Paris Waltz

I stumbled across this video on YouTube over the weekend. I'm a big fan of classical music and spent a few hours Sunday evening listening to various piano music.

I had no idea this was a modern composition by an "unknown" until I started reading the comments because I was unfamiliar with the artist.

Gotta say, well done.

One commenter said it didn't sound particularly Parisian, and I had to beg to differ. It reminds me of Erik Satie for one, and definitely has that vibe. It's got a lot of wonderful color to it, warm, yet spiky, maybe like a spring drizzle. I'd go to a concert or buy the album to hear more of this music.

Honors and Benefits - But A Middleman? No Thanks.

So we are members of AARP. That is supposed to bring us benefits.

One of the benefits is tax preparation help.

And I guess AARP member beggars shouldn't be choosers, but I'm not exactly thrilled with the help being offered.

Apparently, we can go to their tax prep center and they'll do our taxes for free. I would much rather, however, have an AARP discount on tax preparation software so I can not only continue doing my taxes at home as I've done them for many years past, but also help me kids with their taxes using the same software, getting a lot of bang for my buck.

Because with free tax prep help, all I'm really getting is a chose and a social interaction I'd much rather avoid.

With a discount on tax software, I'm getting a chore and the ability to amortize the cost of the software over a minimum of three returns, thus helping more people and not involving an extra middleman in my taxitude.

I'd rather not be Gil in this situation, rocking back and forth with my pathetic bag of receipts awaiting the doom the AARP taxman bringeth. I'd rather see the doom come myself.

I Hope I Got the Stupid Finger Pointing Right

Getting ready to film my own stupid scam Internet video

Old Testament? Not my Favorite

I'll admit the Old Testament is not my favorite bit of scripture to teach.

A few weeks ago, my wife got to avoid teaching this particular tale from Genesis 9:

After the whole ark business, Noah gets a bit drunk and passes out in his tent, starkers. His son Ham comes in, sees the naked dad, and he and his brothers cover Noah up.

Upon awaking, Noah learns of the thing and curses Canaan, Ham's son. Grandkid gets cursed because his dad saw grandpa's ding-dong.

Even our lesson materials has this to say:

This week, I get to avoid talking about other drunken escapades where Lot's daughters get Dad drunk and have sex so he can have, well, I don't know I guess. Descendants? Because his daughters don't count?

Our materials say this is included to show origins:

So that'll be fun. I guess it does show that you could take the daughters out of Sodom and Gomorrah, but not Sodom and Gomorrah out of the daughters.

Anyway, this is what I feel like sometimes:

 

We have state legislators who want daily Bible reading to be part of the public school curriculum. Fine. But they have to read these parts too.

Are They *Really*?

The Guardian is trying to get me upset about the loss of trade paperback books.

Their story sez:

But the era of the “pocket book” is drawing to a close. ReaderLink, the biggest book distributor in the US, announced recently that it would stop distributing mass-market paperbacks. The decision follows years of plummeting sales, from 131m units in 2004 to 21m in 2024, and marks the end of a format that once democratised reading for the working class.

Romero, who grew up in the working-class, Latino and industrial city of Hialeah, Florida, says: “I don’t remember a bookstore. I had the library in Miami Springs across the bridge but in Hialeah around us, what was in walking distance because we didn’t have a car, was the Publix [supermarket] and sometimes we would get books from Goodwill [thrift store] as well.

“They had that democratic aspect to them where you can just find them anywhere and it always felt like it was the pick ’n’ mix candy-type store where there is something here for everyone, whether it’s the Harlequin romance novel or something very pulpy like a sci-fi or horror novel that you could quickly get.”

I'll admit: I don't remember book stores either. I mean, we had Pioneer Book, sure. But I was a big borrower from the library, and sneaked books off the classroom shelves in elementary school. While I do remember buying books from a grocery store as they describe here, they were exclusively Peanuts comic strip books.

When I was serious about buying books, it was the thrift store. Deseret Industries, one of our local thrifts, occasionally ran sales when they had too many books and I could come home with ten for a dollar. Those were heady days.

I still shop a lot there for books, abut also hit up used book sellers on the Internet as well. As far as I'm concerned, there is no book shortage.

I just bought a new little pile last weekend. It's fun.

COOKIE DOUGH!

 

I know that doesn't look like much more than a mixer churning away in a garage, but to us and Troop 1010, it's a big deal.

Since 2019, the troop has made cookie dough as a fundraiser. We've made the dough in a school cafeteria and the back rooms of the scout office and a regional restaurant, but those opportunities were closed to us.

We did score this mixer from the scout office, and Keaton and his Dad got an outlet wired for it in the garage of their new home. Best yet, the mixer works. So we can make the dough. Both kinds.

Help Me Sort This Out in My Head

 

Help me sort this out:

I've been a fan of Vangelis -- and by extension, a certain amount of synthesized music -- since I first heard the music as part of Carl Sagan's "Cosmos" series.

Obviously, a lot of talent goes into synthesized music; it's not just computers doing the work. Though it is the computers helping the work to have beautiful and dangerous sounds to it.

I'm sure at the time there were people who weren't all that keen on synthesized music: "There's no skill," they'd say, as compared to learning how to make a violin sing, or dare I say it, a banjo plink."

But it's still there. Filling a niche that I'm glad synth music found.

I'm struggling with the battle against large language models and such. Though I agree there's rather a leap from creating "good prompts" that can produce prose that's actually worth reading.

But I dunno. Maybe I'm getting weak on this. Maybe in the future LLMs will find and fill a niche in writing and just be that small part of it that fills a distinct need.

I've seen writer friends experiment with LLMs and I have to wonder: Used right, they're not all that bad. There are certainly ethical concerns based on their use of electricity and their training based on plagiarized works of actual meat-spacer authors, that I won't deny. That's a big part that still keeps me from using LLMs in my own work. Maybe that's too big a leap to make.

