UnSpace

The City of Bridges had another wonderful First Night Celebration last night! Nancy and I have taken to making our usual date for New Year's at Pittsburgh's First Night. Hey, just because we got married doesn't mean we don't still go out on dates with each other! We were looking forward to this event, especially since we finally got tickets to a performance of the improv group "Amish Monkeys."

Note: There are a lot of pictures here, so to keep this blog loading in something resembling a reasonable time, I've provided thumbnails — click to enlarge if you'd like a better look.

We parked the car outside the rivers and walked Downtown. As we crossed a bridge, we got to see the "Children's Fireworks." They had one set of fireworks at an early hour so the younger set could see them.

Our first stop was at the O'Reiley theater, where we saw the Amish Monkeys perform hysterically. Afterward, we went to Christos' Mediterranean Restaurant on 6th Avenue for a late dinner. Nancy and I had a wonderful dinner, and I got to take a small taste of her Carmel Creme dessert.

Parked outside what used to be the Fulton and Fulton Mini (I think it's called the Byham, now) was a cool car. Anyone know what it is?

We were able to see the First Night Parade as it went past on 6th avenue. A rumor in the streets had it that the Mayor, Luke Ravenstahl, was in New York celebrating at UPMC's expense. Not true at all! Sorry to ruin it for all you Lukey Haters, but here's a picture of the young Mayor leading the parade — in Pittsburgh:

The parade itself had people carrying grotesques. I used to know the story behind them, but here are some pictures.

One of the cool things about First Night is the number of things going on — you can't get to see them all. I missed the Clarks and we never went far enough East to see Brad Yoder (Pittsburgh's Best Solo Act according to Pittsburgh's City Paper, although I'd argue it should be the 2nd Best, Cathasaigh). Nancy picked out a number of things we wanted to see, including the Aboriginal Art at Spaces on Liberty Avenue. Along the way, we saw music performances in the street, with dancing and drumming.

There were also some odd sights. Outdoor Adventures decorated a tree with magnolia blossoms, making it appear the tree had bloomed in winter. A big hit with the youngsters were the lightsabers for sale.

We love the ice sculpture fellow, and he didn't disappoint this year, either. Look at the detail of the city! Art with chainsaws — why not?

Pittsburgh itself looked gorgeous, as some of these shots will show:

Near midnight, the Alcoa ///// Bayer Clock began the countdown to Midnight — a couple seconds off. At midnight, the fireworks started! Nancy wished me a "Happy New Year and Happy White Rabbit Day!" She always gets me on New Year's Eve.

We had a great time. Last time, the fireworks went off up around the 9th Street Bridge; this year they were Downtown, so we didn't get good photographs. But we were near the car and got home quickly where we celebrated a bit more and then did birdie waters, birdie food, and crashed.

Happy New Year Everyone!

Don't let the frustrations of the season
make you forget why you're celebrating.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!
from Nancy and Rob

Professional stunt parrot. Do not attempt at home.

Gingerbread house by Nancy Carr
Photography by Rob Carr © 2007.

(click on picture for larger version)

Kiva Han is a coffee shop in the North Oakland section of Pittsburgh, between Pitt and CMU. Kiva Han has giant windows and Christmas lights. Cathasaigh played a set there last night. I got to enjoy the music as well as play around with the camera.

Lighting wise, Kiva Han was one of the most interesting venues I've seen Cathasaigh play at, as you can see from the above photograph.

The music could be heard throughout Kiva Han and out into the sidewalk where people sat tapping at small tables. But for Cathasaigh, her contact with the audience was limited to the small room she was in. Musicians can feed off the energy of large groups; a small intimate audience like last night can presents challenges to the performer.

Cathasaigh adapted beautifully to the small audience, making it appear effortless.

