A couple of weeks ago a friend at work invited me to play racquetball for the first time. We have a racquetball court at work but I'd never thought to use it before. I've been playing 3 times a week since and love it.
I think the main attraction is hitting this very dynamic ball over and over... it's a stress reliever. Just the action of hitting something is so out of the ordinary. And it's a great sport to practice alone (which always appeals to me). It's like a high speed game of ping pong where you can't lose the ball.
Print Version February 24th, 2008
We're experiencing a record year for snow in north Idaho. Total snowfall has been more than 100 inches, and we've had about 2 feet on the ground for quite a while now. Every parking lot is edged with mountains of plowed snow and walkways are beginning to look more and more like trenches every day. Of course this means we've had excellent sledding and skiing all winter. Our neighbors graciously allow us to tramp up their hill and sled down into our back yard, and it is a perfect sized hill for easily-tired children.
After a couple of months of winter I usually start to cook up some new ideas for the spring. One of these is raising rabbits. Ever since I bought my Mad Bomber rabbit-fur hat, I have been hankering after a herd that I could call my own. Tonight I am picking up two female rabbits, one a grey lop (short-hair) and one a white Angora (long-hair). The grey lop will, if my plans work out, serve as the maitron of a long line of rabbits raised for their pelts. The Angora's offspring will be luckier, since you just shear the wool (I'm hoping to make some felt products).
Print Version February 5th, 2008
The last few months have been full of thoughts of my dad, who passed away last fall. It's interesting how his death has affected me and my outlook on life. While I cannot honestly call myself a philosopher, I have attempted over the last 5 years or so to delve into my own beliefs and try to formulate my own philosophy of the world. As many who know me well can attest, this has involved a lot of change in my religious orientation and my attitude toward the idea of God.
I think the main thing that religion can impart is a strong sense of hope. Especially in my Mormon upbringing, death marked a sad but ultimately temporary separation. For those that believe, God will make everything work out for the best, if we only have the patience to wait. I know this gives a lot of comfort to many people and is probably one of the strongest arguments for the religious life.
With my dad's passing I found myself without this traditional religious comfort. Many people would find this very depressing (and have told me so); I suppose this is because many people don't have enough experience with atheism or atheists to know how they might deal with death's finality. For my own part, I find myself more and more understanding this event through Buddhist teachings about individuality. Perhaps an analogy will help explain.
If I see a cloud, I say, "there is a cloud". It is distinct from other clouds by its shape, contours, color and position in the sky. However, each moment that passes the cloud changes. At first the changes are very small, and I can still identify the overall shape and color of the cloud. After an hour, the cloud is gone, and in its place are more clouds. Am I right to bemoan the loss of the cloud? The matter from which the cloud consisted has not been destroyed. Rather, it was my characterization of the cloud as an individual thing that caused my suffering at its passing. The cloud never existed; what I saw was a mischaracterization, the temporary manifestation of something that is really a part of everything.
Christians might see in this analogy a reference to the separation of body and soul that happens at death. Being a materialist (in the sense of believing that the natural world is the only world), I might say that my sadness at my father's death is caused not by his passing, but by my misunderstanding of the actual nature of human life. Was the soul of my father truly a thing distinct from nature? Of what did my father consist?
This question helps me realize that people are not so much substance as they are cause and effect. My dad had experiences that made him distinct from other people, but he was also constantly changing as his experiences changed. The dad I remember from my early childhood is not the same man I remember in his last hours of pain and sickness. Similarly, he did not consist solely of his body or soul, but of his effect on others, and the memories that I still carry from his life. His existence was not concentrated in his physical body, but was diffused throughout the world, both before and after his death.
I'm certainly no expert on Buddhism or any other religion for that matter, and the idea that the "self" doesn't actually exist in individuals is very difficult to think about (namely because it is impossible to think about anything without characterizing it as something distinct from other things). Perhaps my beliefs are a bit mystical, but they have helped me find understanding regarding my dad's passing and my own reaction to it.
Print Version January 31st, 2008
I've been having a bit of fun with Google Translate over lunch the last couple of days. The idea of a machine translating from one language to another is always an iffy proposition. However, machine translation can be extremely useful to get the gist of a document in a foreign language. I used some early translation tools back in my college days when I took freelance jobs translating Russian to English. Now you can translate for free using Google Translate. You can either paste text into a form or translate an entire web page while browsing. It’s not perfect, but it’s a start.