But I'm not sure.

Still sorting things out in my head.

Moved

I didn't take any pictures -- which now seems sad -- but we successfully got Lexi and Keaton moved into their house today.

It's a big deal.

They feel like they're rattling around in the space, after leaving a 2-bedroom apartment for even smaller digs with us as they looked for a place to live locally.

But I can see the gleam in their eyes as they look past the piles of boxes and such at the possibilities of having all sorts of places to put the stuff they've got and plan for the future.

It's kind of exciting for them.

And for us, because it means we have a lot of stuff that's moved out of our house now. Last time I had to restart the router, it took ten minutes to move enough boxes to get to it.

And soon one of the two pianos we have in the house will join them. We'll get a wall back. I don't know what we'll do with it, but we'll get it back.

Honda Mileage - Another Missed Milestone

I've been watching the odometer in my 2005 Honda Pilot for this particular set of zeros to come around.

Not that there's anything significant about 260,000 miles other than the fact that I missed seeing 250,000 miles roll in.

So, of course, today this happened:

At least it got warmer.

Summer in Liverpool, 1992

 

We buy a lot of used books. Part of the fun is finding annotations, abandoned bookmarks, and in the case of this copy of "The Complete Ripping Yarns," an inscription on the inside front cover.

I can't make out the signatures, but the text says:

To Lillian,

A bit of very British humour from a very funny T.V. series written by two of the Monty Python team.

Hope you enjoy it!

Happy Birthday.

Summer in Liverpool 1992

With love from (illegible names)

All of this for only $7.

A Dog for All Seasons: A Reflection

Note: This is less of a review, more of a personal reflection.

“Oh. That book,” my wife said when she saw me holding our copy of “A Dog for All Seasons” by Patti Sherlock. “You do know the dog dies at the end?”

Sorry for the spoiler. But as it’s a book about a dog, we all pretty much know how it ends. Because that’s pretty much how every book about a dog – or any animal – ends. Sure, not “Rascal,” by Sterling North. But damn few else.

And, in the end, we all know Rascal died too.

Thus is the nature of living, whether with animals or humans. Life passes. And we’re rarely prepared for the end of it. Dogs, who live in the moment, maybe have the better point of view, at least in the realm of mortality.

Once immortal, maybe we can learn things from each other.

Our own dog Dottie, now sixteen years old herself, gave us a scare last week, tumbling down a flight of stairs to end up in a shaking, crying heap at the bottom.

I’m not sure I liked how I reacted, yelling chastisement at the dog for not waiting for me to pick her up before she went pell-mell down the stairs, because picking her up is just what we do now when any amount of stairs are involved. She won’t ascend the four wooden steps on the back porch and balks usually at going down them, so I have no idea why the fourteen carpeted steps to the basement were so appealing that day.

So I was mad. Surely she didn’t understand the words, but knew the tone, and that is not what she needed. Chastisement in the moment rarely helps when all we really need is comfort.

Madder still it happened after hours, when no vets were open to see her. Madder still she woke crying during the night and I sacrificed sleep to hold her in my arms as we both fitfully tried to get some rest, waiting for the sun to crawl over the horizon.

Our vet was booked, so we took her to a vet we’d used previously until our emergency backup dog, Daisy, quailed at the ride there, knowing each time she was riding to her doom. We picked a vet closer to home so the anxiety of the trip was as short as the several-block trip.

The vet gave Dottie some pain meds and a cautious bill of health, and for the most part she’s been fine since. But I still don’t like that I yelled.

It didn’t help that at the bottom of the stairs Dasy was too fixated on getting her nightly rawhide to bother with her injured sister, and that I hurled the treat bag at our oldest, asking for help in a less-than-nice voice.

So when George kicked Duncan, the dog in Sherlock’s book, I felt a wince of regret. Never mind I’d stayed up that night cradling that little idiot dog in my arms after the fall. I’d hollered at her. Not what she nor our oldest needed at the time.

But that’s what pets do. They bring joy and laughter, sadness and pain. It’s what all creatures do. I can imagine God wanting to pick up our shaking forms at the bottom of a metaphorical staircase we’ve just tumbled down, irritated that the help that was forthcoming was ignored or the counsel given was forgotten, even momentarily.

“For those of us who have been loved by a great dog, who have, in turn, loved the dog back, we can say, and this is not too large a statement, we have known Glory in our lives,” Sherlock writes at the conclusion of her story.

Glory, indeed.

And maybe, when inevitably the dog passes and is with us no longer, a little bit of grace as well.

The Last Battle

It's been a while since I read a good World War II history, and when I saw this title by Cornelius Ryan on the shelf, I knew I had to have it. I really enjoyed his "A Bridge Too Far," and expected this book would be in a similar vein, with looks from both on high and on the ground for the battle of Berlin.

It did not disappoint.

I'm stunned at the amount of access he appeared to have to documents, photos, and people from all sorts of walks of life and alliances as he complied this book. I suppose that's a great sign of an excellent journalist and researcher.

Some of it was hard reading. Not because of the prose, but because of the subject matter. I appreciate this is war and that ugliness happens, but damn some of what he wrote about was terrible stuff. He did concentrate the worst of it into one section of the book, which made it easier to bleep over when things got too nasty.

Ring Out, Our Savior's Love

We sang this hymn as an opener at church today, and I love it. The message and the tune are so sweet and simple. Though I enjoy a challenging song, it's often very nice to slip into a hymn that fits as nice as the cream-colored sweater I've had for years and have to be pried out of it almost every Sunday.

But today I learned -- and I love learning about the writers and tunesmiths used in the hymnal -- that "Our Savior's Love," the tune, was composed by Crawford Gates, the same guy responsible for the LDS tune to "Ring Out Wild Bells," which at best incites a lot of controversy in the church and at worst is loathed by many members to the point they simply don't sing it.

