Monday Monday

I've started a half dozen blogs this morning only to hit cancel in disgust.  Tim left this morning for Baltimore.  So I have three days here without him.  You know, after 15 years, you'd think I'd figure out that having him gone isn't all that bad.  He will be back ... soon.  But, I still hate it.

If the kid puts so many skittles in his mouth that he has colored foam at the edges - would that foam be called spittles?

Do Your Dream

I have a refrigerator magnet in the shape of a cloud formation with the above words (it's holding up Tucker's Papa Bear drawing in the photo about three blogs back.)  All too aften we have dreams and we never act on them, so the ephemeral state is the sum of their existence.  I have some dreams that may never see the harsh light of reality, but I've made a conscious decision to bring as many of my dreams as possible into my experience. 

This morning, Tim and I talked about our dreams.  He said, "Last night I dreamed that you told me the chemical composition of a yak is 40% water.  ... And I believed you."  (0_o)

I didn't dream about yaks.  So the person in his dream must have been an imposter.  I dreamed about cakes.  See on Friday night, Tim stopped off at Kroger to pick up dinner rolls (I forgot to bake the bread that day.)  As he was in the bakery section anyway, he happened to spy a Boston Cream Pie.  I haven't made Boston Cream Pie in like ... ever.  So he bought it.  The kids were ecstatic.  We even made it last until dinner the next night before the final crumbs were licked from the platter.

Last night I dreamed about Boston Cream Pies.  Well, not exactly.  I dreamed that I made something similar.  So this morning I did the dream.  Two layers of butter recipe yellow cake.  Then I made this cheesecake pudding - mixed up with less than half the required milk so it's thick and creamy.  I sliced each layer in half (so we have four layers now.)  Cake - Pudding - Cake - Pudding - Cake - Pudding - Cake - and Chocolate fudge frosting on top.  I must be insane. 

Coming to Terms with Absolutes

Last weekend, I enjoyed an exchange with dreadpirate* on the value of logic.  A subsection of that discussion dealt with the possible existence of absolutes along with my argument that the statement "there are no absolutes" is nonsense.  The wily rogue left the following statement in my comments section.  "I do so enjoy your research, writing, and line of thought! And the twist of semantics are just wonderful my lady."

All week long there's been a train of thought running on a circular track around my mind.  "absolutes ... semantics ... absolutes ... semantics ..."  Since I've been afflicted with these chugging, clacking, and very distracting thoughts, I have no choice but to try to get them organized and out of my head.  So welcome to my Saturday blog. 

Coming to terms can be an arduous process.  If every word had only one meaning, if words could not be used ambiguously, if each word were an ideal term, in short, if language were a pure and perfect medium for thought, we'd have no problem.  Any reader could see straight through the words to the content of my mind.  But, at least in English, any given word can have shades of meaning and important words tend to contain many shadows.  If I use a word in one sense and you hear it in another, words have passed between us but we have not come to terms.  A term, defined by Adler and Doren in How to Read a Book, is a word used unambiguously.  For us to come to terms, we must somehow manage for a time to use a given word with one and only one meaning.

Semantics is the art and science of the meaning of words.  It is an art in the same way that poetry is an art.  The more possible meanings a person associates with a given word, the more options that person finds to use the word in creative, ambiguous ways.  Semantics is a science in that we can quantify usages of words in order to gain understanding of the precision of language.  One person uses a word, a second person interprets the word, and the first says, that's not precisely what I meant.  The protest "that's just semantics" is a denial of the ambiguous nature of language.

So what relevance does a discussion of semantics have to the previous discussion of absolutes?  All conversation assumes that absolutes exist.  I assume that when you speak to me you actually have a thought you are attempting to comminucate.   The imperfect nature of language has led some people to the conclude that because language is imprecise thought must also be imprecise.  This conclusion arises from a faulty syllogism. 

Language is an imprecise medium.  (semantics)
Thoughts are commuinicated through language.
Therefore, thoughts are imprecise.  (there are no absolutes)

This syllogism implies a relationship between thought and language that does not in fact exist.  "The word is not the thing."  For example, when I look at the wall behind my desk I see a particular shade of purple.   I can describe it as dark lavender, light violet, cool purple.  Tucker says, "well, it's not green."  If there were a one to one relationship between thought and language, each new phrase would correspond to a change in the thought.  But, in fact, the color I see remains the same as I grapple with the possibilities for precise communication.  I had this difficulty the other day as I attempted to describe the specific color I had in mind when I used the word "aqua" with a friend in another state who is designing a piece of jewelry for me.  In the end, I finally told her that anything in a certain range would work for me, but that ambiguity doesn't negate the fact that when I use the word "aqua," I have a specific color in mind.