Google also has a section on their translate site for a “dictionary”, which is just becoming available in the English / Russian combination. I like the tool but the output is difficult to sift through. Also, it would be nice to speed up the process so that you didn’t have to constantly click into the form, click the button, and have the browser refresh. To make it more user friendly, I created a tool in Excel to query the Google site for any word and return the translation and example phrases. It uses web queries to quickly pull the data back to Excel. I can type the word and get a response almost instantaneously.
Click here to download my Excel English / Russian translation tool.
Click "Save" (opening in Internet Explorer will not work). Note that you have to enable macros (make sure your Macro security settings are set to “Medium” in the Tools > Security menu of Excel).
Print Version January 30th, 2008
Occasionally I receive letters or e-mails from people who read my family history research online and are somehow related. A few weeks ago we got a letter from a woman in California who is related to John Scott, my third great grandfather. She shared an online source where one of John Scott's wives writes of their crossing the plains.
The original source is:
Scott, Mary Pugh, ["Life Story of Mary Pugh Scott,"], in Carol Cornwall Madsen, Journey to Zion: Voices from the Mormon Trail [1997], 399-402.
It's interesting to read this and think of the lives these people lived, having been transplanted from green England to the deserts of western North America, all for their religious beliefs. Life must have been especially demanding of Mary, who was among the first openly acknowledged plural wives after polygamy became publicly known in Nauvoo.
Here is Mary's story.
"We went into Winter Quarters, now called Florence. John was called on a special mission to stay one more year and help prepare all for the trip. Finally May 30 1848 John Scott and Family started in Heber C. Kimballs Co. John was Captain over 10 wagons His company included 662 People- 266 wagons—150 loose cattle—25 Mules—737 Oxen—57 horses—299 chickens—96 pigs—52 dogs—17 cats—3 hives of bees—3 doves—1 squirrel
Rules of a camp: Each had a Captain, A captain of the Guard, a chapl[a]in and clerk.
All names were enrolled.
1. Noise and confusion will not be allowed after 8 p.m.
2. Camp will be called by trumpet for Prayer meeting morning and night.
3. Arise at 4:30 a.m. Assembly for prayers 5:30 a.m.
4. Card playing will not be allowed.
5. Dogs must be tied up at night.
6. Profane language will not be tolerated.
7. Each man will help driving the cattle
8. Rate of travel for Oxen 3 miles an hour. (The corral made by wagons will not be broken until all of the cattle have been yoked.)
John’s responsibility for ten wagons made it difficult at times to help his own Families. Elizabeth in one wagon had sons 4 [John William]—6 [Ephraim]—and 11 [Isaac], Daughters 8 [Louisa]—10 [Matilda] and a new baby [Elizabeth] too Mary had a son [Hyrum] 22 months old and Sarah 23 years old had a son [Joseph L.] 11 months old in her arms Yet here we two who have been raised in luxury, are bravely trying to drive a Mule Team across the plains, holding our Babies. We take turns driving. You can just imagine we three women climbing in and out over wagon wheels to cook on the camp fire and wash clothes.
We sleep in our Camp wagons or on the Ground along the swampy river bottoms. John helped a lot before leaving going among Non Mormons and asking for clothes, bedding and money for those who had every thing in the world taken from them. He also Converted three people to our Gospel. I am now 27 years old and trying hard to be a good wife. We cook in a camp kettle, it is an iron pot with three legs.
It had a heavy lid and could be set right on the beds of coals and biscuits corn bread or cake could be put in, then a shovel full of coals was put on top to bake them. Some who had no kettles cooked on hot rocks to do thier baking. Some of our meals were just broiled meat and bread. Other times all we had to eat was water gruel (a very thin mush)[.] One Wedding dinner on the plains consisted of fresh bread baked in a skillet, fresh butter and a piece of meat.
Milk and cream could be placed in a churn in the morning and by night you could have a pat of butter by the jolting wagon over rough trails. An English Emmigrant whose sense of smell had left him due to age, was one day hungryly out looking for food, found a strange animal and killed it. (it was furry and black and white) He skinned it and proudly brought it to camp. "a skunk" and to his amazement everyone fled as he approached and for some days he was an outcast.
