People get ready

Macedonia AME Church
Camden, New Jersey
December 16, 2007

 It's raining this morning. For the first time during this Church Visiting Project, Neil has decided to come with me; he is both curious about the church and also a little worried about my safety - Camden is not a great place for an unaccompanied woman to walk around, even on Sunday morning.

We pull up in front of a squarish red brick building that seems to be sitting in the midst of an almost deserted area, but not far from downtown. It is surrounded by empty lots. A few blocks down the street you can make out the outline of an enormous pile of scrap metal, or some other sort of waste. On our way here we have passed blocks of row houses, some of which are only blackened shells - they were destroyed by fire but have not been torn down or replaced. The area does not look promising.

A large parking lot surrounded by metal fencing is next to the red brick building. I don't see a sign on the building, but there is a small street sign in front that reads "Parking reserved for pastor." I look at the building more carefully, and realize that it may have stained glass windows on the second floor, but they are covered with cloudy storm windows or plexiglass. The building may have had a steeple in the past, but at present the roof is flat - very flat. In fact, from a distance it looks as though the roof may be missing.

Frankly, this church has the most forbidding appearance of any I've seen so far. We are still not positive that it is even a church, or if it is, that it is open. Neil offers to walk inside to see if it really is a church while I wait in the car. In a minute he steps out and gives me the OK signal, so I pull the car into the parking lot.

Once inside the doors, everything is better. People smile and motion us upstairs - yet another one of these second-story sanctuaries! (This still seems like such an odd design to me.) We walk up a couple flights of carpeted stairs, and a woman with a welcoming smile offers us a Bible and hymnal, with program materials tucked inside. We find an empty pew, and I have a chance to look around.

The sanctuary probably seats 200-250 people comfortably. The walls are covered in pale wood paneling, and the front wall features organ pipes - although one pipe is missing, which gives it a sort of gap-toothed appearance. In the center of the pipes a cross featuring glowing light bulbs has been hung, and Christmas wreaths hang on either side of the pipes. The pulpit has been hung with purple Advent paraments, and a short wooden rail circles the front. There is a piano to the left, as well as a baptistery and a table holding an Advent wreath.

The sanctuary is not very full when we arrive, but people keep coming in, and by the time the service is going there are probably 65-75 in attendance. I think that Neil and I might be the only white people in church, although I'm not positive. (We discussed this later; I said that I thought there were a couple other white or Latino people, and he wasn't so sure. Do other people have trouble identifying the ethnicity of others the way I do? It's a much more fluid concept than people sometimes think.)

I see in the bulletin that this is Youth Sunday, so I expect that some of the younger members of the church will be leading prayers, taking offerings, and so on. A woman begins to play the piano. Two women in black robes walk up the middle aisle. One steps into the pulpit and says in a loud, cheerful voice, "The Lord is in His holy temple; let all the earth keep silence."

We sing a lively version of This is the Day. Then we sing the Doxology, and do a responsive Call to Worship.

The first hymn is Silent Night! On a Sunday morning in Advent! Again! As I indicated in the post about last week's service at the Cherry Hill Seventh-Day Adventist church, I'm firmly in the camp of those who believe in saving Silent Night for the Christmas Eve service. However, I'm sure there are plenty of good reasons for wanting to sing it throughout the season.

The woman in the pulpit announces that the Praise Dance Team will perform. It turns out the team is only one girl, Angelina, wearing a long, flowy white skirt and an interesting blue sweater, with winglike lengths of material attached to the arms. She performs a very energetic and heartfelt dance to a loud, jazzy number. The Scripture reading, Mark 13:28-37, is read very well by a teen-aged boy. He has a terrific voice and good delivery. There was dance at the black church I attended on my first Sunday of this project, too.

There is more singing, more reading, the Gloria Patri, and then a Missionary Offering. Announcements include mention of the two special upcoming services - a Watch Night Service on December 31, and a Martin Luther King Day service. At some point the senior pastor enters, wearing dark robes, kneels in prayer near the pulpit, and takes his seat. That's when I realize that I've met him before, at a conference; he is also a trustee at New Brunswick Theological Seminary in New Jersey, and he was part of panel of trustees talking to us about trustee responsibilities at the conference. This is Dr. Mark Tyler! This is the first time during my year of visiting churches that I've recognized the pastor from somewhere else.