Now for me, I love the tune to "Ring Out, Wild Bells" to the same degree that I love the tune to "Our Savior's Love," so the connection between the two songs is fun.

Oddly enough, it's hard to find a YouTube video of the song as Gates composed it. The most popular ones by the Mormon Tabernacle Choir use a different, much less interesting tune.

But thank heaven for the Crofts Family:

It's a challenging song to sing, and one that's typically a miss when we sing it. It's Like "That Little Light of Mine," meant to be a gospel spiritual, not one sung by a staid choir or congregation. But that song, just like Gates' version of "Ring Out Wild Bells," is beautiful and touching in the right setting.

Progress for both Bathroom and Dog

I really need to get this bathroom remodel done because in my Facebook memories I'm starting to see one-year anniversaries of past prep work in the bathroom, including the $1,600 job I had to farm out to the professionals.

That's a long time to be without a basement bathroom, though we do have three others to choose from.

Good news is another few courses of tile and I'll have that wall done and can move on to finishing the tub enclosure. Then it'll be a lot of cleanup and setting the sink and toilet in place.

I'm a little irked that the pedestal sink doesn't meet the wall at a 90 degree angle, but in researching the problem online, it seems that's not an uncommon problem. Part of it might be due to the fact the sink is one we found at a thrift store and the bowl may have been attached crookedly to begin with. So I'll keep experimenting with that and seeing what I can do to make things right.

I had hoped to get more done, but I also had to spend some time babysitting/sitting with Dottie, who hopefully has a better night tonight than she did last night, where she woke us all up at 1:30 am crying. Poor little thing.

Crash and Burn

Last night, our weenie dog Dottie crashed and burned going down the stairs.

Had she waited five seconds, I would have had her in my arms to carry her down the stairs as we always do, but no, Dad was taking too long.

Hit the landing and started crying. Picked up the shattered remains and she didn't want to be touched and tried to bite me.

Nevertheless we manhandled her, got a compression bandage and a splint on her right front leg, and prepared to have a long night with her before we could get her to the vet in the morning.

That meant, of course, Dad sleeping on the couch with her in his lap because that's what you do. Dressed in your plaid shirt and jeans, belt and all.

She slept peacefully.

At 4 am, I took the dogs outside to use the potty. The bandage and splint came off during the night - it's ridiculously hard to bandage and splint a wiry weenie dog.

She's a little gimpy - slightly more gimpy than usual - but doesn't seem to be seriously hurt, even after a thorough poking of both front legs by our daughter at about 7:30 am.

Napping now because that's what she does every morning.

I may need a nap myself. That took a lot out of me.

Update: Vet gave Dottie a good bill of health, considering. He said her motor function looks good, and she was moving around a lot more while there, partly due to the adrenaline. But she's on doggie painkillers now, and hopefully on the mend.

Geniuses in Charge

The Idaho state legislature loves making noise about "unfunded mandates" whether they come from the federal government or from ballot initiatives approved by voters.

It seems, though, they have no problem with such things if they create them.

Peep at this from the Idaho Capital Sun, regarding legislative mandates to cut budgets because in part the state cut taxes to make the rich folks happy:

Saving $210,000 but having to spend $3.5 million as a result of the savings? Genius move by the legislature.

Into the Abyss . . .

 

First policeman: Is he all right?

Second policeman: Says the Ty-d-Bol is irritating his buttocks.

First policeman: Hang up.

The little notes help me remember what I forget.

The humor helps me retain the tattered remains of my sanity.

"They're not the Lunatics, it's Us."

 

I hear a lot these days that if I agree with something, I must, naturally, completely disagree with the things that is diametrically opposite of what I agree with.

Maybe in some cases that's true.

But in the vast majority of cases, it's not.

I like to think I have an open mind. I'll listen to others and try to understand their point of view. Because while I may be certain of some things, I readily concede I'm ignorant of others. And there's a good chance on many things that the lunatic in the situation is me.

But of the many things I'm certain of, I do know this: It doesn't have to be us vs. them.

Because that's what Satan wants. Division. He doesn't really care what we're divided about, as long as we're divided. And the more things he can find that divide us, the happier he is because he wants us to be miserable like unto himself.

And while I'm coming into this from a Christian point of view, I refuse to believe that other religions and non-religions don't teach the same thing: That we as people on this planet have far more in common than what divides us, and if we can find common ground and agree to get along and understand the differences between ourselves and look at those differences as differences, not gulfs, we'd all be a lot better off.

So in the vast majority of the culture wars we see these days, I refuse to participate, because at the foundation of it all, I know who wants me to choose a side in arguments that don't really matter.

$65 Dollar Hole

 

That's a $65 hole in the tile and I only had to cut it twice, but I did it myself. And it was not as nerve-wracking as I expected it would be.

Now I just have to convince my wife that I can amortize the cost of that diamond bit set over several projects . . .

But as a friend pointed out on Facebook: Tool math.

Also: While Future Tiling Me understands why Past Tiling Me leaves the thinset bucket all gunked up because it's "easier" to clean up dry thinset than wet thinset, sometimes Future Tiling Me thinks Past Tiling Me is a bit of a jerk.

The Pink Pages

I'm watching a documentary on the Apollo 13 mission, focusing on the famous accident that nearly brought the mission to an end. There's little narration; they're just following along with the actual radio transmissions between Houston and Odyssey, with text. I'm loving it.

This part, about 45 minutes in, piqued my interest. They mention "Go[ing] to your GNC checklist, the pink pages," for one of their emergency power procedures.

In my early days at the RWMC, I was the writer in charge of the emergency alarm response procedures. When they were revised and placed in the Operations binders, they were indeed printed on pink paper. It's been a good decade since I was in Operations space out there, so I have no idea if that's still the practice there. But it would be interesting to know. Maybe I should put in for a transfer back out there.

Best Service by Friendly Staff

I love finding bookmarks people leave in the used books I buy. This has long been my favorite, from the New Merry Guest House in Bangkok, Thailand.