Our daily exertions made hunger a constant companion. The quantity of food was limited and meals were usually scant. At other times fish was caught in streams and ducks, geese, turkeys and prairie chickens were shot. The men hunted for buffalo elk and deer and these added to our daily diet. Pig weeds, thistles and other greens were gathered at times and cooked to add variety. And some times if several [Buffalo] were shot the Saints woud stop over for a day or two and we cut the meat in strips.
This we dried for future meals. Some places an abundance of wild red and black currants and sometimes gooseberries were gratefully gleaned. Some of the Children while walking wore a bag and picked up buffalo chips and sticks to make fires for the evening meals. As soon as we camped everyone tried to share in the labors. Some carried water and gathered wood for fires. Big high sagebrush was used and in timber country we burned wood. But all was not desolation on the long journey.
We enjoyed the smell of the pretty wild roses. At some places beautiful wild flowers of all hues could be seen and we enjoyed the singing of the birds. Young girls tended weary babies until they could be fed and put to sleep[.] After prayers the camp retired for the night, with camp fires burning and the lights of lanterns in the wagons. The looing [lowing] of the cattle, bleating of the sheep mingled with the neighing of the horses in the corrals of wagons.
The howling of coyotes and wolves on distant hills and prairies mingled with the Half Hour Cry of the Faithful Guards, "All is well" "All is Well." Right.
There was always the dread of crossing dangerous streams and rivers. Yet many plucky women gathered up thier skirts and waded right through them. Some times large herds of Buffaloo crossed our path, so many that at times we had to wait one hour or two while they clumsily lumbered by. And there was always the danger of meeting Indians, some friendly and others hostile and dangerous and they almost always demanded some of our scant food supply. One day we nearly lost our lives.
One day due to a delay, our Family Wagons got separated from the main body of the Saints. Suddenly we were completely surrounded by a big band of wild Indains who enjoyed scalping people just for the fun of it. We sat terrified and motionless with fear praying silently that we would some way be spared a tragic end. Yelling and shouting wildly they rode around us. We shook with fear not daring to move or speak. They came closer and closer. Then they Gathered in a big group.
They held a big "Pow-Wow" minutes seemed like hours as we tried to keep our children quiet. They gestured and yelled louder and we grew more frightened as our fate seemed so hopeless. Again I breathed a prayer, Father I am so young, will I have to die here on the plains with my Family, now we are so near the end of our journey? Will I never see Zion after I have given my all for my religion? Then some of the Indians slid off their ponies and as they came nearer we saw a young white man.
He had been captured by them and forced to live with them—but he had recognized John Scott as a boy he had gone to school with in Canada. He begged and pleaded with the Indians to spare our lives and he finally persuaded them to go away. It was a miracle from God we always thought after, and today we owe all of our lives to that brave young man’s pleadings and to our kind Heavenly Father. Once during the journey the authorities gave John ten gallons of whiskey to pacify the Indians.
They were on the war path at that time. At last we near the end of the long, long journey, as we enter the Valley of the Mountains and look out over the vast land of Zion. I am dismayed by the very immensity of the view. The boundless Silence and I see miles of sage brush every where. Behind us now are the heart aches and many thousands of silent tears, that fell on the long unknown trail. I remember my dear home in England, of the flowers and trees and beautiful surroundings at that safe place.
And I am home sick for my Dear Mother and Father. But just as I have covered those endless hundreds of miles, so now I will begin work with renewed Faith, begin the task of building a good home in this new wilderness."
Print Version December 17th, 2007
We had our first substantial and lasting snow on Tuesday. It's been cold all week so we still have nice powder on the ground, and the weather forecast is for another snow storm this weekend (which should get the ski resort open). Tuesday morning I woke up to 7 inches of snow and both our vehicles without snow tires. After a valiant attempt to keep my car on the road, I decided that driving without snow tires is suicidal, and worked from home. Lesson learned: get the snow tires on before Thanksgiving.
Two nights ago Kayla and I went out for some night skiing in our back yard and the woods behind our house. We both bought new sets of cross country skis at the end of last year's season, so this was the first time she got to try her new pair. The snow was perfect. To top off the night we went sledding down the hill a couple of times. I love winter in north Idaho!
Tomorrow is my last class session before Christmas break. We don't reconvene until the second week in January. I think I'm ready for a holiday. School has been very invigorating and very tiring as well. I'm hoping I can use some of my free time in December to come up with a topic for my thesis.