The word "absolute" is used in logic to mean "that which is self-sufficient, free of external references or relationships."  Any statement of fact is an absolute in that such statements contain no qualification, restriction or exception.  All definitions reference absolutes.  I offered as an example of an absolute statement the definition of the freezing point of water, "when the temperature falls below 32 degrees F or 0 C, water freezes."  Dread said that there seem to be exceptions to this rule, therefore the rule is not an absolute.  For instance, there are lakes which do not freeze when the air temperature falls below the "freezing point."  However, the influence of variant conditions upon water which cause it to occasionally exist in a "supercooled" state as a liquid do not change the definition of the freezing point of water. 

I'm fascinated by meaning.  I want to know what you mean when you speak.  I want to know how you know what you know.  I want to know if it's possible to know anything.  I'm sure I'll continue to turn these thoughts over and inspect them from different angles.  But one thing seems certain to me.  I can't know anything without first knowing something.  While my language may be abstract, imprecise, and fuzzy, the thought I'm attempting to communicate is specific, actual and concrete.  In other words, it's absolute.  

I've heard that the links I worked on yesterday afternoon don't work.  Well, that stinks.  I don't know why the links in my skin won't take you to those blogs.  I know they have worked in the past, I've used them.  But, now I can't get any of them to work.    I'll keep tinkering and I'll let you know if I get them fixed.

*Yes, I know that dread doesn't like to be linked. 

Happy Weekend to All ~

I hope everyone has a great weekend.  If you find yourself bored, you might notice that I have finally put in a few more hours working on the "organizing my past blogs" project.  If you log into my site through the front door instead of coming here from your SIR list, you'll see a module to the left that includes links to past blogs.  I don't know if these are anything like a fair "best of" list, but they are blogs that have sparked discussion in the comments section and through email exchange.  In my mind that makes them wonderful. 

Hey Sis! 

My brother is one of my best friends.  He is the family member I talk with about symbolic logic, higher math, and history.  He is the one who reads science fiction and sends me DVD's that I *have* to see.  I've been snowed in for weeks and the latest box of goodies I put together for him has been doing duty on the diningroom table as a centerpiece.  I'm sure he'll be pleased to know that it's going to the postoffice today.

My brother enlisted in the army over the objections and the worries of my Mother.  (She used to hang up on the recruiter in hopes that she could discourage him from calling.)  When he decided on infantry, his first order of business was to lose a bit of weight.  80 pounds, in fact.  Which he did over about 6 months of hard training.  His discipline and dedication impressed me more than anything else I can remember him doing.

Today, he serves in some capacity that I can never get straight, but I know it has something to do with driving a tank.  He has been on foreign soil for two years.  I'm used to getting phone calls from him at all hours of the day and night.  That's always been our relationship.  If the phone rings after midnight, Tim doesn't even twitch, he knows it's for me.  "Hey, sis!  How's it going?  Read anything other than a cereal box this month?"  And then we're off.  It occurs to me now that I have him to thank for my habit of waking up and thinking about philosophy in the middle of the night.

The Veterans of Foreign Wars have a program called OPERATION UPLINK.  Through this program they accept cash donations which are converted into telephone calling cards.  The cards are sent directly to members of the armed forces overseas.  In these days of anxiety about our loved ones in military service, whether we approve the actions of the administration or not, it's an excellent gesture of peace and goodwill to offer our military personnel the chance to call home. 

Last summer, a soldier who shared quarters with my brother, came home in a coffin.  I'm very glad to know that this soldier received one of the Operation Uplink cards and was able to call his family in the months before he died.  I'd like to encourage all of you to visit the above links and either make a donation to this project, or provide them with the address of any service people you know, or best yet, both. 

Nonviolent?!

I don't like violence, or rather I don't like scenes of gratuitous violence where human life is treated with contempt or scenes of psychological violence where human dignity is demolished.  On the other hand, I very much admire scenes of courage wherein a person rises to face a threat from whatever direction, physical, mental or emotional.  Even if they utlimately fail, I still applaud the spirit that denies violent malevolent intent it's victim.  So I like the Lord of the Rings even though the body count is astronomical.  I don't like Steven Seagal movies, (come to think of it the body count there is astromnomical, too).  But the difference in my opinion is that in the first instance we are shown the story from the perspective of potential victims who stand with dignity and courage.  In the second instance we see the story from the perspective of a person who enjoys pummeling people (oh, they assure us that he only pummels "bad" people, but that doesn't get them off the hook in my mind because hey, from time to time *I'm* bad people.)

