One might as well eat shoe leather. If I were reading about, say, a political speech, I would also probably cringe. Some things are just hard for me to swallow. Plus the anchorperson is expected

Happy Cows

While it may be true that happy cows come from California , I recently saw 1,500 happy-looking cows without leaving Lancaster County . I was very favorably impressed at the effort that goes into making life easy for these animals. All they need to do is eat, sleep and produce milk – an average of  75 pounds every day. There were also 750 heifers on the farm, thus assuring a continuing supply of product as the producing cows dry up. This particular farm raises all their own feed, with the exception of soy beans, on 3,500 acres. After the harvest, the hay, corn, etc. is accumulated in huge piles, covered with a layer of plastic, and then a layer of old tires. I had often driven by the farm and wondered why they were collecting all those tires. In addition to structures for producing cows, there are separate structures for cows in their last two months of pregnancy, sick cows, cows which have recently given birth – you name it. At feeding time a huge machine is driven down the cen

Friendship

Shortly after we moved back to Pennsylvania from California , I received a call from a friend with whom I had not had contact for almost 65 years. When I started school in a two-room schoolhouse, he was in second grade. Over the next six years we got to know each other pretty well, and became good friends. I moved to a different school when I entered 7 th grade, but again we came in contact when I entered high school. I played saxophone and he played tuba in the high school band. When he graduated in 1945 we went our separate ways, and soon lost track of each other. He became a teacher and I became an accountant. After he retired he regularly played bridge with my mother-in-law at Luther Acres, the retirement community where they both resided. It was through her that he found out I was back in the area. After his call Barbara and I began going to places of local interest with him and his wife. Although we didn’t all have the same interests, we meshed very well. The point is th

Nothing Comes From Nothing

In the 1980s I worked for a company which manufactured business forms, including form letters for mass mailings. One of our customers was a faith healer by the name of Peter Popoff, who claimed to receive messages directly from God himself. Peter’s shtick was to set up highly publicized public healing services in large cities. At these performances he would call out members of the audience by name, ailment, and sometimes even home address. The person so called would come on the stage, and Peter would miraculously heal whatever ailed him or her. Audience members were asked to throw their medicines on the stage, and did so by the thousands. I shudder to think how some must have suffered as a result. Anyway, in addition to his performances, Peter would mail out letters by the tens of thousands, sometimes containing a napkin or some other small token. The recipient was supposed to carry the enclosure for a short time, then mail it back with a prayer request and, of course, a check. F

Between A Rock And A Hard Place

The Lancaster General Hospital is a highly regarded not-for-profit hospital with a net profit(?) of $135.8 million for 2007, up 27.5% from 2006, on operating revenues of $716.7 million. Yes – you read that correctly: a not-for-profit hospital with a net profit of $135.8 million. With the cost of health care spiraling out of control, and even though it’s a pittance on the national scale, one might think LGH would use at least some of that money to give its patients a break on their bills. After all, according to their web site, their official Mission Statement is “To advance the health and well-being of the communities we serve,” and their Vision is “To create an extraordinary experience...every time.” But no, the plan is to use that money to build another large money-making not-for-profit facility in West Earl Township . Lancaster County is a very conservative area, and a majority of its government entities have traditionally been devoted to preserving its lush farmland.

Sometimes It Is What It Is

In his song “As Time Goes By,” Louis Armstrong sings “A kiss is still a kiss, a sigh is just a sigh…” Some folks can’t resist imputing hidden special meanings to events which just stand on their own. Here are a few examples: Sometimes a grassy knoll is not a hiding place for a second gunman – it’s just a grassy knoll. Sometimes the holocaust is not a story cooked up by the Jews as an excuse to form the nation of Israel – it’s just a horrible historical fact. Sometimes the debris from an experimental high-altitude surveillance balloon is not a crashed UFO – it’s just the debris from an experimental high-altitude surveillance balloon. Sometimes an automobile crash caused by a driver under the influence of drugs is not the assassination of a princess orchestrated by the Royal Family – it’s just a crash caused by a driver under the influence of drugs. Sometimes a political attack on a philandering president is not a “vast right wing conspiracy” – it’s just a normal opposition ta

Baseball's Closers

Major league baseball is a game of specialists. Each position is manned by a rich young man who is an expert in one facet of a kid’s game. In the American League there is even a player whose only job is to hit. Usually the only generalists on the team are utility infielders and outfielders. This specialization is most apparent in the pitching staff; there are starters, long relievers, middle inning relievers, short relievers and normally one closer. The closer is a breed apart from the other pitchers. When his team is leading by not more than three runs, it is his job to get in and “save” the game. He does this by throwing nine or ten pitches and shutting down the opposing team by not allowing enough runs to win the game. I think his arm falls off after twelve pitches. When his team is leading by two or three runs, it is almost a sure bet that the closer is going to give up at least one run. I believe that the secret agenda behind the closer is to keep the fans on the edge of th