There is an altar call, and more than half the people in church walk up and kneel around the altar to pray, while the pianist plays Have Thine Own Way, Lord. The woman who has been leading most of the service prays eloquently. So many people want to come up front for the altar call, in fact, that they have to take turns.

Pastor Tyler asks visitors to stand and introduce themselves. Neil and I do so, as well as a woman who is visiting from another AME church. The woman who has been making most of the announcements tells us that this is the time to shake hands and welcome people, and that this church likes to hug visitors, if we don't mind. Everyone, and I do mean everyone, walks around greeting everyone else. I have never been hugged so much in any church, even my own! Even the children are not shy about hugging - one of my first huggers is a cute little girl who skips over to give me and Neil big hugs.

When we are all assembled in the pews again, Angelina, the praise dancer, reads an original poem on the topic of striving and succeeding with God's help. Then the Praise Dance Team (this time there are three girls) performs another number. Then comes the regular offering (we have already had the Missionary Offering), which is a little unusual. Instead of ushers walking around with baskets or plates to collect the offering, people walk up front to place their envelopes and money into plates held by volunteers (one man and two children today).

It's 12:10 by the time Dr. Tyler begins his sermon, titled "People Get Ready." The gospel lesson was the story of the wise and foolish virgins, and the point is that you need to be absolutely sure that you are ready to go to heaven.

I can't do justice to the sermon in a short summary. All I can tell you is, it was a humdinger. He made us laugh (lots), he made us cry, and he made us want to come back for more. It was the best sermon I've heard so far in my year of visiting churches, and I have heard some really good sermons. It was a long sermon, by modern standards - about thirty minutes. But it didn't seem too long. And at the end, when Dr. Tyler stepped out of the pulpit and walked down into the center aisle to deliver the conclusion, it was electrifying. The sermon was Biblical, sensible, funny, thought-provoking, and very tightly constructed.

To sum up, I really liked the sermon.

During this year of visiting churches I have been watching for any mention of the upcoming Presidential elections, and Macedonia AME is where I first hear this topic mentioned. It's an interesting reference, too, in the section of the sermon that is about not making assumptions about who is and is not going to heaven. The pastor notes that candidate Obama has admitted to experimenting with recreational drugs in his youth, and says that many people automatically assume that any black man who uses drugs is a drug dealer.

After the sermon, there are a few more announcements - the one that catches my attention is that everyone is invited back next week for a pre-service breakfast, which will be either chicken and waffles or fish and grits. Both sound wonderful to me.

Church members continue to greet us and shake our hands after the service. Neil and I chat briefly with Dr. Tyler; Neil did his field education work in New Brunswick at Reformed Theological Seminary, on whose board Dr. Tyler sits, so they have something in common.





Later I found that Dr. Tyler is now pastor of Mother Bethel AME church in Philadelphia, the oldest church owned by African Americans in the United States. Its history is well told on the church's website.

I'm not surprised to learn that he has this wonderful pastorate. The congregation is fortunate to have him.

I have called you friends

Back from Baltimore. What a terrific group of people the In Trust group puts together for these workshops - this year the writers met with the mentors (experts in finance and governance) who work for In Trust, and together we brainstormed plenty of articles to fill the magazine over the next 18 months. I will be working on the topic of accreditation, which I actually find pretty darn interesting.

I left on a foggy Tuesday morning.

Penn Station in Baltimore is rather small, and somewhat dilapidated, but it has several extremely nice old features. I hope someone preserves it soon.

The workshop was on the campus of St. Mary's Seminary, but some of us stayed at the nearby Radisson, which was fine with me - I was able to try a Sleep Number bed (and ended up leaving it on the highest, firmest mattress number, which was where it was when I arrived).

I love being in a hotel. Seems incredibly luxurious - almost any hotel. Perhaps if I had ever stayed in a hotel as a child I might not think it's such a big deal, but I was actually quite old before I ever stayed in a hotel room, except for one trip with the Girl Scouts (which seemed exciting and very, very sophisticated to me at the time).

Tuesday night the group had dinner at the Dogwood Restaurant.

As we walked to the restaurant, we saw a giant flamingo on one side of the street.

Directly across, a flamingo guitar in a store window.

No idea why there was a flamingo thing going on in Baltimore.

The next day was gloriously clear.

And, thinking about the folks I've met through In Trust, I was happy to note this verse over one entrance to the seminary - John 15:15, "I have called you friends" (dixi amicos).