It came to me in a copy of Richard Adams' "Watership Down," clearly left there by a human who went on adventures or at least thought the business card would be a good bookmark.

Of course, back in the late '80s early '90s, discovering whether such a business still existed in a faraway country was nigh on impossible unless I wanted to make a phone call, but late '80s early '90s me was even less likely to make such a call than the me that exists currently.

So I turned to Google Maps.

The address itself, 18-20Phra Athit Rd, does indeed exist, and judging by the nearby river and the proximity of the Chana Songkram Temple, I do appear to have the right place.

And it looks like it's still a guest house, though under a different name:

The temple mentioned on the card if, of course, still there:

As is the bank, albeit under a different name:

So if I ever visit Thailand, I'll be strongly tempted to use this particular hotel to stay in, cause I feel like I already know it. All thanks to a guy who left the business card in a book he discarderd.

New Light. Big Difference.

We've had for a long time in the basement hallway a really ugly-looking light fixture attached to the wall.

Why the wall? Well, there are furnace ducts in the ceiling, so putting a light there would have meant the taller inhabitants of the house would have bumped their heads on a dangling fixture.

But we've wanted to get rid of it since we bought the house. This past weekend, with son-in-law Keaton's help, we got it done.

The new light is clearly functional, not a thing of beauty, but it does get the light where we want it and gets the old fixture off the wall.

Michelle isn't a fan of the plate covering the old fixture box, but that's what we had to do since there's an electric connection in the box, feeding power to the new light and linking to the light switches.

I still have a lot of holes to fill in from the cat6 cable project, but having the light there really took a worry out of the worry box for me. And filled in one of the ceiling holes.

Poelau Roebiah FOUND

Got to thinking about Dad this weekend, in particular the story he told of he and his brother Sjaak getting really excited when the merchant vessel their Dad was a sailor on was due back to port.

The story goes like this:

Their mother knew the ship, the Poelau Roebiah was due in port soon, but didn't know when. They didn't have a phone on their farm, so they had to walk to the post office to use the phone there. The phone was in a little booth.

She took her two boys with her to use the phone. Every time she mentioned the name of the ship, the boys would shout "Poelau Roebiah! Poelau Roebiah!" as loud as they could, often interrupting the phone call and making their mom a little cranky.

She finally got the information they needed and went home, not mindiing whether the boys followed since they were full of energy and she was a little weary of it.

A while later, the postmistress came to her house.

"Oh Frau Davidson, you have to come back to the post office and get your boys!" she said. They'd locked themselves in the phone booth and were shouting Poelau Roebiah! to anyone who'd listen.

"They have to get out of the booth because if the phone rings I'm responsible to answer it, and they've locked the booth so I can't get in!" the postmistress said.

So their tired mother went back to the post office, extracted her boys, and brought them home.

We assume they had a happy reunion when their father and the Poelau Roebia returned.

Today after church I got curious to see if I could find any information on the ship. I'd tried in the past, but as the story was told to us verbally, we had no idea how to spell the name of the ship. So I tried a few different searches today and came up with the name.

And some pictures!

There's a lot more out there I'm just digging into.

I did find that the ship was torpedoed by a German Uboat on July 6, 1942, in the Caribbean Sea off the coast of Kingston, Jamaica.

The information here is from the site linked just below the picture:

In 1942, the “Poelau Roebiah” was part of Convoy HX-187 departing Halifax on April 26th 1942 and arriving Liverpool on May 8th 1942, though the ship may not have travelled with the convoy all the way.

The “Poelau Roebiah” sailed from the United Kingdom on June 1st 1942 as part of convoy WS-19P. Freetown was reached June 15th 1942 and departed on June 19th 1942. Cape Town was reached on July 1st 1942 and Durban on July 4th 1942. The convoy was split with the “Poelau Roebiah” being part of Convoy WS-19P (and later WS-19PA) which contained the slower vessels. Suez was reached on July 23rd 1942.

On June 7th 1943, “U 759” set sail from Lorient for patrol in the Atlantic. Almost a month later on July 5th, the U-boat found Convoy GTMO-134 and sank one ship. Two days later “U 759” found Convoy TAG-70 which included the “Poelau Roebiah” with a cargo of 8,100 tons of manganese ore and 100 tons of copper concentrate from Bombay to Cristobal, Guantanamo Bay and Baltimore. Also on board were 31 passengers, 24 armed guards and 68 crew members. The ship was torpedoed and sunk south of Jamaica at position 17°56′ N and 75°57′ W. Two crew were killed, everyone else successfully took to the lifeboats, who were later picked up by a US Coast Guard cutter and several escort vessels.

A week after the “Poelau Roebiah” was sunk, “U 759” was lost on July 15th 1943.

Interesting stuff, and a little more of the ol' family history.

Rhetorical Analysis is *Hard*

I'm sure there are some of you looking at this rhetorical analysis essay and thinking "What am I supposed to do with this? I've never done anything like this before!"

I hear you. I consider the rhetorical analysis essay to be the toughest assignment we tackle in this class, no question.

Why? It's not something we're used to doing.

So I've put together a list of pointers I think will help. And the text we will analyze is one you're probably familiar with, and is my favorite part of The Book of Mormon: The Book of Enos.

In 27 verses, Enos tells us a story that's remarkably like the change essay you've just finished writing.

Just as a refresher, we're going to talk about these rhetorical concepts, and how Enos uses (or doesn't use) them in his writing. We also have to remember that what we're reading was likely edited by Mormon or Moroni, so we'll see if we can spot any signs of that too and look at the rhetorical concepts they introduce.

Here are the concepts:

Ethos -- Appeals to credibility or character, meant to establish the speaker's authority on the subject.

Pathos -- Appeals to emotion, through either storytelling or emotional language.

Logos -- Appeals to logic, facts, and reason. This can include quotes from others knowledgeable on the subject.