Those in attendance were treated to some samples of some new techniques Cathasaigh explained to the audience that she's learning new musical techniques for the album she's recording. There are two basic styles of guitar: rhythm and lead. Rhythm guitar is the nominal style for the folk music genre, and most of what Cathasaigh has been playing until now. 'Saigh's learning lead guitar, which she demonstrated with a quick snippet of "Here Comes the Sun." But then she explained that she was also trying a combination pattern that took on aspects of both. The result had a bluegrass feel to it that seemed far more complex than standard lead guitar.

There was an audience Cathasaigh literally couldn't see. Behind her and through the window, there were passers-by who would stop and listen. Folks at the tables tapping their coffee cups to the music. Out in the line for drinks (they had sugar-free raspberry and vanilla flavors that made absolutely wonderful "Italian sodas") people listened to her perform.

In between my mental fights with shutter speed, f-stops and the exposure meter, and even while I'm wandering upstairs looking for an unexpected angle, I'm listening. Having attended a number of Cathasaigh's performances, I know most of her repertoire now, and I can catch the little variations and flourishes she throws in.

The Sound Kitchen will be hosting 4 musical acts this Thursday, March 8th, from 7 to 11 p.m. For a suggested donation of $5, you can get in to see four acts. I plan on being there, and I'm hoping some friends might come along as well.

Ok, so one of the acts is Cathasaigh, the fabulous singer I keep blogging about.

Today, Cathasaigh played at at the Community College of Allegheny County-North's Atrium, near the food vendor. This was not what I'd consider an ideal venue. People are coming in for lunch, and I thought they'd find a singing guitarist annoying.

That's not what happened.

I actually got to watch people catch on a couple times. They'd be sitting down, about to eat lunch, and they'd stop. One woman told me she realized "Hey, I don't need my iPod!" They stop, sometimes in mid-sentence, and turn their head toward the stage and stare. Watching it, I remembered doing the exact same thing at the East End Food Co-Op months ago. She really is that good. Her guitar set the stage, her voice drew them in, and the words and music of her song hooked them. Then the new fans go into this sort of slouch and just listen, picking at food or turning a page. Their focus is on Cathasaigh and her songs. During the break, they'd come over to meet her at the table her mother sells CDs from. They'd talk about how they'd just caught the tail end of her songs and wanted to go to her next concert. They'd ask to get on her e-mail list. One fellow turned to go away, saying "Well, now I've got to go fail the test I should have been studying for instead of listening to you." One of the fans stuck around after lunch to listen to the rest of the set, alternating between listening and doing trignometric substitutions in calculus integrations. I thought it was cool, but darned if I could remember some of the more useful and standard substitutions.

She really is that good. Come out on March 8th and find out for yourself.

Today, I turned into a sometimes Roadie, schlepping equipment to the car after her performance. The base of the Bose Personalized Amplification System is heavy, which shouldn't be surprising, but is. Basic (no pun intended) physics. There's a lot of stuff that gets dragged around.

This might sound strange, but I'm learning about the music biz from Cathasaigh. I can't help but wonder if there's a novel in it somewhere, or at least background

For Black History Month, the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette has a wonderful article, Freedom House ambulance service saved the day for many. Thanks to Ervin Dyer for an article that reminds us of the debt we owe those pioneers of prehospital care.

I've met almost everyone named in the article. I worked beside some of them, met others briefly or at dinners honoring them. I own books by two of them, well-worn grimoires of life-saving lore that I memorized. I've heard the stories and legends of the people of Freedom House, often first-hand accounts of those dawning days of the emergency medical services.

There's a brief line in the article I'd like to call your attention to:

Some of the Freedom House paramedics continue to work in public safety or health services. Other drifted back to the streets.

There is carefully phrased tragedy in those words. Heroes — each and one a lifesaver multiple times over — had stories that did not continue as they should have. How much was due to the emotional toll of being the first emergency medical technicians and paramedics, I can only speculate on. There's a loss in that sentence that haunts those of us who knew those men.

To those people of Freedom House who made prehospital care a national reality, I extend my heartfelt thanks and prayers.