Choo choo

I got one of the new trains on the commute home this afternoon!

There are only a few in service, and everyone likes to try them out.

They have a "new car smell," high backs that serve as headrests, and wider 2-person seats, with only a few of the 3-person benches in the middle. And small screens that show scenic Philadelphia interspersed with information about the current stop, the next stop, etc.

And they are, of course, very clean.

The whole city looked shiny and new through those big clean windows. Yay for SEPTA Regional Rail.

Tomorrow I'll be on a train again, this time to Baltimore for the annual In Trust Writers Workshop.

All this train talk reminds me that I have my own Choo Choo Charlie cap:

Love that jingle.

What do you get if . . .

you combine leeks sauteed in olive oil

With sweet potatoes

tomato paste and peanut butter



cumin, turmeric, and harissa

And simmer it all in vegetable broth

And, finally, add some fresh spinach leaves?

You get a delicious thick autumn soup. The photo below may or may not look good to you, depending on your tastes, but I assure you it tasted great.

I'm a big fan of homemade soup.

More blooming umbrellas in the city

The Megabus and the Bolt bus always have long lines - because they are a great deal. It is technically possible to get a ticket for only one dollar - if you sign up long enough in advance. But even if you can't get the dollar ticket, you can get a great deal on rides to New York City, Boston, Washington DC, etc.

I've taken the Bolt to NYC, and I loved it.

Blooming umbrellas

Drizzly yesterday, which brought out the umbrellas on the street. This is where I get on the Lucy after work.

It wasn't raining so hard, though, that you felt sorry for the people who didn't have an umbrella (or perhaps just didn't want to bother with one).

Jesus is no superhero

Cherry Hill Seventh-Day Adventist Church
Cherry Hill, NJ
December 8, 2007

Well, this feels odd – going to church on a Saturday morning. But it’s time to break up the pattern of going to a familiar type of church, and try something new for this year of visiting churches.

The Cherry Hill SDA congregation meets in a brick building with a steeple, which appears to have been built in the fifties. I walk in, and someone hands me the bulletin. An arched wooden ceiling covers the sanctuary. The windows are clear glass, with half-drawn blinds. A large screen has been pulled down from the ceiling, and occupies most of the wall behind the pulpit.

Twenty or so people are scattered among the pews, in a space that would probably seat 200. Something is already in progress when I enter – not the service, but perhaps a Bible study. A man in a suit is walking up and down the front aisle and asking questions, such as “What is humility?” and “What does it mean to be perfect?” The people in the pews offer answers (among them, the remarkably unhelpful “the state of being humble” to the first question).

The man tells us that God allows trials and suffering to make us stronger (the more frequently I hear this statement, the more I hate it – but I’m just walking in on the end of something, and I don’t have the whole picture). A woman in the front pew stands up and rings a bell ( the kind of bell you see on hotel desks in old movies, where you punch the button on top to summon a bellhop). Some people pass around red baskets for the Sabbath school offering, which I pass up. (I think I’ve wandered into the end of a Bible study rather than the beginning of a church service, but it’s still a bit unclear to me what exactly is going on here.)

The man in front leads everyone in prayer, and then nothing much happens for several minutes. People are milling around, chatting. I open the bulletin and see that Divine Worship begins at 11:10, not at 11:00 am, as advertised on their website. So that’s why I’m confused.

I overhear a man behind me earnestly discussing “2,300 fulfilled prophecies” and the end times, but I can’t hear well enough to know what his point is. (That must be some spreadsheet, keeping track of 2,300 prophecies.)

The man who led the Bible study walks over, shakes hands, and introduces himself. He says, “Let’s see, I’ve got something here for you . . . “ and walks off. I suppose he’s going to bring me a visitors’ packet, but he never returns.

I study the bulletin again. I see that the 2007 church budget was $61,596. Giving has been good this year, it says – they are currently over budget. Hmm. The pastor must be part-time or unpaid, or else I do not understand this budget figure at all.

People are filling the pews now. This is a very racially mixed church, with white, black, Asian, and Hispanic members. Although I have read that SDA churches have women leaders, throughout the rest of the service everyone who speaks publicly is white and male, which seems odd in the circumstances – the very diverse group here, and the fact that the SDA church was founded by a woman prophet. I do notice, again from the bulletin, that two of the elders are women, and that the church has head deacons and a head deaconess.

