Watercolors on a Rainy Day

I often find myself looking back, down the road that led me to where I am now. Numerous people and places over a great span of time come to mind, all running together like watercolors on a rainy day; often acting as a single entity. When I look ahead I see more people and new places, gently merging with the slow paced life I live now. There is a lot to be said about the looking back and the looking ahead, but I will save that for another time.

In the here and now, and at the very least, we have proven that no matter our age, there is always more to learn. When we were young, we “knew it all”. Now we “know better”. We have learned that we were never meant to know it all, and that we need to trust in a faith that relies on simply knowing enough.

I have previously written within this blog that while God is incomprehensible and unknowable, God’s manifestations are not. It is proven to me each time I take my telescope out under the stars, each time my wife and I take a relaxing drive in the mountains, and each time I hug my grandchildren and feel their tight embrace in return.

In my mind, God’s manifestations and Earthly miracles seem one and the same; often running together like watercolors on a rainy day; often acting as a single entity. This time of year is all about miracles. There is a rich and plentiful commonality that binds people together at the most basic of levels. We depend upon miracles, not unlike the ones I have described, everyday, knowing our lives would be so very empty without them.

My wish for you this holiday season is the same as last. I hope this month finds you, and keeps you, in good spirits... and I pray you are blessed with an abundance of time for family and loved ones. Happy Chanukah. Merry Christmas. Peace.

A Thirty Second Flood of Memories

Not very long ago, a Facebook friend made a post about his memories of riding trains. In my comment to his post I mentioned that my first train trip occurred about twenty years ago while working in Germany. That comment resulted in my searching youTube, where I found the video below.

It is only about thirty seconds in length and at first glance not very special; shot from a moving train in Germany, somewhere between Trier and Koblenz. To me however, it is very special.

Here's why...

While in Germany, and working in Trier during the early and mid 90's, I would ride this very train on weekends, usually traveling from Trier to Cologne, and then onto another train that would take me in other directions, eventually getting me to wherever I was heading (usually to visit a friend, sometimes to simply explore). Part of that line, from Trier to Koblenz, is a famous line that dates back to the 1800s. In many places it follows (and crosses as in the video) the very scenic Moselle (Mosel in German) river. It was upon this line, along the Mosel, that I made my first trip by rail.

The video was obviously taken on an overcast dreary day, yet it brought back a flood of memories, so many that I could not help but watch it over and over. In my mind, the fog easily disperses, revealing a sky that is a crystal clear sapphire blue. The hills are deep green and the river reflects the sunlight pouring down from above... just how I remember it.

I know it means a lot more to me than it will to those whom read this, but still, I feel a need to share. It was a time in my life that was very special... and it amazes me how a thirty second video shot on a less than perfect day, by someone I will never know, can so easly transport me, if only in my mind, to another place and another time...

The Chosin Few

My father was a Marine. He fought in the Korean War at the Chosin Reservoir. Those familiar with history know what happened there... they know the magnitude of the losses. It was 15,000 against 120,000. The Chinese had silently slipped across the border and entered the war. Fighting in temperatures as low as 48 degrees below zero, it was at Chosin Reservoir that one of the bloodiest chapters in military history was written.

"Historians consider the battle of the Chosin Reservoir to be the single most savage battle of modern warfare. And for the chosen few who lived through it, it was an experience they will never forget." - David Kithcart

My father told me (once... I only heard him say it once) that he lost every one of his Marine buddies there. His survival was a miracle in itself. He took a direct hit from a hand grenade. The cold weather saved his life. The extra layers of clothing he wore to keep from freezing to death kept his wounds from being instantly fatal and the brutally cold temperatures kept him from bleeding to death by freezing the blood as it tried to escape his body.