Rah, Rah Team

Football season has started, and the media have hyped the fans to their annual fall frenzy. It would be wonderful if they could support performance in the classroom to the same extent as they do for performance on the athletic field. It seems odd that so much emphasis is placed on things that many animals can do much better than humans ― they can run faster, jump higher, copulate more often, perform greater feats of strength, etc. ― and so little on the process at which humans excel: think. We celebrate what we do from the neck down, and merely tolerate what we do from the neck up. I do not believe that education necessarily can be improved by throwing more money at it, but it would help if some of the same spirit could be thrown at it. However, on the subject of money, I realize that athletics is a money-making activity; it is probably the only education-related activity that is self-supporting, and it is my understanding that income from athletic endeavors goes strictly for the

Signs Of Fall

Although folks living on the Equator will not see the sun pass directly overhead for four more days, here in the Northern Hemisphere both Mother Nature and humans (who mistakenly think they are separate from nature) are already well into their autumn routine. Two weeks ago I noticed that some of the trees along Main Street had developed a reddish tint, and last week they were definitely showing their lovely fall blush. Also last week, I heard the first call of the wild geese, heading south I presume, although I didn’t actually see them. Last year I noticed that throughout the winter, some flocks of geese were headed in unpredictable directions, including north, even in January. I wonder if climate change, nee global warming, has confused them. Will the time come when they will stay at home for the entire year? Humans have also made the transition. No respectable person has worn white since Labor Day. But I also notice that there are more and more disrespectable people who are

Music Has Charms To Soothe A Savage ...

“Music has charms to soothe the savage beast” is a popular but incorrect quote of a line from a 1697 play “ The Mourning Bride” by William Cosgrove. The correct quote is “Music has charms to soothe a savage breast.” Whether or not music can soothe a savage breast, until this time its effect on a beast has been open to question. However, a recent study indicates that in very special cases, music can be written that can affect the behavior of certain animals, specifically the cotton-top tamarin of Central and South American rain forests. Wisconsin psychologist Charles Snowden has recorded a catalog of calls from these primates. Now David Tele of the National Symphony Orchestra has composed music utilizing the rising and falling pitches, sound duration, etc. of two types of the monkeys’ calls – one “alarm” call (sort of a heavy-metal style), and a second “safe and calm” (ballad) style. Then he speeded up his music eightfold to match the frequency and tempo of the monkey vocalizatio

Chalk One Up For the Electronic Age

My doctor ordered a CT Scan because I was experiencing fatigue in my legs. When I got to the hospital for the Scan, they found that the doctor had ordered the it to be made with a dye injection. This was not on the original order,  consequently, I had to have a blood test prior to the scan in order to make sure my kidneys were working well enough to eliminate the dye afterwards. Fortunately they were. But I didn’t know if my insurance would approve the extra blood test. A quick check with the hospital insurance office indicated that it would be OK with my particular insurance, although that is not true for all insurance companies. I think this was an extra test to be certain I would not have an excuse to sue for malpractice. There is a lot of that going around these days. There is a big fuss going on regarding a health insurance overhaul. One of the arguments against covering more people is that health care would have to be rationed because of the huge influx of new people covere

The Rite Of Spring and the Healthcare Plan

Igor Stravinsky was born in 1882 in Russia , and died in Los Angeles in 1971. Time magazine has named him as one of the most important and influential composers of the 20 th century. His most famous composition was the ballet, Le Sacre du Printemps,  "The Rite of Spring " in English, which debuted in Paris in 1913. To this day its vision of pagan rituals, enacted in an imaginary ancient Russia continues to dazzle and overwhelm audiences. Critics have called it the greatest single break with tradition ever achieved in music, or any other art form for that matter. At the premier, trouble began with the playing of the first notes in the ultrahigh register of the bassoon, as the renowned composer Camille Saint-Saens conspicuously walked out, complaining loudly of the misuse of the instrument. Soon other protests became so loud that the dancers could barely hear their cues. Fights broke out in the audience. Modernism had arrived in music. Throughout the composition Stra

Language That Bugs Me

Although I am not a member of the "speech police," I am annoyed that the media has recently adopted usages that I find irritating. I know that the English language changes over time, but I believe that changes should make sense. For example, Webster's Encyclopedic Unabridged Dictionary defines the word "troop" as: 1.) an assemblage of persons or things; company; band. 2.) a great number or multitude. I usually think of a troop as a group of boy scouts, state troopers or military personnel. As a result, when I hear the talking head say that more than 100 troops arrived home today, I imagine that the docks were inundated with thousands of soldiers, sailors or marines pouring out of a long line of ships. But this is media newspeak meaning that 100 service members, possibly a troop, arrived home today. Another example from Webster's: unique; 1.) existing as the only one or as the sole example; solitary in type or character. 2.) having no like or equal; un

Dreams

As I have written previously (see 8/30/09), on many mornings I partially wake up and allow “seeds” of ideas to “germinate” in my head. But it doesn’t work that way every morning. Today, for example, I was busily dreaming right through the time when I usually start to get into that “half awake, half asleep” state that I think of as my period of communication with my Muse. (The Greeks had a really odd and poetic way of putting things). Anyway, it was one of those complicated dreams that is chock full of things that are contrary to common sense. In this dream I finally did as I have done before: even though I was deep in dreamland I realized that, “This is a dream. I must wake up.” But it didn’t work. Barbara was in the dream, and I finally told her (in the dream, of course) that I was dreaming, and asked her to poke me so that I would wake up. Which she did, but it didn’t help. Finally I began to awaken, but in this in-between state, I thought that I was only dreaming that I was wa