My thoughts are in italics, sprinkled among the verses below:

1 Behold, it came to pass that I, Enos, knowing my father that he was a just man—for he taught me in his language, and also in the nurture and admonition of the Lord—and blessed be the name of my God for it—

A little logos, a little pathos. He begins by bearing his testimony, in part, of God, and talks about what he learned from his father. That helps me as a reader reflect, "Yeah, I learned a lot from my Dad too." Maybe he's dropped this in here to help us remember the things our fathers (and mothers) have taught us, so as we read the rest of the story we can reflect on what we know, compare it to what he tells us, and maybe remind ourselves that we could work a little harder at being righteous ourselves.

2 And I will tell you of the wrestle which I had before God, before I received a remission of my sins.

I have always loved the word "wrestle" here. It's vivid. We know what wrestling is. We've probably had our own wrestles, physical or intellectual. Setting us up for a story, clearly. Lots of pathos.

3 Behold, I went to hunt beasts in the forests; and the words which I had often heard my father speak concerning eternal life, and the joy of the saints, sunk deep into my heart.

4 And my soul hungered; and I kneeled down before my Maker, and I cried unto him in mighty prayer and supplication for mine own soul; and all the day long did I cry unto him; yea, and when the night came I did still raise my voice high that it reached the heavens.

5 And there came a voice unto me, saying: Enos, thy sins are forgiven thee, and thou shalt be blessed.

6 And I, Enos, knew that God could not lie; wherefore, my guilt was swept away.

7 And I said: Lord, how is it done?

8 And he said unto me: Because of thy faith in Christ, whom thou hast never before heard nor seen. And many years pass away before he shall manifest himself in the flesh; wherefore, go to, thy faith hath made thee whole.

The pathos floodgates have opened. We see Enos in a vulnerable moment, and we can feel both his anguish and his relief as he prays and receives his answer. I'm sure this is not the only time he prayed about his "wrestle:' we're getting hit with the time the answer comes through clearly.

Another thought hits me: Enos is a regular guy. Yes, he's a prophet of God. But he's also out there in the wilderness, hunting, trying to provide for his family. Sure, his mind probably isn't on the actual hunting, but on his wrestle. This reminds me of President Holland's recent admonition to pray more. than we've ever prayed before. If Enos can pray while he's hunting, trying to provide for his family, I ought to be doing that too as I face frustrations with my stupid, stupid desk job, which I have so I can provide for my family.

But there's a little logos there too. He says he "knew that God could not lie." He states it as a fact, probably from the things his father taught him. But we see the pathos that surrounds this fact, and that makes the fact even more powerful.

9 Now, it came to pass that when I had heard these words I began to feel a desire for the welfare of my brethren, the Nephites; wherefore, I did pour out my whole soul unto God for them.

10 And while I was thus struggling in the spirit, behold, the voice of the Lord came into my mind again, saying: I will visit thy brethren according to their diligence in keeping my commandments. I have given unto them this land, and it is a holy land; and I curse it not save it be for the cause of iniquity; wherefore, I will visit thy brethren according as I have said; and their transgressions will I bring down with sorrow upon their own heads.

Pathos, yes, but more logos this time. God preaches a sermon we've all heard: Diligence in keeping the commandments is what invites God's presence with us, through the Holy Ghost. He reminds them that they live in a land of promise, and that it is not cursed unless those who possess it are wicked. This is all also stuff that Enos learned from his father, but to hear it from God himself is reaffirming, to Enos and to us as well.

11 And after I, Enos, had heard these words, my faith began to be unshaken in the Lord; and I prayed unto him with many long strugglings for my brethren, the Lamanites.

12 And it came to pass that after I had prayed and labored with all diligence, the Lord said unto me: I will grant unto thee according to thy desires, because of thy faith.

Enos' empathy expands. He employs more ethos in his appeal for the Lamanites. But there is logos there. This isn't just an idle prayer. He states he's worked as a missionary among the Lamanites. He knows what he's up against and is appealing for help. A great reminder to us when we're facing our own personal Lamanites, whether they're the human kind or the kind we've got in our heads.

13 And now behold, this was the desire which I desired of him—that if it should so be, that my people, the Nephites, should fall into transgression, and by any means be destroyed, and the Lamanites should not be destroyed, that the Lord God would preserve a record of my people, the Nephites; even if it so be by the power of his holy arm, that it might be brought forth at some future day unto the Lamanites, that, perhaps, they might be brought unto salvation—

14 For at the present our strugglings were vain in restoring them to the true faith. And they swore in their wrath that, if it were possible, they would destroy our records and us, and also all the traditions of our fathers.

15 Wherefore, I knowing that the Lord God was able to preserve our records, I cried unto him continually, for he had said unto me: Whatsoever thing ye shall ask in faith, believing that ye shall receive in the name of Christ, ye shall receive it.

16 And I had faith, and I did cry unto God that he would preserve the records; and he covenanted with me that he would bring them forth unto the Lamanites in his own due time.

Even more ethos. He's worked hard on preserving the records and recognizes their worth. And he obtains the promise that the records will be preserved. But he also receives another promise in Verse 15 that we've heard echoed again and again in the gospel: If we ask in faith, believing we will receive in the name of Christ, we shall receive. That's ethos and logos in a neat little package.

17 And I, Enos, knew it would be according to the covenant which he had made; wherefore my soul did rest.

18 And the Lord said unto me: Thy fathers have also required of me this thing; and it shall be done unto them according to their faith; for their faith was like unto thine.

19 And now it came to pass that I, Enos, went about among the people of Nephi, prophesying of things to come, and testifying of the things which I had heard and seen.

20 And I bear record that the people of Nephi did seek diligently to restore the Lamanites unto the true faith in God. But our labors were vain; their hatred was fixed, and they were led by their evil nature that they became wild, and ferocious, and a blood-thirsty people, full of idolatry and filthiness; feeding upon beasts of prey; dwelling in tents, and wandering about in the wilderness with a short skin girdle about their loins and their heads shaven; and their skill was in the bow, and in the cimeter, and the ax. And many of them did eat nothing save it was raw meat; and they were continually seeking to destroy us.