"When that sun went down or when it got dark, we knew what was coming. They were coming to get us." - Frank Torres

"You could hear the screams in the night. You knew that somebody was getting bayoneted. You couldn't tell whether it was them or us." - Clyde Queen

  "You were scared. You know the two guys on your flanks are scared, but you're thinking, 'I can't let these guys down because they're not going to let me down.'" - Clifford Meyer

The truck that attempted to evacuate my father and other casualties was hit by enemy fire and my dad spent nearly twenty-four hours in a ditch before being found. When he awoke at a MASH unit he found that he had been placed in a tent for those thought not savable – a place to die while the surgeons did what they could for the others.

"This was not a retreat. We had to run the gauntlet of 10 Chinese divisions. We decimated them coming out of there. We brought most of our dead with us. They were tied to the fenders and the hoods of the trucks. - Clifford Meyer

My father spoke to me about the voices. There was talking at first... chatter amongst these fallen comrades. But slowly, as time passed, the number of voices in the tent diminished. One by one they fell silent. One by one they died. My dad held on and when found alive was whisked off to surgery. It took nearly half a year for my dad to recover. He carried metal in his body, from the hand grenade that almost killed him, for the rest of his life.

"Some of them -- we had to actually break arms off -- break them down to put them on the trucks. That hit me really bad to have to do that. We went in this one little house and there were three Marines sitting around. I swear they were praying. They froze to death. They were our soldiers. They were Marines." - Al Devito

For these wounds (and others... he also took a bullet to the foot and suffered from severe frostbite), my father received (a single) Purple Heart. I remember holding it and looking at it when I was a child and thinking what a beautiful medal it was. It, and the original typewritten letter that accompanied it,  are safely put away now, given to my son... my father's namesake.

"We saved the nation from tyranny. There are 40 million South Koreans that are free today because we did it." - Clifford Meyer

To all the veterans out there… your service is appreciated… your deeds will be remembered… your sacrifices are not in vain.

All of the above quotes are from the article "The Chosen Few" by David Kithcart.

Convoluted Sage-Like Response Defense

Sometimes we find ourselves in a conversation we wish we had never joined. We search for a way out, stare at the floor, try to back away, scan the room for an exit.

There is an easier way... have you heard of "Convoluted Sage-Like Response Defense"? For the sake of simplicity lets refer to it as CSRD. For the sake of a simplistic description lets say it is a 100% effective method for the avoidance of being pulled into unsolicited and/or bated conversations.

Here's an example of how it works...

Tom's Co-Worker:

Hey Tom, what do you think of all this partisan bickering in Washington? You have to agree it's all Bush's fault.

Tom:

Well, I'll tell you this... If a cat delivers a litter of kittens in an oven, that doesn't make em' biscuits.

Tom's Co-Worker:

Huh?

Conversation halted in it's tracks. A direct hit from CSRD.

Tom's other co-Workers:

Gosh, that Tom guy sure is sagely!

Yes, you look marvelous.

And it can also be used online. If you feel you are being sucked into an online "back and forth" that you are not comfortable with (or maybe the other person is just plain annoying) simply lay a little CSRD on them.

For example...

Facebook friend:

Hey! Look at me! Everybody! Look at me!

(The above is the generic equivalent to whatever your Facebook friend is saying. It doesn't matter what he or she is actually saying because it reduces mathematically to "Hey! Look at me! Everybody! Look at me!". I have a splendid proof for this but the limited space here prevents me from sharing it with you.)

You:

Well, that may be true, but you don't have to be a farmer to know it's easier to plow a field when you are walking behind the horse.

Facebook friend:

What?

Bulls eye!

I have also seen it used with great success on Twitter...

TwitterGuy:

This guy at work today compared Bush's obvious total blame for all our problems with baking kittens in an oven... or turning kittens into biscuits... or something like that.

(See how confused he is... ten hours after successful deployment of CSRD and it continues to mess with his mind).

TwitterGal:

How disgusting. Tell your boss to fire him.

TwitterGuy:

He IS my boss.

TwitterGal:

Oh you poor man.

TwitterGuy:

You agree with me don't you... IT IS all Bush's fault... Right?

TwitterGal:

Well, I'll tell you this... If a dog delivers a litter of puppies in a sock drawer...