Now another man stands up to give us the Welcome and Announcements. I learn that some of the members of the congregation are participating in a special Music Day Celebration at a different SDA church, so attendance here is down. Everyone is encouraged to contribute to disaster relief.

The next item on the schedule is Elders Enter, which I think is what they term the fact that two men walk up onto the stage behind the pulpit and kneel for a while in prayer.


It is 11:25 now, and it still doesn’t really seem as though church has started. People are still arriving. I do notice that this is a very well-dressed congregation. Many of the women are dressed beautifully and vividly in what must be their “Sabbath-day best.”

Next comes a Call to Worship, so the service must really be starting now. The man who led the Call to Worship asks if there is a pianist in the building. A woman steps up to the piano to play (she’s quite good), and we stand to sing “Away in a Manger.”

I am somewhat surprised to find myself singing my first Christmas carol of the season already – I’m accustomed to singing Advent hymns during Advent, and saving the Christmas carols for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day – but difference is exactly what I’m trying to experience, so this is good.

Next comes the Children’s Offering and Story. Someone begins a rousing chorus of “Jesus Loves the Little Children,” and while we are singing all the children in the church walk up and down the aisles with baskets, collecting money. There are lots of children – perhaps thirty or so – and they are exceedingly cute. Some are so young they are just toddling, and many of the little girls are dressed up in very fancy, frilly dresses. They don’t seem to be shy, either – the kids are enjoying this part of the service.

Eventually all the kids are gathered up front, and a young woman with a surprising amount of visible cleavage delivers the children’s sermon. She holds up a bar of soap and asks the children what it is for. The correct answer is “to clean our bodies.” Then she asks them how we can clean up our insides. The answer she eventually gets them to agree to is “by confessing our sins.” After 4-5 minutes, the kids are led out of the sanctuary toward their Sabbath Day rooms (all through the service, I keep stumbling at spots where I’m used to using the word Sunday.)

Now something is projected onto the large screen – the words “Offering of Worship.” A man and woman with mikes sing, “O Lord I Bring an Offering to You,” and while they sing others walk up and down the aisles taking the offering, using golden plates. This seems odd – the third offering so far, and the service seems to have barely begun!

Next the words on the screen change to “You are invited to come forward for prayer.” A few people walk to the front, and they all hold hands and kneel as a man leads the congregation in prayer. Everyone in the pews kneels, too, and this church does not have kneelers. Nope, we’re on our knees on the carpeted (but still pretty hard) floor. These SDA folks are tough!

Now comes Special Music. A Latino man with a violin and three black women come forward. The man reads a story about Franz Gruber’s writing of the hymn Silent Night, and then the women sing while he accompanies them on the violin.

Then a Scripture reading (I Corinthians 1:27-31), and then the pastor, wearing a black tee shirt and a sports jacket, steps up to the pulpit to deliver the sermon, “A Strange Way to Save the World.”

On the screen behind him, a montage of superheroes pops up – an enormous Superman with one gigantic fist aimed straight at the congregation, Wonder Woman, and other comic book characters. It occurs to me that asking the men in the congregation to gaze at a six-foot-tall projection of Wonder Woman and other busty, scantily clad female superheroes might not be the best way to direct their Sabbath-day meditations, but perhaps this type of unspiritual thought is occurring only to me.

The pastor begins by saying that you would think that God would send a superhero to save the world rather than a defenseless baby. The screen switches to a traditional picture of a Madonna and child (traditional if you think of Mary as looking a lot like Dorothy Lamour, the actress from the old Bob Hope/Bing Crosby movies). The next screen is a nice, moody drawing of Batman brooding over Gotham City. Throughout the rest of the sermon Bible drawings are shown alternately with comic book scenes.

The pastor contrasts “gentle and humble” Jesus with the muscular superheroes, although he makes a point of stopping to emphasize that Jesus was “not a pansy.” Then he talks about the miracles Jesus did, which would seem to be rather in the superhero category. In fact, the contrast between Jesus and superheroes keeps breaking down as he continues. He notes that superheroes perform “mighty acts” – just like Jesus. He notes that superheroes punish evildoers, whereas Jesus offers forgiveness, but then backtracks a bit and notes that Jesus does speak quite a lot about punishment for evildoers.

His big point is that superheroes do not die for our sins, but I think if he thought about a little more he’d realize that many comic storylines are about superheroes who subject themselves to all kinds of torments, humiliations, and sometimes even death in order to save someone – and the ones who “die” to save someone usually come back from the dead by the end of the story or in the next installment. In short, the more he talks, the more I’m thinking that there’s an uncanny resemblance between Jesus and comic book superheroes.