21 And it came to pass that the people of Nephi did till the land, and raise all manner of grain, and of fruit, and flocks of herds, and flocks of all manner of cattle of every kind, and goats, and wild goats, and also many horses.

22 And there were exceedingly many prophets among us. And the people were a stiffnecked people, hard to understand.

23 And there was nothing save it was exceeding harshness, preaching and prophesying of wars, and contentions, and destructions, and continually reminding them of death, and the duration of eternity, and the judgments and the power of God, and all these things—stirring them up continually to keep them in the fear of the Lord. I say there was nothing short of these things, and exceedingly great plainness of speech, would keep them from going down speedily to destruction. And after this manner do I write concerning them.

24 And I saw wars between the Nephites and Lamanites in the course of my days.

The storytelling -- the ethos -- continues from a distance. There's some logos in there as well, as he delivers facts to us about how both peoples are living.

25 And it came to pass that I began to be old, and an hundred and seventy and nine years had passed away from the time that our father Lehi left Jerusalem.

26 And I saw that I must soon go down to my grave, having been wrought upon by the power of God that I must preach and prophesy unto this people, and declare the word according to the truth which is in Christ. And I have declared it in all my days, and have rejoiced in it above that of the world.

27 And I soon go to the place of my rest, which is with my Redeemer; for I know that in him I shall rest. And I rejoice in the day when my mortal shall put on immortality, and shall stand before him; then shall I see his face with pleasure, and he will say unto me: Come unto me, ye blessed, there is a place prepared for you in the mansions of my Father. Amen.

He ends with ethos. I'm only 54 but experiencing some of the feelings of mortality he expresses. So maybe ethos here for different folks.

Also of note: Enos, I believe, relies on pathos almost exclusively here. He uses logos and ethos a little bit (and maybe you notice it more than I do, and that's fine) but he really wants to tell us a story and how it affected him. He uses gospel concepts he hopes his audience is familiar with. He demonstrates the importance of prayer, of missionary work, and of enduring to the end -- all likely things his father taught him -- without pausing at all to remind us what these concepts are. He knows what they are, and sincerely hopes his audience knows what they are as well. Had his audience been different -- maybe if he were telling his story of wrestling with God to the Lamanites -- he's pause more to define terms and help them understand the concepts of prayer, of faith, etc. But here he doesn't, because he believes he doesn't have to. He's recording his thoughts in scripture, which he implores God to protect, in the hopes that it will be preserved and function as an emotional story in part of a larger work that explains the concepts he mentions.

This is not, of course, a perfect analysis. I whipped it out in about fifteen minutes. Had I spent more time, there's probably more I would notice. So I recommend, as you work on your own analyses, to take the time to read your selected speech more than once. Take notes, whether digital or in pen and ink. Use whatever method works for you, but take lots of notes. Re-read the speech and your notes.

And pray more than you've ever prayed before. That's something I'm working on as well.

Remember, Tax Breaks for the Rich, Service Cuts for the Vulnerable!

Letter sent to Sen. Cook and reps Bingham and Mickelsen, state legislators:

I'm appalled the state of Idaho is attempting to balance its budget on the backs of some of the state's most vulnerable residents.

I do not understand why killing budgets for mental health care, physical therapy, and other vital health care is so high on the legislature's priorities, other than I suppose it's the easy way out of a budget shortfall.

While I understand passage of the so-called Big Beautiful Bill in Washington has had an impact locally, the governor and state legislature have added fuel to the budget fire by approving tax cuts that went to the state's wealthiest residents.

I've heard our representatives in Washington give weak lip service to fixing the problems the Big Beautiful Bill caused the states. I have little faith they will take any substantive action.

I recently attended a virtual town hall with Rep. Mike Simpson and heard him give very weak assurances of help to a mother in Franklin who is desperately worried how the proposed cuts will impact her ability to care for her disabled son. I'm sure her story is repeated in every corner of the state.

You are in a position to help rather than hurt.

I have higher hopes that our state representatives will be more willing to consider the disastrous impacts these health care cuts will have on Idaho citizens.

I recognize governance is not easy. Nor should it be. I encourage you to look for creative and sustainable action that will ease the state's budget shortfall without bringing direct harm to the state's most vulnerable citizens.

Sincerely,

Brian Davidson

Once Again, Don't Feed the Trolls

So sit a minute and watch this video.

The message, of course, is transparent. But just in case it needs to be spelled out: Don't feed the troll.

If someone's trolling online, don't react. Don't try to debate, because they're not there for debate. They're there to be right.

I forget that sometimes. But it's important to remember.

Even if they're lying or spreading propaganda. Ignore them. The more interaction they get, the more they grow.

I'm mentioning this because I posted a link to this video on a public post that was asking people to chill. But apparently the use of the concept of "troll" offended the original poster, so I was asked to take it down.

Not wanting additional drama in my life, I took it down. But I came here to post it, because the message is strong.

Don't feed the trolls.

Even if they're well-intentioned.

[Scam Likely]

I've been thinking about my Dad a lot lately.

He was born in the Netherlands. Saw the ugliness of World War II as a young teenager. Saw the futility of colonialism while serving in the Dutch army in Indonesia after the war.

He, his brother, and parents immigrated to the United States in 1950. They worked hard to form a new life here and, legally, to become citizens of the United States.

As much as he loved living here, he didn't have on any blinders. He told me on more than one occasion that the United States is a wonderful place to live unless you're poor, then it becomes one of the worst places on the planet because of how little we care for those in need.

Dad died in 2000. And as I've watched what's gone on in our country over the past year plus, I'm kind of glad he didn't live to see such times.