It Matters Not

Ten years.
Twenty years.

Fifty years.


One hundred years... it matters not.


forget v. - To lose the remembrance of;
to be unable to think of or recall.


Never.
   

Stephen King and I Agree

I just remembered something. I hated high school. I'm not sure how I managed to forget something like that. Especially when it is easy to recall those feelings born of being on the outside looking in.

Perhaps I forgot because it was so long ago. Maybe. Perhaps it was because I find it easier to recall a few close friends, ones whom made that dreary time in my life brighter. I was blessed in that regard. Other than that, it was a time that begs to be forgotten.

The desire to forget comes easy to one whom enjoys looking forward rather than back. Still, I have my treasured memories, those that simply recollecting can give me the strength to get through a tough day. Truthfully though, very few of them are from high school. Life for me began after.

So, why am I writing this? What jogged my memory? What reminded me of my disenchantment with those days from so long ago?

And what does any of this have to do with Stephen King?

The truth be told, it was the author extraordinaire himself whom jogged my memory. I came across a quote of his, extracted from an interview he gave years ago. I must admit that reading it sparked one of those "Yes!" moments for me. (You know the feeling, when you read something said by someone you admire, that vindicates a particular view you hold.)

"I hated high school. I don't trust anybody who looks back on those years from 14 to 18 with any enjoyment. If you liked being a teenager, there's something wrong with you." ~ Stephen King

Yea, that about nails it, except that I hold nothing against those who DID enjoy being a teenager. I doubt Mr. King meant for all of what he said to be taken literally. The real meaning, to me at least, is that not everyone enjoyed those days. Not everyone wishes to relive or return to them. And that there are many whom simply choose not to look back.

For myself, the inner truth is that while I may never have been on the inside, I will never be on the outside looking in again either. I choose to be on the outside... looking ahead.

Dr. Otto

I realize it is not unusual, yet I think it is a curious thing that memories of a person from long ago will simply pop into one’s mind. I believe these types of memories are, for the most part, triggered by something seen or heard – but not always. Sometimes the spark appears to be of unknown origin. Nevertheless the result is the same; a memory from long ago finds its way to the forefront of our contemplation.

Allow me to tell you about someone whom this morning made a fifteen year leap to the forefront of my contemplations…

Of all my work related travels in Germany (between 1987 and 1995), there is one place that will forever remain my favorite… Trier. Not only is Trier where I spent most of my time while in Germany, it is also where I accomplished the work that is, and always will be, that which I am most proud of. The software that I developed there was unique and extremely complex. The effort required to undertake and complete it remains the backbone of the most satisfying segment of my career. Combined with the wonderfully ancient city of Trier and the people I met and worked alongside of, it was without a doubt, a time in my life like no other.

The work performed in Trier was accomplished under the watchful eye of a giant of a man, both in stature and mind, named Dr. Otto. He was from Trier, a Doctor of Mathematics, and a person whom I looked up to. To say he was the proverbial gentle giant would have been an understatement. He towered above everyone around him (including me at six foot three inches) and he had the breadth of an American football linebacker. I looked up to Dr. Otto – literally and figuratively. Yet he was a gentle person with an immensely warm heart. As far as I know, there was not a soul that did not like him.

The last time I talked to Dr. Otto was in 1996 in Virginia Beach, Virginia (where I was working and living at the time). He had flown from Germany to meet with me. It was to be the first of many discussions concerning the next generation of software that I would develop for him. It was something that I was looking forward to; I would be afforded the chance to return to Germany and propel my software to the next level.

It was not to be. As we discussed the software that he required, I had no way of knowing that I was seeing and talking with Dr. Otto for the last time. Not long after his return to Germany, the good Doctor suddenly, and unexpectedly, passed away. I recall the day the news landed upon my desk. Disbelief and sorrow weighed heavy in the days that followed.