Next is more special music. This time a man plays the piano and sings a song about Joseph, Mary’s husband. And then we all stand for the closing song, Silent Night. Again! Folks love that song; you have to admit that Franz Gruber hit a home run with that one.

There is a closing prayer, and the service ends at about 12:40. I stand around for a while, but there doesn’t seem to be anything else to do now – no coffee hour or anything like that. So I leave.

In the parking lot, I notice a very dramatic building right across the street. It’s a large white structure, with a brilliant icon painted on the front, and two golden onion-shaped bulbs atop two white pillars. The sign in front says that this is St. Michael’s Orthodox Catholic Church. Now, that looks like it might make for an interesting visit. And on the sidewalk in front of the SDA church is a couple, the man wearing a yarmulke. I imagine there is a synagogue nearby, too.

America – all this religion, all this diversity!

Epilogue

There was no way for the SDA church to contact me, since I had not filled out a visitor card or spoken to anyone, so I have no idea what their follow-up efforts might be like. Reflecting upon the service, I realize that it left me pretty cold, but I also realize that the congregation seemed to feel quite otherwise – they were lively, involved, and apparently having a great time. They prayed fervently. They seemed to be doing a fantastic job of racial integration, and there was a nice mix of ages.

The most memorable part of the experience for me was the odd tilt it gave to my weekend – going to church on Saturday morning but not on Sunday. You might not think a little thing like that would be so disorienting, but it was. I’m sure I would get used to it if I continued – but even Monday felt a little different to me. I am clearly a creature of habit, which is one reason I wanted to try this project.

The textbook has arrived.

One of the textbooks, at least.

I am going to teach an online class, beginning next month.

I have never taken a class on line, and I'm a little nervous about whether or not I will be fully prepared; therefore, I'm reading and re-reading the course guide so frequently I may have it memorized by the time class begins (well, my memory isn't as great as it once was, so it might be more accurate to say that I'll be pretty darn familiar with it when the class begins).

It's the kind of class I really like - developmental English, for students who are not adequately prepared for college-level writing. But when I have taught this in the past, I could see their faces! This will be so different.

Students, whoever and wherever you are, some of you are probably a bit anxious about this class.

I hope you have no inkling of how anxious your teacher is!

Good day, sunshine

A good start to the day, and a good end.

It began with a walk through the neighborhood. The sun was just touching the trees with light, and the trees are just beginning to turn color.

The school bus is running again. Have a good time at school, kids!

Back at the house again, I take one last photo of the sun up in the treetops behind the house before going in to get showered, dressed, and on my way.

Work was fine. After work, took the subway to Center City, to meet Jay and Janet at Perch Pub, where we perched above Broad Street, looking toward the Kimmel Center.

I took a picture of Jay and Janet.

And Janet took one of Jay and me. That's a nice dark ale I'm lifting in the photo below.

Jay was off to a concert at the Kimmel Center, Janet caught the bus to her house in the city, and I was back on the train to the burbs.

I'm feeling fortunate.

Mac and cheese

First time I've turned on the oven in months.

Ahhhhhh.

That is all.

Seeking the light

I write for a quarterly journal for boards of schools of theological education, In Trust. Working for this journal has been a great experience, because of the wonderful and interesting people I meet.

Not just other writers and editors, but people concerned with all kinds of theological education, from all sorts of perspectives, in the US and Canada. And this summer I was especially fortunate to be able to interview people involved in theological education in maximum security prisons, and even to attend a graduation ceremony inside the walls of Sing Sing prison.

My article about the topic is now available in print and online.

I'll just repeat the words of Rabbi Douglas Krantz, who said, "This is where religion and faith and hope are tested. Finding light and hope, and helping people transform themselves, is essential work for all of us, no matter our religion."

Talking to people who work in prison education, and meeting some of the prisoners, was truly humbling.

I might just mention that going through security at Sing Sing is pretty intense. It's much more extensive than airport security. Everyone had to remove their jackets, shoes, watches, and jewelry. (We were allowed to put jackets and shoes back on before going in, but had to leave watches and jewelry in lockers in the anteroom.) We went through a metal detector and were patted down. We were not allowed to carry anything into the building, not even a pencil or a piece of paper (rather a hardship for a writer and reporter). The one exception was our driver's license, which we had to carry with us at all times.