Yesterday was the last day for the Minister of Music at my church, Jim Lueers. Jim will be heading "up north" to Memorial Park Presbyterian Church in Allison Park. Our church has a tradition of "sending" people to where they are going next to serve God; always in prayer and often with a celebration.

Jim Lueers has been a blessing to our church as a musician, songwriter, and even youth musical director. How many organists do you know that can rock out? But Jim's time with us had come to an end.

Yesterday began with two worship services. The choir, praise team, and bell choir combined (surprisingly well, I might add) to provide a range of music for the service. Jim Lueers always has subtle "sermons" in the music he picks out, but yesterday, he preached for his first and only time in his 16+ years at Pleasant Hills Community Presbyterian Church. When Jim handed in his resignation, Rev. Paul Thwaite looked at the schedule: February 18th was in the middle of a series on the book of Exodus, just after the whole "golden calf" bit, with Moshe begging God to go with the Hebrews as they moved on in their travels. You can't make this stuff up!

Jim's sermon was not a standard sermon, but included a Middle School dramatization of Moshe going back to talk to the (no longer) burning bush, a song, and of course personal words by Jim.

In the evening, there was a dinner and a celebration of Jim's ministry at our church. There was a photo show during dinner, with music, skits, and stuff I couldn't explain in a blog post if I wanted to! The best, perhaps, was when the choir, complete with robes and fake nose glasses and mustaches, sang of their experiences with Jim. Jim later pointed out that it was the only time the choir ever memorized something.

The original church band, "All of the Above" (the answer to "Which of these names should we use fo the band?") reunited to perform two of their songs with Jim.

Finally, with Jim, Cathy, and their children seated in a circle, the entire room came forward to lay hands on them in a blessing as we sent them on to their new church. "Sendings" are a way to ask God's grace on people; they're also a good excuse to finally have that cry you've wanted over losing the close contact with those you've come to love.

I met Jim Lueers recently, only a couple years ago. In a short time, he had me singing with the church band, working me into keyboard, bass, and even guitar. When people mention "Christian mercy," I think of all the effort Jim put into finding some use for my limited musical skills and lack of experience with a band.

But when I think if Jim, what I think of most was someone who, when something came up in my life, would not say "I'll pray about it." He wouldn't say that; instead he'd ask to pray right then and there — often on the phone. God knows I gave him enough chances to pray! Jim went beyond praying. One day, I was scheduled for a 3 mile walk, but feeling good, I went three miles out on the trail at Piney Fork. Only on the way back did I notice that instead of locking my house key in the car and keeping the car key with the phone, I'd kept the house key. I'd locked myself out of the car. Jim rescued me, bringing Nancy and car keys to the Piney Fork parking lot.

Jim lived his faith in Jesus Christ, and I'm better for having known him.

The MSNBC article hit me first: "This Valentine’s Day, say it with bitterness." I wrote off Cathasaigh's referrence to it as "one of those 'Hallmark Holidays" to her Goth streak. The Jay Leno jokes started out reasonable: who wants to pay $100 for long-stem roses on Valentine's Day when they'll be back to $30 the next day?

Nancy and I had fun for Valentine's Day.

I woke up to two Valentine's Day cards (one mushy and romantic, the other…let's say "blatant" and leave it at that), and a box of Gorant chocolates.¹ The day before, a box of Oyama African Violet self-watering pots arrived: nine 4 inch and nine 1.5 inch pots. I'd ordered them on the Internet and then thanked Nancy for buying them. She really does hate shopping.

I got Nancy one Valentine's Day card (mushy and pointedly for the "love of my life," not my wife, as I wanted to make the point that I choose to love her and not "stuck" with her), a small box of Sarris chocolates (her favorites), a decorated heart-shaped chocolate chip cookie, a Calla lily (that can be added to the huge pot we have to bring in every winter because Calla lilies aren't hardy in Zone 5), and a DVD "Captive Foraging" from the Birdie Boutique.