Print Version November 30th, 2007
In the past Thanksgiving has been a time to see family and experience the typical flurry of holiday activity. This year, both sets of parents are out of town and we had a quiet meal at home in Bonners Ferry. It was very nice, especially in contrast to the busy and sometimes stressful events of the last few months.
We started the day off with a community football game at the park. Miraculously, no one was injured, and despite not having played football for about two years, I completed several passes (and was foiled once by an interception). Nadine played her first and probably last American football game, which she characterized as "boring". I had to agree with the assessment. American football is strongest as a game of strategy and fast, short bursts of activity. However, the constant stopping and starting, with most of the game spent standing around, gets a little tiresome. I still stand firmly behind the opinion that soccer is the noblest of sports, but that is mostly based on the fact that I am horrible at other popular athletic activities (read basketball, baseball and football). Soccer is suited to my physical style: lots of running requiring deep endurance, plus constant vigilance and foresight in terms of strategy. I like the fact that soccer is a fluid game in which offensive and defensive moves continue in a steady stream, with little letup in the action. In contrast, football does seem a bit dull.
This morning we took the family on a hike up to Myrtle Creek and the small dam that provides our town's water supply. It was about 18 degrees when we set out, probably the coldest morning we've seen this season. Everyone was bundled up, including Madeleine in her pink snowsuit. The boys and Uncle Matthew broke the ice in every puddle on the way to the dam, and had a good time seeing who would be the first to break the creek ice with a rock. Nadine has been making holiday wreaths and we spent some time collecting materials so she can sell some wreaths at the upcoming craft fair.
This evening we went downtown for the arrival of Santa Claus. He pulled up to the curb in a firetruck and all the kids lined up for a chance to meet the big man. I sang a few songs with our quintet (quartet tonight... one person couldn't make it). I had to take off my gloves to work the pitch pipe and turn pages, and after only four songs my fingers were numb. Luckily we went to the library afterward and warmed up. Our community choir performance is coming up, and Kayla and I have a duet in one of the songs. This is the first year she's been able to join the choir and it's been fun singing with her.
Tomorrow it's back to life as usual... I have homework to finish and lots of projects around the house. The holiday has been good while it lasted.
Print Version November 23rd, 2007
Yesterday I realized that the comments feature isn't working on this site. Users were getting a SQL error when attempting to post comments. I believe I've fixed the issue and for the five people who actually read this blog, you can now post comments!
Print Version November 12th, 2007
My first semester of grad school is drawing to a close, and it's been the most hectic three months of my entire life. I guess I shouldn't complain, since it has also been very enjoyable, but I am looking forward to a vacation. This week I am working with my team to finish up our semester integrative project. We present that on Friday and then our last class session is the week after Thanksgiving.
Currently the biggest dilemma regarding my MBA program is choosing a topic for my thesis / final project. My current ideas are pretty vague, with words like "technology", "international", and "non-profit" floating about with little in the way of actual plans. This is becoming a problem, since I need to have any travel scheduled by January or February in order to have time over the summer to actually work on the thesis. I'm finding that an executive MBA is a little more challenging in the sense that I don't have three months for a huge internship in the summer. This restricts the kinds of topics I can choose, since any really involved research I do has to be stuffed into two weeks of vacation from my job.
Back in August when I brainstormed over possible topics, I realized that if a foreign language was going to be part of the experience, it would have to be Russian. My French is too shaky for even intermediate business terminology, and would require a heavy commitment in time to get up to snuff. My Russian, which I haven't actively spoken since a research trip in 2001, had accumulated some serious cobwebs, but I knew that the grammar and vocabulary were buried somewhere, just waiting to be brought back to light. The problem was finding a tutor. When Kayla and I were planning our vacation to France, I hired a Belgian friend to come to our house and work with me for about two months prior to the trip. This time, I resorted to the Internet. The results have been encouraging. Each week I have a 45-minute lesson with a tutor I found through VerbalPlanet.com. For seven euro per lesson, she works me through the painful process of remembering a language I once spoke more or less fluently. We use Skype to talk for free and she posts a list of vocabulary to review each week. After about ten lessons I can finally converse without stumbling on every word, and feel reasonably confident that by the summer I will be back in decent shape. Assuming, of course, that I end up doing anything related to Russian.
Print Version November 11th, 2007
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