The Doctor’s final words to me prior to leaving Virginia Beach were spoken in German, and my German, not being all that good, meant that I was never quite sure what he had said. At the time I was suffering with a miserable cold and I believe his words (to the best of my crude ability to translate) were something along the lines of “Take care of yourself… I need you well”. Still, I am not sure, and unfortunately the German words he spoke are lost from my memory.

I will always couple Dr. Otto’s final goodbye with the following (for reasons that will become obvious)…

One day, while my co-workers and I were taking a break from our task at hand, Dr. Otto entered the room and said something in German that we did not understand. Our puzzled looks must have seemed funny to him for he then asked, in English, “What do you call a person whom speaks two languages?” “Bilingual” one of us replied. “Correct” he said. “And what do you call a person whom speaks three languages?” “Trilingual” we replied in unison. “Very good” he said. The doctor paused briefly, and then asked with an inquisitive tone that implied he had reached the apex of his queries, “And what about a person whom speaks only one language?” There was silence. The Doctor smiled and said, “That person is called an American.” We all laughed and the doctor left the room. How right he was.

Mickey's Tavern

If you could visit anywhere, right now, where would you choose to go? If you could undo the restraints of time, where would you choose to be?

I would choose Mickey’s Tavern in Perth, New York. I would choose the simpler times of days gone by.

Mickey’s was owned and operated by my Aunt Tessie and Uncle Mickey between 1949 and 2000. If I could truly be there right now, I would want it to be just after dark, when the neon lights glowed warm and red in the windows and soft lighting emanated from the shelves behind the bar. The jukebox would be playing, its music occasionally over trodden by laughter or the sound of colliding billiard balls.

My Uncle Mickey would be behind the bar, serving beer and drinks, talking with his regulars, occasionally looking up at the TV. My Aunt Tessie would be upstairs, reading a book in her living room. Not far away, my Grandmother Victoria would be quietly rocking in her chair, softly humming a tune to herself, closing the day the way it began -- peacefully. With her eyes closed, as if in sleep, she traverses the many years of her life, selecting a special time and place from all that she has seen and done... a memory, perhaps of my Grandfather Alexander whom passed when I was but four years old, coming gently into her mind.

Arriving through the tavern front door would be my Cousin Alan, ready to take over running the tavern for the evening; his lovable (and huge) dog “Troubles” tagging along not far behind.

My Mom and Dad would be there too, sitting in a booth, discussing the latest events, the ever present cup of coffee in front of my mother and a glass of Genesee in front of my father.. and both of them smiling. It would make me happy to see them relaxing together once again.

That’s where I would choose to be… if I could be anywhere (and any time). For these people I speak of, like the tavern, are all gone from me… for many years now… and not a day goes by that I do not think of each one of them.

"Something there is that doesn't love a wall"

The words atop this post are of course those of Robert Frost; the opening line of a favorite poem of mine. The line came to mind today when I realized what day it was.

I snapped the above photo 24 years ago, in 1987, from a hillside north of the town of Hof, in what was then called West Germany. If you look close, and know your history, you know exactly what you are looking at. I share this photo today because of something else that occurred twenty-four years ago. Twenty-four years ago today as a matter of fact. On this day, in what was once called West Berlin, President Ronald Reagan delivered a speech that would define his legacy. In that speech, six words resonated… “Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall!”

As most know, the wall not only divided Berlin, it divided an entire country. This photo shows how it was, twenty-four years ago when I worked there. In case it is not obvious, Soviet controlled East Germany is to the left (the DDR as it was called - Deutsche Demokratische Republik) and free Germany, West Germany, is to the right.

At Least Once During Your Lifetime

In the late 1990's I was able to visit the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum. I recall the experience… powerful... it brought back memories of my visit to Dachau in 1992. It can be overwhelming to lay witness to, even when displaced by time, the unspeakable acts that human beings are capable of perpetrating upon other human beings.

As I walked out of the Dachau concentration camp, I recall saying to my companions, “I think everyone should visit here at least once during their lifetime.” They nodded in silent agreement.