When we finally got to coffee that day, we went about the usual stuff: shoveling the driveway for the umpteenth time, sorting photos for a church event this coming Sunday, etc. For dinner, I cooked a Schwan's breakfast scramble (scrambled eggs, potatoes, and sausage) and we snuggled together to watch the "Captive Foraging" video.

By the time our favorite show came on ("Criminal Minds" on CBS, with Reid, who looks sort of like I did back in college), we were gleefully wrapping up peanuts and seeds in little wads of paper and watching Holmes, Cirrus, and Chauncey go crazy ripping them apart. I'll have to post on the "Captive Foraging" video later. We were laughing ourselves silly at the antics of our Psittacine friends. They had a great Valentine's Day, too! "Medium" had an excellent romantic episode, even though you knew the histrionic woman had to be dead someplace. During commercials, I frantically planted up the cloned violets from a violet that died earlier this year, putting them in the Oyama pots. I guess I'll have to post on the Oyama pots as well.

We had a great Valentine's Day. There was no "test of love." We didn't engage in a romantic "potlatch." If we spent $70 on the whole thing, including dinner, I'd be surprised, and most of the presents were practical.

Perhaps we had fun because we're engineers and practical about these things. Perhaps we had fun because this was our 31st Valentine's Day, although I didn't go out with her on Valentine's Day for the first five years (the first was before our first date, although she did get a card, and I was away at school in St. Louis for the next four).

We keep forgetting Sweetest Day, and don't notice for a month. That's coming from the couple who haven't forgotten a single "Happy White Rabbit Day"² since sometime in the late '70s. Maybe that explains everything.

1. Yeah, they're sweetened with sugar alcohols, which means the 30 pieces of candy should last a month. It's not Nancy's fault I'm diabetic or that sugar alcohols create osmotic pressure into the intestine. [back]
2. The first person to wish the other "Happy White Rabbit Day" on the first day of the month wins. All is fair, including miss-setting the atomic clocks and waking the other out of a sound sleep. [back]

Cathasaigh is the young woman Nancy and I met at the East End Food Co-op art thingie, the one I referred to as "The Voice." She's still "The Voice," although she's also an amazing musician as well. 'Saigh took a break from public performances in January to prepare for her next album.

Last Friday, Cathasaigh had a gig at Mojoe Coffee.

Cathasaigh asked if I could take some photographs, right at the time I'm working my way through an online people photography course from CCAC. I asked for permission to use her and her friends as practice for my class, and a deal was struck that included allowing me to use flash during the gig!

I'm learning how to use the Nikon SB-800 AF Speedlight with my camera. Jess, 'Saigh's sister, was more impressed by the extra pounds the speedlight added to the camera. Compared to the camera's built-in flash, the SB-800 is a wonder. You wonder at the range the flash has and you wonder at how it overwhelms the camera in size!

'Saigh's week leading up to the gig had been terrible. Her aunt passed away, the furnace broke, the car breaks crapped out, and a bunch of other stuff went wrong. The performance was influenced by these events, sometimes directly, sometimes indirectly. Her voice and instrumental work were superb, nonetheless!

I focused on the camera, so there were no written notes on the performance, unlike the CD Release party for the Pittsburgh Songwriters.¹ But the first song was one Cathasaigh wrote, "Hypnotized," and it's the title track of the new CD she's working on. The song's a fan favorite, with a lot of parallel structure and social commentary.

There was one song, describing her family's disastrous week, that Cathasaigh did, possibly a "one time only" song. The song was a semi-humorous look at all the things that had gone wrong, a "laugh so you don't cry" deal. It wasn't Weird Al's absurdist "One of Those Days," but it was good.