It was a new experience for me, and therefore mildly interesting, but I kept thinking about the family members of the prisoners, who have to go through this over and over and over every time they visit.

After having our hands stamped (like the stamp you get when you enter a club or a theme park - but what a theme park Sing Sing is!), we found ourselves inside a large room filled with tables and chairs. This is where prisoners meet friends and family for visits. I was struck immediately by the presence of a room within this room, filled with toys and other things for toddlers and children. Of course - prisoners have children. How bittersweet those visits must be.

Here's a quote from Rabbi Krantz that didn't make it into print (as always, much of every article is edited out): "How do you find your way in that darkness? To me this is extraordinary, and these men are worthy of great respect."

On another, but slightly related note, today I took a photo of the sunflower in our garden that overcame a grave setback. I dropped the pot while transplanting it, and the main stem was badly broken. I thought it probably would not survive the accident, but left it alone to see what would happen.

It survived, though bent, and blossomed, and found the sun.

And just like that, it was autumn

The last few days were hot and muggy. This morning was a little cooler, but still muggy.

I could have walked from 30th Street Station to work, but eight blocks in the humidity was not appealing, so I hopped on the Lucy bus that circles through the University City district.

I didn't think about the weather all day. An 8:00 breakfast meeting, lots of emails back and forth, a conference call, more computer stuff - not a thought about what was going on outside.

So it was a surprise when I set foot outdoors again.

It had rained a bit, and the temperature had dropped a lot. So much, in fact, that I hopped on the Lucy again to get back to the station.

And tonight I took the warm fuzzy robe out of the closet for the first time in months. And put the down comforter on the bed.

Yay! It's really, really autumn!

Love that licorice

I had reason to be on the east side of Philadelphia today, in the historic district. When I was an editor at Lippincott, I walked around this part of the city every day, and it was nice to be back.

One of the places I made sure to visit was Lore's Chocolates, a small treasure of a place.

Halloween candy is already on display.

The kitchen is in back, through the bluish doorway on the left in the picture above. I love it when the kitchen ladies come out wearing big white aprons and white caps, bearing wooden trays of freshly made candy to replenish the shelves. It makes me feel like a kid in an English children's book.

The butter cookies looked good.

I always visit the licorice table.

I bought a bag of licorice Scotties.

The rest of the day was fine, but visiting Lore's Chocolates may have been the highlight.

Weekend tasks and pleasures

Got up at 6:30. Went to the gym and swam laps for an hour. Wanted to take a picture of the pool, but obviously you can't take pictures of strangers swimming - I wouldn't like it if someone were taking a photo of me. And you really can't take photos in a locker room if other people are around. That would be just creepy. So I have a photo of a deserted locker room.

Here's one of the best parts about swimming laps - it gives a person plenty of time to think. I came up with a long list of things I needed to do, or wanted to do, this weekend.

Nice hot shower and then back home for breakfast.

Coffee, toast, and a bowl of tomato slices, fresh off the patio. Then to the computer, where I emailed a resume and cover letter I had prepared yesterday. No more about that unless there is any interest, but let me just say that I'm not averse to the idea of a new job in a different city.

Then our regular Saturday routine - library, Whole Foods, Giant supermarket, Wawa for a second cup of coffee, BJ's (a big discount store) for supplies like paper towels, Produce Junction for an amazing amount of mushrooms and red peppers at a very low price. A frenzy of consumerism - and we are now stocked up for the week.

We discovered a new product - frozen Greek yogurt!

Back home to put everything away, and to have a bowl of tabouli.

Time to tackle the back yard. I filled four big bags with branches that had come down during the recent storms, and it was hot work in the humidity. Will finish up the front yard tomorrow.

Visited with the neighbors across the fence, and admired their adorable grandson. He has recently learned to walk, and you can't keep him still.

Dripping with sweat, so back inside for another shower. Made a southwestern stir-fry on rice for dinner.

Watched a very good movie after dinner - The Ranger, the Cook, and a Hole in the Sky. An indie film that all three of us enjoyed very much.

And now typing up my blog diary for the day. And thinking back to that list of things I need to do this weekend - there are still so many undone!

Hurriquake week and assumptions

I was talking to colleagues at work yesterday about the hurriquake week, and we discovered that most of us had immediately assumed the craziest stuff when we felt the earth shaking.