He learned English but maintained a Dutch accent. He worked as a bricklayer out in the weather, so his skin was tanned and reddened by a lot of exposure to sun and wind.

I'm convinced those facts alone would have made him a target of Immigration and Customs Enforcement had they been in Idaho in any strength and pestered construction sites like I've seen them do in the news.

He, a legal citizen of the United States, would very likely have been harassed and bothered, maybe arrested.

I know many people like this. People who've come into the country "the right way," who'd automatically be suspect. And possibly exposed to jail, violence, and worse if they -- or we who know them -- would try to tell The Man otherwise.

So tonight I got a call. Two, actually. Both from a cell number that were flagged as "Scam Likely:"

The first call I ignored, because scam likely. But when they called back, I figured "What the hell."

The call was an invitation to attend a virtual town hall going on RIGHT NOW during COMMUTE TIME, as you can see by the timestamp on my screenshot from Mike Simpson, our representative in the House.

So I jumped on it. I wanted to see what would happen. And I figured since there'd been no heads up about the town hall -- I am subscribed to his newsletter and saw nothing about it in the letter I got over the weekend.

The *3*3 you can see are two attempts -- the last one successful -- I made to indicate I had a question I wanted to ask. I had little faith that I'd actually be invited to ask a question, but I was. I told them it was to ask Rep. Simpson whether he supported an independent investigation into ICE activities, particularly in Minnesota, as our Senator Mike Crapo and Sen. John Curtis of Utah indicated they were in favor of, just today.

They fielded five or six questions before pulling the plug, with only the last caller asking a question that was contrary to the line Simpson has already shown he's been toeing.

Yeah. They filtered the questions they wanted to answer and pretty much answered only the questions that already fir their preconceived narrative, and now they can report that they "held a town hall" and "heard a lot from constituents" who think everything is A-OK in Washington, DC.

When we lived in Rexburg, a member of our ward ran for and won a seat in the state legislature. As I recall, he served one term and came back with his idealism for participatory government, learned from a father who had also served on the state level, kind of squashed because even back then in the 1900s it was hard to get anything done that wasn't already neato and popular with the cool kids in Boise.

So what I saw was this, writ large, controlled and moderated to make it seem like everything's OK at home for Representative Simpson, who can feel good that he held a town hall and only heard from one malcontent.

Yes, it seems that government continues to seem, and that's about it.

Maybe They're Already Here

Blessed the man

who met his wish of them.

He will not be muddled

when he treat with his enemies

at the gate.

~Nisi Dominus, Antonio Vivaldi

He tried to remember what they said, in that book, long ago. He read it as a child and was frightened by it. But curious. Wanting to know.

The question:

"Dad, will they ever come back?"

The answer: "No, and yes."

Not back as they were. Not in the same shape. Never in the same shape. But back, always. Maybe by sunrise, maybe by noon, surely by evening.

The answer: We have to watch.

And maybe they're already here.

A few spins forward. A few spins back, Ten spins back, and after the spins upon spins, back and forth, back and forth, one is leader of the show, of the freaks, of the carnival.

Maybe they're already here.

And he remembered the hope: "The City Hall clock, the Baptist church clock, the Methodist, the Episcopalian, the Catholic church, all the clocks, struck twelve." Where they had never agreed before to the time.

Who we are now may not be who we become. We may become happier, holier, more sane, more jovial, more rested and restful. More curious and caring, more daring and wise.

We may become sadder, more soiled, more bitter, more dark, more resented and resentful. More desperate and grasping, more craven and weak.

We have to remember to listen to the bells. Do they chime in chorus with the rest, making beautiful sounds, marking the time correctly, announcing to the world our joy, our sorrow, our unity and bravery? Or are we cacaphonous, dissonant, never agreeing with what the other heathen bells have to say, never really listening to our own bells but highly critical -- always critical of the timing and tune the others exhibit. Damning others for forgetting the jig when we think we and only we know the tune.

Thus pealed the bells more loud and deep,

God is not dead, nor doth he sleep.

The wrong shall fail, the right prevail,

with peace on Earth, good will to men. 

Together, remember. And not be muddled when we treat with our enemy. Together.

Else, as the other said, "If you want a picture of the future, imagine a boot stamping on a human face— forever."

Yes, there are laws to be obeyed. Obedience makes for an ordered society and leaves much room for joy.

But if they are already here, laws can become corrupt. Obedience can become blind and order for some is anarchy for others. If we see the boot and feel not pity for the oppressed no matter their crimes, real or imaginary, but relief that we do not see our face in its whited piety, then they are already here.

They have been with us all along.

Klondike 2026

 

Froze my butt off.

Didn't want to be there.

Took up a weekend.

But seeing our new troop win ribbons in compass navigation, tripod lashing, and shelter building was worth it. They made memories, which is what it's all about.

One thing Beard School didn't earn me about: condensing breath forming ice beads in my beard. At least the Amish look prevented the specter of snotsicles.

Book Review: The Dirks Escape, by C. Brandon Rimmer

I'm going to be a little more cautious with this review than I've been on others, because I don't want to denigrate the families that experienced this awful situation.

First, the cover:

I'm an absolute sucker for World War II nonfiction, particularly Holocaust literature. And the word "Holocaust" certainly appears on the cover of this book.

However.

The Holocaust -- the actual Holocaust -- is mentioned in passing in this telling. But the characters are certainly not "fleeing from the specter of the Holocaust." They are a family of German Lutherans fleeing the Soviet occupation of East Germany, yes, but the Holocaust plays no role whatsoever in their story.

I imagine -- I hope -- this was more of a marketing trick on the part of the publisher than a misdirection of the part of the author, but you never know.

So take that in mind as you read this book.

Told as a tale of a family fleeing Soviet occupation, this story works. Like many functionaries who were even moderately successful during the War, Gerhard Dirks was a member of the Nazi party, though it's made clear on some kind of Scientology level that his membership was more perfunctory than ideological, at least as it's presented in the book. Nevertheless, live under occupation would not have been pleasant, so Nazi or not I'd have want to have left as well.