As I said, Cathasaigh's week did affect her gig in some interesting ways. Usually, she has an electronic 88-key keyboard she plays, but it wouldn't fit into the car they had to use to get to Mojoe Coffee. Improvising, she brought a borrowed autoharp instead. Cathasaigh wanted to use an autoharp on the new CD, so a neighbor lent her one. She experimented with it in January and decided it made a decent solution to the keyboard problem. She hinted that she was learning some advanced techniques that she'd use on the album. After Friday's show, I tried to get her to show us a sample, but she politely declined. She's keeping it a surprise for the CD, and I'd obviously used up any credits I had by repeatedly nuking 'Saigh with the speedlight during the performance.

There were a lot of faces in the audience I'd not seen at past performances, but a lot of the same children were there. 'Saigh's music is family friendly, and she always has the little ones come up and clap along in a contest to see if she can play the guitar faster than they can clap.

At one point, one of the little girls was singing along with Cathasaigh and happened to wander up next to her. The gigs do tend to be informal! 'Saigh turned the mic over to the little girl, giving her a chance to finish the song!

I did get to practice my photography quite a bit. There were some great moments, including this one of Cathasaigh and a friend laughing. This isn't the photograph I wanted to take. The two of them would crack up in this amazing way that made anyone watching want to laugh along, even though they didn't hear what provoked the laughter — which, from where I was standing, I couldn't.

I still need to practice posing people. This is one of the better shots I got of Cathasaigh.

Have you ever noticed that some people know how to be photographed? I got a number of photographs of Cathasaigh's volunteer vocalist that give the illusion that I know what I'm doing, the above photo being a prime example.

Cathasaigh's next performance is this coming Saturday at The Coffee House at 8 p.m.² The performance is free, so if you're looking for something to do, come on out! Maybe we can get a blogger's section going!

1. I tried getting an article and photographs published from the Pittsburgh Songwriters Release Party ; the editor hemmed, hawed, and eventually decided the news was too old to publish. I really should throw the mess article up on UnSpace, but I'm still a little irritated. [back]
2. Mojoe Coffee is a great place, but we also all know I'm thinking "No portraits of Jack Nicholson acting crazy to deal with at The Coffee House." I'm a terrible person. [back]

Update: Bigwave pointed out that I was extremely sloppy in what I wrote. The firefighters at the Valentine's Day fire had PASS devices, but they were earlier models that were not as sophisticated as the ones currently in use over a decade later. The PASS devices of the time were often thought of as more problems than they were worth, and in the excitement of a response, could often be left turned off.

The way I wrote this article, it sounds as if they did not have PASS devices at all. That is incorrect, and I thank Bigwave for pointing out this error. I knew what I meant, but I did not write this post in a way that told the reader what I meant. I was wrong. Thanks to Bigwave for the correction.

On February 14th, 1995, the Pittsburgh firefighters did not have PASS alarms that would go off if a firefighter fell down or did not move for 30 seconds. As a result, while fighting the Bricelyn Street fire in Pittsburgh, three firefighters died. My friend Patty Conroy was one of the three.

As a result of the investigation following their deaths, Pittsburgh now has an accountability system for firefighters who go into a building and each firefighter carries a PASS device.

Unfortunately, when exposed to excessive water or heat, the current PASS devices can fail. The Federal Government knew the PASS devices were faulty and did nothing for as long as possible:

Documents made public under the Freedom of Information Act reveal that nine of those deaths came after the federal government blocked an investigation by its own expert into possible failures of PASS alarms and other firefighting equipment. A manager for the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, the federal agency that is charged by Congress with investigating firefighter deaths, ordered an agency fire safety engineer on Feb. 14, 2000, to "minimize your fact gathering during investigations" and to restrict his investigations to issues relevant "for the prevention of future similar events."

There's a pattern: The Federal Government doesn't want to know when Americans are being harmed, if finding out about that harm might cost their business campaign donors money. Whether it's PASS alarms, mine safety, soldier's body armor, medications that have dangerous side effect, or global warming, the trend seems remarkably consistent.

While I believe the Republicans have contributed much to this trend, they're not the only ones who are willing to sell their souls to fill the campaign coffers. The result of this blood money is a consistent effort to protect not the people but the corporations. Those hired by the politicians know what will happen to them should they harm the corporations. Some employees are willing to risk their jobs, but a lot more know what happens if you hurt a political contributor.