Crazy in the sense that it was the only thing our brains could wrap themselves around in those first few seconds, because we had no earthquake experience to fall back on.

For example, one person was in a car when she felt the shaking, and assumed that she was having car trouble - really bad, peculiar car trouble.

Another was in the house, with a small child who happened to be having a mild temper tantrum at the time, rolling around on the floor and kicking the furniture. Her first thought was that her son was getting awfully strong, since his exertions seemed to be shaking the whole house.

I was at home sitting at the computer, and my initial assumption was that my son upstairs had knocked over a heavy piece of furniture. Now, he has never in his life done such a thing. However, I was at someone's house twenty years ago when her son did knock over a dresser upstairs, and it shook the house - and my mind immediately leaped to this "explanation," even though I hadn't thought about it in decades.

Colleagues who had lived in California, on the other hand, said that their first thought when things started wobbling was simply "Earthquake!"

A good illustration of how we turn to the familiar first when something wholly new occurs.

The next time I have car trouble, though, I'm probably going to think - earthquake!

Labor Day - what's on the menu?

Grilled stuff - corn and chicken.

Yum.

Labor Day Eve

Today is the eve of a holiday celebrating the role of labor unions. I believe that unions have had a great role (and, unfortunately, a terrible role) in our history.

But I have never been a member of a union. Increasingly, very few people are.

So I have not much to say about organized labor.

About the topic of labor in general, though, especially the labor of homemakers and housekeepers (non-union) I have some experience.

Today, I cleaned the refrigerator. Thoroughly. It's a job that people (almost always female people) do all the time, mostly unnoticed.

The need for cleaning the refrigerator was great at this time, because a glass container had exploded inside the fridge. (Note: it was not filled with hot food. I have no idea why it exploded.) A good reason to clean.

I cleaned with a vengeance. And with a steam cleaner.

The process looks like this:

That is, it looks like lots of white and steam.

And I ended up with this:

Surprisingly enjoyable, in spite of the fact that it won't last.

Then I had a cup of lemongrass and spearmint tea with honey, in a mug I bought at a drug store in San Francisco a few years ago. While in the city, I visited a friend I had not seen in more than 30 years.

All in all, very satisfying. Cleaning, relaxing, remembering.

Looking forward to the holiday tomorrow, even though I am not a member of a union.

The Black Prince

It's a variety of tomato, not royalty.

And it's mostly green, not black.

Tastes great. Seems like they were a long time coming, though. We are now getting a good crop of tomatoes, but it's almost Labor Day. I think perhaps all the rain in August (the rainiest August in this area since whenever) discouraged the plants.

What if bad writing is a product of the form of writing required in college—the term paper—and not necessarily intrinsic to a student's natural writing style or thought process?

Collaborative learning for the digital age, by Cathy Davidson.

Lots of interesting stuff for anyone who writes, or teaches, or blogs, or reads.

Research indicates that, at every age level, people take their writing more seriously when it will be evaluated by peers than when it is to be judged by teachers. Online blogs directed at peers exhibit fewer typographical and factual errors, less plagiarism, and generally better, more elegant and persuasive prose than classroom assignments by the same writers. Longitudinal studies of student writers conducted by Stanford University's Andrea Lunsford, a professor of English, assessed student writing at Stanford year after year. Lunsford surprised everyone with her findings that students were becoming more literate, rhetorically dexterous, and fluent—not less, as many feared. The Internet, she discovered, had allowed them to develop their writing.

Perhaps academic writing is so poor because we can't help but write poorly in that style. It would be amazing if it turns out that blogging is a better way to teach writing than the traditional academic methods.

The section on crowdsourcing grading is very interesting to me, in spite of the fact that I am skeptical - but interested.

[The world] sprang into being . . . from my cup of tea

And just as the Japanese amuse themselves by filling a porcelain bowl with water and steeping in it little crumbs of paper which until then are without character or form, but, the moment they become wet, stretch themselves and bend, take on colour and distinctive shape, become flowers or houses or people, permanent and recognisable, so in that moment all the flowers in our garden and in M. Swann's park, and the water-lilies on the Vivonne and the good folk of the village and their little dwellings and the parish church and the whole of Combray and of its surroundings, taking their proper shapes and growing solid, sprang into being, town and gardens alike, from my cup of tea.

Swann's Way

The famous opening about the tea and the madeleine. I love it.