The walk to our car was a quiet one; no one felt much like talking. Dachau will do that to you. The long drive back to the town of Hof, where we were working and staying, was no different. Very little was said between us. It was not until the next morning, over breakfast, that words began to flow again. It took a bright rising sun and a new day to bring us back from Dachau.

I know most will never have the chance to make such a trip. So why not Washington D.C.?

I finished reading “A Lucky Child” by Thomas Buergenthal about two weeks ago. Revisiting the museum has been on my mind ever since. If you have never been… think about it.

I think it not a bad idea that everyone should visit at least once during their lifetime.

On This Day (1977)

Thirty-four years ago tonight I slipped a diamond ring onto the finger of a nineteen year old girl named Laura Foote. Two days later on Valentine's Day 1977 we made the official announcement, telling Laura's parents first. Her dad thought we were too young (he actually told us we were stupid) but her mom was very happy; she thought it was great.

Laura and I met a year and a half earlier at the Virginia Beach oceanfront when "she was just seventeen" (as in The Beatles song) and I eighteen. A little less than a year after the official announcement, we were married... only a few blocks away from where we first met.

We are still married, we are still in love, and her dad still thinks we were too young.

1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21, 34, 55, 89, 144, …

His name was Leonardo; son of Guilielmo Bonacci. He was born around 1170 in Pisa, Italy and when he published his first book of mathematics he followed the custom of the day and melded his name with the place of his birth. He became Leonardo of Pisa. He later “streamlined” that into the simpler Leonardo Pisano. However, those who knew him as a member of the Bonacci clan took to calling him “filius Bonacci” (Latin for son of Bonacci) and then simply “fi’Bonacci” (a shorter way of saying the same thing). Eventually the name melded with itself; becoming one of the most recognized names in mathematics.

For over 800 years his name has transcended time. It is known not only to mathematicians, but also to those outside the field, and most amazingly, to people residing in totally unrelated walks of life.

Fibonacci… and his famous series of integers: The Fibonacci numbers. They are a series of integers that begin with the number one repeated twice. After that, each number in the series is simply the sum of the two numbers preceding it. The construction of this series is a simple matter. What is astonishing however, is what these numbers bring to the table. They make available a multifaceted mathematical foundation for the natural world around us. Some call these numbers a melding of nature and the truth that is mathematics. Others refer to them as the signature of God.

I accept both as being true.

Fibonacci himself said little though. For all of his many contributions to Mathematics, his most famous, the one that now carries his name, meant very little in his time. It took 600 years for the importance of the Fibonacci numbers to become apparent.

“Somewhere, something incredible is waiting to be known.”

~ Carl Sagan

[The Fibonacci numbers are Nature's numbering system. They appear everywhere in Nature, from the leaf arrangement in plants, to the pattern of the florets of a flower, the bracts of a pinecone, or the scales of a pineapple. The Fibonacci numbers are applicable to the growth of every living thing, including a single cell, a grain of wheat, a hive of bees, and even all of mankind ~ Stan Grist]

A Place in the Universe – Through Books

“A book is made from a tree. It is an assemblage of flat, flexible parts (still called "leaves") imprinted with dark pigmented squiggles. One glance at it and you hear the voice of another person, perhaps someone dead for thousands of years. Across the millennia, the author is speaking, clearly and silently, inside your head, directly to you. Writing is perhaps the greatest of human inventions, binding together people, citizens of distant epochs, who never knew one another. Books break the shackles of time, proof that humans can work magic." — Carl Sagan

During a recent lunch break at work, I was leaning back in my chair with my feet up, reading a book. As I finished my sandwich a co-worker wandered by, and seeing the book in my hand, asked the question that reading in public so often evokes: "What ya' reading?"

In this case it was a book about prime numbers, the zeta function, and the Riemann hypothesis. I am fascinated by the primes… but I will save that subject for another time. I showed the cover of the book to my co-worker. “Cool” was the reply. Yes, very cool. That is the book I keep at work… for reading as I enjoy my PB&J on wheat.

I have no idea who said it: “You are what you read”. Are we truly? Is the old saying a valid hypothesis?