Patty Conroy was a member of the Pittsburgh Critical Incident Stress Management team. I remember her explaining to firefighters and medics at a defusing that one way of dealing with a tragic event is to use it to prevent future tragic events. The changes made to protect firefighter lives after the deaths at the Valentine's Day Fire on Bricelyn Street was a consolation. Even in death, my friend Patty helped to save lives.

The CDC workers who prevented an investigation into the PASS failures spit on Patty's grave, and on the graves of every firefighter who died since the failures were suspected.

Yes, that's over the top and inflamatory. It's also true.

Our Christmas Pageant

To my Christian readers, I wish you a Merry Christmas!
To my Jewish readers, a Happy Hanukkah, and I hope you accept the spelling I chose!
To everyone else, I hope you have a great time!

And to everyone, Happy New Year!

Dramatis Personae:

Angel: Princess the Cockatiel
Mary: Angel the Baby Parakeet
Joseph: This bird is to be named later — it's someone's Christmas present!
Three Wise Birds: JV and Rocky the Lovebirds and Squiggles the Bourke Parakeet (that's the odd bird on the left)

No birds were harmed in the taking of this picture. Squiggles lost her tail by sticking it somewhere it didn't belong before the photo. It will grow back!

If you click on the photo, you'll see a larger version of the image.

The author of the UnSpace blog was taken to the woodshed and whacked with a 2×4.

"Deservedly so," says Nancy. "He was just rude."

Rob says it was the painkillers, pain, hypoglycemia (blood glucose level was 79 mg/dl; normal is 80-120 mg/dl), depression, mania induced by antidepressant, phase of the Moon (full Moon lousy for astrophotography if there was ever a time when clouds weren't obscuring it), CSI: Miama (why are we still watching that piece of drek?), anxiety over whether Eureka! would be renewed (it was), and inhaling fumes from diswasher detergent.

Actually, I just tried being a little cute and I shouldn't have been. I screwed up, pure and simple. I'll try to do better.

Sorry about that.

Ms. Monongahela wrote me a nice letter, saying that she's been enjoying my ongoing tooth saga, that I've been a bit more entertaining than most such "organ recitals." The letter seems sincere but honestly, with Ms. Monongahela, there's bound to be some suspicion that maybe I'm just not getting the joke.

If I've been pwned, so be it!

My sense of humor is definitely out of whack. I have to keep reminding myself that "CSI: Miami" is not a comedy. I'm not saying it's a bad show, but my root canal was more suspenseful, more scientifically accurate, and far more entertaining. Ok, the writing for the root canal was not as good as CSI: Miami. The dentist and the assistant hardly talked at all.

I've been writing about it mostly because it's hard to think of anything other than that tooth. The root canal is over, but despite levels of anaprox that appear to be making me feel guilty over past personal mistakes best left forgotten¹, I'm still feeling some pain. At least it's no longer to the point where I"m wondering if there's some level of pain that will get me smashing my head into the wall like I did when I was two years old. Yeah, I probably have significant brain damage, which ought to explain a lot.

On the home front, it's far worse. We're supposed to eat dinner with my in-laws today. Nancy picked a time that would be easy to remember.

Tooth-hurty!

Thanks, hon. I love you, too.

1. Dang, though, one is hysterical, although it would take too much of a setup — anyone want to hear something that really humiliates me? [back]

…and she's right!

When this whole thing with the tooth started on Saturday, Nancy got me flowers.

I didn't blog this yet, and I should have. I'm sorry for that. What she did was wonderful and has been one of the few bright spots. Over the years, she's gotten me flowers a number of times. I dare say there aren't many husbands that can say that!

Over the past five years or so, we haven't been getting each other flowers as much. With the back yard a complete riot of flowers (the Hellebores (sp?) bloom in February — no kidding), it's sort of silly to get flowers when you can just look out the back window — or the front. I really have to get a photo of the aster at the front lamp post.