There was a lot more telling in this book than showing, which makes it a bit harder to read. This might be more of a service to the books' intended audience (it's also sold as a conversion to Christianity from atheism, and is reviewed by Billy Graham on the back cover). The audience might not want a more vivid telling, as is typical in about 99.9% of the World War II books I've read.

So a good read, but go in with lower expectations than the cover might demand.

Also, Rimmer:

Human Connection Will Always Win

I'm a fan of Charles Cornell, a music educator on YouTube.

He recently posted the video above, discussing the potential impacts of AI on music and music education.

I don't know the answers, obviously, but I hope my comment on his video, reproduced here, at least puts in a glimmer of hope:

I've come into your channel a bit unconventionally. It might have been your video on "Pure Imagination" that came across my feed. But I'm not a music educator. I'm not a musician. I can carry a tune, but I don't sight read, I don't play an instrument, nor do I really comprehend about half of the stuff you say in your videos (musicians use a looney moon-man language). However, I do enjoy music eclectically. I'll start a YouTube mix going at night as I'm drifting off to sleep. I watch your videos and see parallels between writing music and writing words (my niche, where we also use a lot of looney moon-man language).

I guess my point is this: Yeah, real creators on YouTube might lose people to audiences that do not care that what they're consuming is AI-generated. AI might get good enough to do the kinds of things you describe, and for maybe the majority of people, that'll be fine. I think this is already true for people who turn to the internet for quick answers or instant gratification, no matter what they're looking for, and it's likely you're already not reaching these people.

But I firmly believe there are and will continue to be plenty of people out there who want that "human" element that we only find in meat-space, or at least in meat-adjacent space like your videos. Your videos have helped me make connections to things I want to learn, things I already know, and things I want to create not because some algorithm created your content and fed it to me when I asked for it but because of the stuff I have in my head connecting with the stuff you have in your head making a connection through your channel.

I'll admit that when I look for content and I get a whiff of AI, I resent it. I'm in that minority he talks about. That's not to say everything AI is terrible. I am growing to appreciate the AI summaries that come up in my searches, but I definitely take it with a grain of salt, much as we used to do with Wikipedia. This is particularly true on social media. On YouTube, I've yet to run into much content that's AI-generated, and for that I'm grateful. But I guess only the ether knows what'll happen in the future.

HOUSE.

 

If things go to plan this next week, Keaton and Lexi will be the new owners of 2013 Westbrook Avenue in Idaho Falls.

They've been house-hunting for quite a while, and were a bit discouraged by the local supply of houses in their price range, where they saw a lot of scary stuff including one house I went to see with them that had only plastic on the ceiling in the laundry room and a really musty smell all over the place.

This one is a titch out of their price range, but close enough to make it workable. They'll have it inspected this week and hopefully be able to move in sometime in February.

It's an exciting time for them.

It's on the west side of town, not far from Skyline High School. Lexi works right now at the middle school across the street, and the house puts Keaton a lot close to work and the Broadway Park 'n' Ride, so his commute will be about 40 minutes shorter each day.

Mad Libs (and not the 'Libs' You Think)

I, for one, am really tired of waking up to headlines that sound like they've come from Mad Libs.

For example:

I'm also tired of the 12-year-olds we have in charge of the government (both on the left and on the right, but certainly those on the right) who either throw temper tantrums when they don't get their way or think the best way to respond to the tantrums is to write yet another stern letter to the tantrumee's parents.

Thelma

Never thought I'd watch - nay, enjoy - a heist movie whose protagonist is a 93-year-old lady, but here we are watching 2024's Thelma, which I got for Christmas.

It takes the tropes of a heist movie and turns them on their heads. No spoilers, because I want you to watch and enjoy this movie.

Okay, one little spoiler: Be prepared for a scene where, instead of acrobatics to avoid laser beams, you get geriatric acrobatics as Thelma retrieves a gun from a friend's bedroom.

Speaking of the gun:

Ben: (As they stop at a friend's house to get a gun.) Do you even know how to use a gun?

Thelma: How hard can it be? Idiots use them all the time.

Another awesome line:

[Thelma tries to get past Ben, whose scooter she's trying to steal so she can do her heist]

Ben: You can't get through me. I've got a titanium hip.

One warning: There's a little language, including one complete f-bomb, so be prepared for that.

Also be prepared for a thoughtful exploration on how some of "the elderly" are dehumanized in the way society treats them.

[Inserts Carnation into Shop Coat Lapel so I Don't Look too Industrial]

 

The washer's new door switch is in.

And while I'm grateful for the YouTube video I found showing me how to do this repair, I had to laugh at the pristine, not crowded at all room in which they demonstrated the repair. It's nothing like the cramped, dark laundry rooms of yore.

I had to enlist help in getting the washer base moved over the top of the washer so I could look for one of the brass retaining clips I clumsily dropped when I popped it out, and there was no way it was going to go back on properly without someone doing the lugging while I lay on the gritty floor making sure everything was aligned correctly.

Anyway, here's the video:

Participation

I remember getting Participation awards at the elementary school field day too.

Three Stages of Boogeyman or Boogeymen Awareness

A Facebook memory from 2015:

While discussing the possibility that our oldest will get to travel to Boise with the pep band if the high school basketball team continues to do well, the following exchange took place:

Mom: When we're there, you'll spend one night with Grandma and Grandpa.

Youngest: Why can't Dad take care of us?

Mom: Because he's incompetent and we don't trust him.

Me: Because we'd all end up sheltered behind a mattress while I brandish my shotgun, just like Homer.

I think it's fitting that Homer went through the Three Stages of Boogeyman or Boogeymen Awareness:

Stage One: Information becomes available:

Stage Two: The import of the information settles in:

Stage Three: React appropriately: