The art of living by science

 kw: book reviews, nonfiction, science, memoirs, family, essays

A science writer presents science done by others to a curious audience. What does one do when science impinges upon one's own life, not as research projects but as the contingencies of living that must at least be managed, if not solved in a mathematical sense? The ten extended essays/mini-memoirs in Transient and Strange: Notes on the Science of Life chronicle sundry journeys through life as encountered by Nell Greenfieldboyce. The book's title is taken from Walt Whitman's poem "Year of Meteors".

Her older child, a boy, has become terrified of tornadoes, or rather, of the concept of tornadoes. In spite of his mother's protestation that she's never even seen a tornado, he engages in obsessive fantasies about them. The younger child, a girl, is more matter-of-fact, and seems to shrug off the anxiety. What is a mother to do? One could say, "She started it," having let the children listen to an audio book about the subject, and some days later, almost on autopilot, they all watched a National Geographic short video, Tornadoes 101. What ensued is about what one would expect. Now what is a mother to do? She did what mothers generally do: Wait it out. Time brings perspective. One might argue that premature knowledge is to blame, but fortunately, youngsters are amazingly resilient.

The author is a science writer, after all. She brings science to the world around, so her children have encountered scientific subjects in abundance. That's just what she does. The tornado is a symbol (the chapter title is "The symbol of a tornado"). It represents all the big and scary and dangerous and seemingly dangerous things "out there in the world," and a mother can't protect her child from them all. The best she can do, she concludes, is to promise to "make everything better" to the best of her ability. To preschoolers, Mom's ability is akin to infinite, so a mother's promise is their bedrock.

Not all of the essays are about her children. Some are about her childhood and how she weathered the storms. One chapter ("Everybody does it!") is about doodling. What does it reveal about the ways our mind works? Does the way we doodle (and we all do!) square with certain aspects of our character? Digging into the subject, looking at samples of doodles of the celebrated, she finds that her style of doodling is a lot like that of President Washington, and another President with a similar style was U.S. Grant. Does that mean she has an aptitude for leadership or national administration? Or does it simply imply that the kind of orderliness Washington needed for his career is related to what she needs for hers? Maybe it is coincidence; there may be many styles of scribbling, but perhaps not billions thereof.

Her last chapter, "My eugenics project" practically drags us through her own sturm und drang while coping with the chance that children she has by her husband will be afflicted with a serious genetic kidney ailment. Her terror mirrors that of her son at the thought of tornadoes. But she came to a place of peace, just as, years later, her children did also.

She writes with heart and grace, confiding in us in ways few can accomplish. As with the best writing in general, this little book motivates a reader to look within, to learn about oneself and how one copes with tragedy or the dread of possible tragedy.

Looking for a way to illustrate this post I spent half an hour throwing the prompt "Year of comets and meteors transient and strange", a longer quote from Whitman's poem, at several generative art apps. This one by Gemini is similar to the graphic on the cover of the book, but I obtained ten quite diverse images, grouped in the closing panel below.

Thankful for a family that gets along

kw: holidays, family

We spent all day yesterday driving to my brother's house, where we'll have the holiday with them and another couple of relatives. Starting from a side trip in New Jersey, we got on I-80. Crossing Pennsylvania takes 309 miles, or about 6 hours, stops included.

We had a restful night in a hotel near my brother's house. The cousins (all young adults now) are having a good time together. Now, this morning we're all helping get dinner ready. My sister-in-law loves having help in the kitchen, and has a good kitchen for communal cooking. We're having great fun, talking and doing things together.

I hope the greatest number of people are having times together that they'll be thankful for. We're thankful not only for our past, but for memories we are making right now.

Say "limburger"

kw: book reviews, nonfiction, photographs, family, humor

There is one in every family, someone who blinks at the wrong time, or forgets to smile, or one who just doesn't seem to fit in… This image was chosen at random from the "Family Portrait" area of awkwardfamilyphotos.com. It is graced by a double whammy of awkwardness.

The web site has been running about sixteen months, and has already collected thousands of submitted photos. So much so that its perpetrators Mike Bender and Doug Chernack have issued a book, Awkward Family Photos. Being short on words and long on pictures, it makes for a quick first run-through. Then I found myself going back through more slowly, to savor a few favorites, and occasionally to puzzle out what may have happened. Like the picture here: Did the woman at the end blink, or was she just keeping her eyes closed as a matter of principle? When the daughter of friends of ours came home from college with purple hair, the mother spent lots more time trying to look elsewhere, or just not looking at anything.

The book is great fun. In addition to portraits, and the many ways they can go awry, there are pictures of family members with pets, on vacation, with the extended family, and on special occasions like weddings and birthdays. At the web site the number of categories is even greater.

We all have a box or book of photos, and there are some there that we hope nobody will see. This is one of mine; I have gotten over not wanting anyone to see it—it has been only 53 years. This is the year after all four of us boys got Mohawk hair cuts. When I went to school that way at the end of the prior summer, I was sent home, so Dad shaved my head and sent me back. This time, he shaved me early and let it grow out a little before the school year started. Though the negative is right at the end of the roll, this pic was too good to throw away.

Family photos are like that. They are family, so even though they are often awkward, we don't throw them away. Eventually, we learn to enjoy them. The book and web site let us enjoy the generous offerings of others.

D-Day at the Antipodes

kw: family, war stories, correspondence

Sydney, Australia is very nearly the opposite side of the earth from Britain, the English Channel and Normandy. Sydney's time zone is GMT+10, so when 0000 hours, June 6, 1944 rolled around, it was 10 AM for my father, posted near Sydney.

On D-Day, 65 years ago today, not all the U.S. forces and allies were occupied with establishing a French beach head from which to attack the Germans. The War of the Pacific was in the midst of a brief lull, but was soon to heat up again, though the major bombing campaign against Tokyo was still nine months in the future.

My father had little to do that day. He and other recent OCS graduates were awaiting assignments. He went shopping, shipped his purchases home, then wrote this letter. It is a V-Mail that has suffered water damage and is stuck to its envelope. I photographed it with back light to decipher it. Here is the transcription:

Ruthy darling,

Goodmorning! yes for once

I got up before dinner — in fact I

was up at 6:30. — I expect to leave

in a day or so and am practising for

work, ha!

Yesterday I did some more shopping,

I bought you a little souvenir, couple

of ties I promised you pop, my pop

ties also —. I sent all this to mom. I hope

it arrives soon. I've been trying in Sydney

and here to get a suitable, nice gift for mom,

but it's very puzzling. I'll look again today.

My darling, how have you been?

I've been so anxious to hear from you, but

I probably won't for now until I get

"Up Top." You are now in summer there

aren't you? Bye bye — My deepest devotion

Jim

The major events that were happening on the other side of the globe covered sixteen hours:

• 00:00 Hours — Airborne Landing Begins
• 03:00 Hours — Heavy Bombing Raids
• 04:00 Hours — Allied Invasion Fleet Arrives
• 06:30 Hours — U.S. Landings Begin
• 07:25 Hours — British and Canadian Landings Begin
• 12:00 Hours — British and Canadian forces push inland
• 16:00 Hours — Hitler Authorizes German Counter-Attack

Details of these events can be found at the WW2 D-Day Timeline site.

Dad liked writing letters right after supper when he could, so he was probably writing at 7 PM; subtract 10 hours and you get 0900, right in the middle of the most intense ground fighting and near-debacle on Omaha and Utah beaches. The forces involved in the Pacific war, having no "need to know", were totally unaware, and did not hear until they got letters from home, based on letters from Europe. It was at least a few weeks before Dad heard about it.

His letters during June and July 1944 are full of the mundane things he and his fellow graduates were doing while they awaited work. They didn't know that the attention of the entire General Staff was on France. On June 11, for example, a Sunday, Dad wrote about attending church, which he enjoyed, except for the sermon, which was by a "real radical" of a preacher, one who believed in "total annihilation," an exaggerated doctrine based on Methodist Arminianism. Two days later, he attended two rugby games and one American football game. He wrote three pages of humorous commentary on the brawl that is Australian Rules rugby: "If a man gets a free kick, and you can get within a few yards and block the ball, after the beating that follows, you get a free kick…if you are able."

Dad soon became a Captain in the Corps of Engineers. He spent the rest of the war either building airstrips on nameless islands, or demolishing them just ahead of fleeing a Japanese invasion of said island. He loved blowing things up. But after the war, expecting to go right home, he found he was assigned further work in the Pacific. His "Ruthie" waited an extra few months for him and they were married in March 1946. I suppose that explains why I was born in 1947 instead of 1946.