We've tended to get each other different romantic things instead, or even plants for the yard. That's why we got the chinkopins and the Paw-Paw tree.

We don't get each other flowers on Valentines Day. We're both trained as engineers, and we've each had a microeconomics course where we studied supply and demand curves. Romantic does mean occasionally doing something excessive and impractical, but it doesn't mean being a freakin' moron. Of course, I've also found out that some stores will sell roses for Valentines Day at the normal price if you order far enough in advance. Romantic and brilliant goes a long way in our household. I wonder if the florist would think it odd if I asked them to include the reciept in the gift card?

With all the butterfly bushes but the Nanho Blue done for the year, the cone flowers and sunflowers being ripped apart by wild birds for the seeds, and even the purple asters seeing their last, summer is leaving and most of the flowers in the yard have started to leave us.

About two weeks ago, I got to thinking that I hadn't gotten her flowers for a while, and for no other reason but to make sure she knew I loved her, I got her some roses at the Giant Eagle grocery store. Strangely, they lasted almost two weeks — perhaps a record for cut roses from anywhere. Best deal on flowers ever.

So on Saturday, she went out and got me flowers — they had a sale and she got three bunches of flowers at the Giant Eagle, strange flowers that we haven't even identified yet. They're really wonderful and they've brightened things up.

I am very blessed.

Just, God willing, she will never ever get me flowers again because I feel this rotten. The other reason in our marriage for her getting me flowers (or me her) is far and away more pleasant.

My neice on her birthday!

Time carries on;
I guess it always will,
But deep inside my heart
Time stands still.

Years ago, as I would be leaving church, my neice would ask "Would you come over to our house, Uncle Rob?" I was working Medic 1 at the time. When the shift was night turn, I was sleep deprived; 3-11 wasn't much better, and staying would mean a mad dash home to get ready for work. Yet when my neice asked, I almost never said "no."

Stay for awhile.
Well, it's good to see your smile,
And I love your company.
Stay for awhile.
And remember the days gone by;
For a moment it can seem
Just the way it used to be.

I knew that time would pass and that little girl would someday be a young woman on her own, and I'd best be there for her, her sister, and brother for as many of those Sundays as I possibly could. Today, she was not a little girl, but a grown woman with a life, love, and career in another city. She was back in Pittsburgh for all too brief a time.

Time takes its toll,
And time alters our view.
It would be nice to
Spend some time with you.

Happy birthday, kid. We miss you. Thank you for stopping to visit us this Saturday. Know that, though you are normally so far away, you are also in our hearts. We're proud of you (and your siblings). Watching you build your future is amazing, even if you did become an editor, that mortal enemy of us writers everywhere!

Oh, stay for awhile.
Well, it's good to see your smile,
And I love your company.
(Oohhh) Stay for awhile.
And remember the days gone by;
For a moment it can seem
Just the way it used to be.

God bless,

Uncle Rob

Lyrics are from the song "Stay Awhile" by Amy Grant

On the way home from an appointment, Nancy and I decided to stop at Panera and get a bread bowl of onion soup. We both think it's the best thing on the menu. We went up to the cash register; Nancy ordered onion soup, while I ordered onion soup and a coffee. She found us a table, while I got her water and my coffee. I went back up to pick up our soup…and saw two styrofoam bowls with onion soup. A look at the menu revealed that, in fact, you can get onion soup not in a bread bowl. A look at the reciept showed that we had been charged only for onion soup. Crap.

I took the soup over to our table, told Nancy that I would take the two onion soups and get her a bread bowl with onion soup. She protested, but I pointed out that a) this was the only reasonable way for anyone to get a bread bowl, b) I am a diabetic — this was better for me, though there would have been no harm in me getting the bread bowl and c) I'd need more food if I didn't get the bread bowl, so two soups worked out for me.