At home I am reading a book that concerns itself with the history of algebra… awesome… hard to put down… it is… really. I am also reading (on and off) a book about the mathematical language of symmetry (i.e. group theory). The former, thus far, is a much better read than the latter, but I am optimistic that the book on symmetry will become better as I get further into it.

I also like books by Brian Greene. There are three of his works in my personal library; two of which are on my nook and one remains unread (for now). I like to read from his books when I forget my place in our universe; when I need to be reminded that while God is incomprehensible and unknowable, God’s manifestations are not.

Not everything I read pertains to mathematics and science. My nook has on it a book written by Thomas Buergenthal, entitled “Lucky Child: A Memoir of Surviving Auschwitz as a Young Boy”. It is painful yet inspiring, eye-opening and humbling. In 1992 I visited Dachau, the concentration camp and the town. My memories of the town have faded. My memories of the camp have not. I spent the better part of a day walking within its unyielding walls and foreboding fences. Even though it has been nearly 20 years since I walked through its huge black-iron gate, the effects of being there still resonate within me.

I do read fiction, now and then, not often, just now and then. When I was reading Ken Follett’s “Pillars of the Earth” and “World Without End”, I could not put them down. After finishing the second book I was left wanting for a third.

And who amongst us has not let their imagination run free and made that special journey through the works of J.R.R. Tolkien and perhaps J.K. Rowling? I have made both journeys multiple times.

In closing, I cannot offer a mathematical proof for the hypothesis; at least not one that will stand up to rigorous scrutiny (or any scrutiny for that matter). But I do think it true. For I have told you who I am through the books that I read. I think we are, everyone of us, defined precisely by what we read.

“All of the books in the world contain no more information than is broadcast as video in a single large American city in a single year. Not all bits have equal value.” — Carl Sagan



Where is your third place?

Ray Oldenburg writes, in his book “The Great Good Place”, about the importance of the informal public gathering place, or as he calls it, your “third place”. He states that most of us spend the majority of our time in our first and second places – home and work (one and the same for some of us). Oldenburg refers to our third place as a special location, where we are able to partake of friendly conversation and immerse ourselves in the company of others. In a world that revolves around text messages, phone calls, online chatting, and internet based social networking, it is no wonder that we often find it hard to unwind. Technology is not what we need at the close of a busy day. We need good company, a smile (or two), and some friendly conversation.

I love third places. I grew up with one back home, in upstate New York. It was a tavern and it belonged to my Aunt Tessie and Uncle Mickey… sadly both now gone from this world. While growing up, the tavern was the hub of most family activity. Not a day goes by that I do not think about being there, sometimes sitting in the kitchen, talking with my aunt, and other times perched on a barstool talking to my uncle, or a cousin, behind the bar. I like third places so much that I once created a fictional one, in a very short story that I penned for my wife Laura. It was, to me, the perfect third place. The story takes place in Lake George, New York, a location well known to anyone familiar with the Adirondacks. In it, I write of a twilight walk through a late December snow and the hushed passing of time invoked by our surroundings. Laura and I eventually wander down to the village and into our favorite pub, where we sip hot chocolate and talk of days gone by and days to come, while the town outside slowly disappears beneath the gently falling snow.

I truly believe that without third places, we as individuals (and couples) become isolated. Who has not had a time in their life when they were starved for conversation and a friendly smile, perhaps one born of a chance meeting that begins with a gentle touch on the arm and a heartfelt “Hello”? It could be argued that internet based social networks (like Facebook) are third places… virtual versions of the old fashion meeting place. While I do marvel at their ability to circumvent long distance and connect lives that would otherwise be separate, I believe they fall woefully short of being real meeting places. They lack the essential property of an actual third place… being local. With facebook, distance means nothing. You can chat as easily with a friend down the street as you can with one across the Atlantic. In an “old fashion” meeting place, distances are short, making the simplest of things possible. Smiles are delightful and need to be seen. Laughter is contagious and meant to be heard. Take time to find your third place. Then make time to enjoy it.