Good Poetry/Bad Poetry

You know what I appreciate most about a poem?  The clever phrase.  That exact use of word or syntax to open a window that perfectly reveals human experience.  You know what I don't appreciate about poetry?  Epic length.  In fact, anything longer than a sonnet is hard for me to relate to.  I start to get lost in the word maze.  This is why I can't tell you much of anything about most of the poetry included in the Lord of the Rings.  It's too long.

Mortality

I read a short story once that credited human achievement to the notion of our mortality.  In essence it said that we are all procrastinators to such a degree that if we knew we had unlimited resources of time, we'd put off doing anything.  We'd still be living in caves.  It is our knowledge that there are limits on our time that impels us forward.  I think maybe there's something there.  I'll have to think about that later, when I have more time.

Children

"Let's play hide and seek.  You count right here and don't look in Mom's closet."

Sex

Why is it that the older I get the more I like a good foot massage?  Why is it that a good foot massage leads to great sex the older I get? 

Diet

I don't mind starving myself for looks, but I resent very much changing my diet for the purpose of my health.  You may remember my disparaging remarks about Grape Nuts a couple weeks ago.  Upon my doctor's advice, I'm reducing the fat content of my diet, and increasing the fiber.  I was kind of surprised that he would suggest MORE fiber since I already eat whole grains and fruit regularly.  But, okay, if I need more fiber, I'll eat more fiber.  Do you know that there are breakfast cereals that have as much as 10 grams of fiber per cup?!?  I swtiched from my former breakfast of diet coke and yogurt to a breakfast of whole grain cereal, skim milk, and diet coke.  Voila!  That fixed the diet.  You know what?  I don't LIKE being THAT regular.

Art

Papa Bear, by Tucker Verrette

Books

In my "to be read" pile beside the bed, I currently have, The Silmarillion by J R R Tolkien, Tolkien's Sanctifying Myth by Bradley Birzir and Joseph Pearce, Seven Theories of Religion by Daniel Pals, Ruthless Trust by Brennan Manning, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance by Robert Pirsig, What's So Amazing About Grace? by Philip Yancey, and Provocations, the Spiritual Writings of Soren Kierkegaard translated by some guy who's name I can't remember and it isn't on the cover and I'm too lazy to look inside for it.

A Joke

A bear and rabbit where walking through the forest when the met a fairy who had just earned her wings.  She was feeling so good she offered to grant each of them three wishes.  The bear immediately said, "I wish all the bear in this fores were female."  The fairy swished her wand and it was so.  The rabbit said, "I wish I had a motorcycle helmet." 

The bear then said, "I wish all the bears in this country were female!" The fairy swished her wand and it was so.  The rabbit said, "I wish for a motorcycle with a full tank of gas."

The bear said, "I with all the bears in the world were female!"  The fairy swished her wand and it was so.  The rabbit said, "I wish for the bear to be gay!"  Vvrrrrroooooooommmm.

Many of you have been long time readers of my sister, Fugitive's, weblog.  Some of you know that the reason for her name, Fugitive, is that she had some difficulty with a stalker vis a vis a previous Xanga identity. 

Earlier today, she received an email that may or may not have been from the stalker but was routed to her in such a way that caution suggests that she take immediate steps to ensure her family's security which includes closing her Xanga site. 

Hopefully, it will turn out that this is no more than a bad prank gone awry.  But, in the meantime, she has asked that I let the Xanga community know that other than her disappointment over the necessity of this step, she is fine.  Those of you who have been in correspondence with her through email can continue to communicate with her that way.  You can also email me and I can forward messages to her if you don't have her address bookmarked.  I'm sure you'll understand that I can't give out her address, nor can I forward messages routed through annonymous servers.

Someday My Prince Will Leave

When my boys realized that the treadmill routine would be a daily affair, it took them .00015 seconds to figure out a way to turn it to their advantage.  Normally, during the day, they aren't allowed tv time.  But, with Momi conveniently ensconced in her room huffing and puffing, they had to do something to occupy themselves.

This morning they skipped right over Arthur and got out a video.  The one they chose has been a favorite from the moment it first came in the door.  Walt Disney's Sleeping Beauty.  We've talked with the boys about the virtues of self-sacrifice shown by the guardian fairies.  We've talked about the Prince's armor being the sword of truth and the shield of faith and what that might look like in "real life."  We've never talked about the Princess much.  I never assumed that the boys were that interested in her.

Today, I overheard them talking about the film while I was making my bed. 

Michael: "That Princess is cool.  She lives in the forest and made friends with animals and birds." 

Tucker: "I like her dress, it swooshes when she dances."

Michael: "She sings nice, too.  Do you think she likes kids?"

Tucker: "I don't know.  I guess we'd have to ask her."

Michael: "I want to be a Daddy when I grow up, so before I kiss any Princess I need to know if she wants kids."

Tucker: (thinks a minute) "If your Princess doesn't want any kids, you can play with me and my Princess's kids, cause we're gonna have 6."

Before I had kids, I thought a lot about the various messages that little girls get from media, and the need to be extra vigilant about mediating stereotypes.  I didn't really think about the messages boys get.  I think I'm encouraged that Michael has at least realized that he shouldn't assume that all women want kids.  I'm a little worried about Tucker and that swooshing dress, I'm afraid he may kiss first and ask later.

In the Spring a Young Man's Fancy

I like to dabble in poetry, but not nearly so much as I like to read it.  I'm captivated by the surprising phrase, the sideways glance that the poet offers to bring a new perspective on the thing I thought I already knew.  It seems to me that for as long as poets have been mining their langauages for that gem of an image, they have been placing those jewels around the topic of love.  They write of friendship, of parental devotion, and the adoration of God.  But, more than anything else they write of the love between lovers.

The Solomon's Song of Songs is an extended poem of sexual love.  (Some of the images contained therein are considered so powerful that Jewish Rabbis used not to teach the material to anyone under the age of 30).  There are spiritual applications of the poetry, the image of the jealous Lover-God who woos His people.  But, these applications really have to be forced on the text.  It is inescapably a love poem between a man and woman.

The Lover: You have ravished my heart, and given me courage with one look from your eye, one jewel of your necklace.

The Beloved: His hands are like rods of gold, his body a bright figure of ivory

The Lover: Your lips drip honey as the honeycomb, the fragrance of your garments is as the cedars of Lebanon

The Beloved: His legs are strong and steady pillars of marble

The Lover: You are an orchard of pomegranates, a paradise of precious fruits

The Beloved: His voice and speech are exceedingly sweet, he is altogether lovely, the whole of him delights.

The Lover: You are a fountain in a garden, a well of living water and flowing springs

The Beloved: My beloved has gone down to his garden, to the beds of spices to feed in the gardens and gather lilies.  I am my beloved's and he is mine, he feeds among the liles.

From the Finale: Set me like a seal on your heart, for love is as strong as death, as hard and cruel as the grave, It's flashes are flashes of fire, a most vehement flame, the very flame of the Lord.  Many waters cannot quench love, neither can the floods drown it.  A man could offer all the good of his house for love, and they would be utterly despised.

That's some fairly strong stuff.  I've been thinking about all the reasons that I so love the song that I mentioned in yesterday's post.  Of course, it has a beautiful melody and is song with tones like warm molasses.  But, it's the words in the end that I come back to over and over.  In some ways, it reminds me very much of the poetry from Solomon's Song.  Both are a duet between the lover and the beloved.  Ultimately, rather than the specific images they use to describe their lover, the chord that resonates with me is that over-encompassing picture of intimacy.  It's how together they become so much more than they can ever be apart.

He: She does not lazy dance
        her hands on me
      She does not talk, no pretty talk
        she pleasures silently
      With her I am SUMMER
        I warm easy to her heat
      She fill me full, she fill me full
        she make me complete

Skin to skin, skin to skin
No cold wind blow on me, no cold wind blow on me

She: Skin to skin, skin to skin
The light it shine on me, the light it shine on me

     He is a secret soldier
        with pieces inside broke
     He hides in his own darkness
        his fire has no smoke
     And when my body song begins
        when he holds me tight
     He chases all my shadows
        and I burn so bright.

He: Skin to skin, skin to skin
No cold wind blow on me, no cold wind blow on me.

They: skin to skin, skin to skin
The light it shine on me, the light it shine on me

He:  Winter inside of me, 
         ice to fight the storm
       She cannot see what I hide in me
         I can't be strong beside her warmth

She: Skin to skin                       He: She's too close
She: Skin to skin                       He: Much too close
She: No cold wind blow on me     He: She's got a hold on me
She: No cold wind blow on me     He: She's got a hold on me

She: Skin to skin                       He: She touches soft
She: Skin to skin                       He: Much too soft
She: The light is shine on me      He: Her fire's burning me
She: The light is shine on me      He: Her fire's burning me

Now that's just cool.  Spring is almost here.  I think I can see a few sparks being struck here and there.  Soon there will be fires burning all around, and the thing about fire, it marks and changes everything it touches.