Honestly, I was bummed. I really, really wanted a bread bowl of onion soup. But this was the most practical solution. On the way up to the counter, it hit me. Sure, there were a lot of reasons I'd done what I'd done, but in the end, I did this simply because I loved Nancy and I would put her needs ahead of mine.

I got to wondering. In the Christian church, there's a lot of debate about a passage in the New Testament concerning submission and marriage:

Submit to one another out of reverence for Christ.

Wives, submit to your husbands as to the Lord. For the husband is the head of the wife as Christ is the head of the church, his body, of which he is the Savior. Now as the church submits to Christ, so also wives should submit to their husbands in everything.

Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her to make her holy, cleansing her by the washing with water through the word, and to present her to himself as a radiant church, without stain or wrinkle or any other blemish, but holy and blameless. In this same way, husbands ought to love their wives as their own bodies. He who loves his wife loves himself. After all, no one ever hated his own body, but he feeds and cares for it, just as Christ does the church— for we are members of his body. "For this reason a man will leave his father and mother and be united to his wife, and the two will become one flesh." This is a profound mystery—but I am talking about Christ and the church. However, each one of you also must love his wife as he loves himself, and the wife must respect her husband.

– Ephesians 5:21-33 (NIV)

Now, some people take the "Submit to one another out of reverence for Christ" to be a summary, and what follows an explication of what it meant to submit. Husbands and wives should submit to one another. While described differently for a different culture, the goal was mutual submission. Others take the first sentence as a general command, but that wives should submit to their husbands, and not the other way around, creating a domestic dictatorship.

Nancy and I, since before we were married, took the first interpretation. You probably guessed that when I used the phrase "domestic dictatorship," didn't you? But as I brought the bowl of onion soup back to the table, I realized that, for me, the interpretation didn't matter. No matter how I interpreted it, my actions would always be the same: I would seek to do what was best for Nancy, to put her interests ahead of my own, to be willing to take the lesser things myself and give her the better things and eat breadless bowls of onion soup so that she could have the bread bowl onion soup. Maybe it's what God requires of us, but that's not why I do it. I do it because she is the love of my life. I want to do these things, even giving up my bread bowls of soup and computerized microscope, because I love her more than I love myself, more than I love any other human.

Submission, at least to us, however it would be interpreted, does not mean being stupid. Nancy's the better engineer. If she says something's not structurally sound, either I pull out the modulus tables and prove mathematically that she's wrong, or I'd better listen to her. If there's a medical question, we go with my judgement. But even in those cases, if I have a funny feeling about something structural, she'll do some extra reinforcing; many are the birds that wound up at the vet because Nancy had a hunch that something was "odd," though I couldn't see it. We acknowledge each other's strengths and concerns.

We're also reasonable. I once saw an article in a 700 Club magazine where someone asked Pat Robertson about submission: her husband wanted her to go out and earn money as a prostitute, and she was questioning as to whether she had to submit. Pat said that, in this case, she didn't have to submit. My own opinion on the matter involved terms like "morons" and "too stupid to live." Perhaps our having IQs greater than a retarded parakeet (the "crested" gene achieves it's appearance by causing brain damage that deforms the skull, causing feathers to stick up in a crest — we no longer breed that mutation) means that we can't understand the situation some people are faced with.

And the thing is, Nancy does the same for me. If it hadn't been for the diabetes thing, who knows? We might have stayed at Panera until we both ate one bread bowl of soup and one that wasn't. One of the few things we fight about is who gets to give up their desires for what the other person wants. Trying to figure out what to do for a date used to be miserable: "What do you want?" "No, what do you want?" Eventually, we figured out that we just had to be honest about our desires and figure out a compromise. You spend a couple date-nights at home trying to insist on doing what the other person wants, you catch on that some things just don't work!

I guess I'm wondering. Is the debate on submission really about the Bible or because the people debating are pathological and have pathological marriages no matter the interpretation? Is the debate about forcing the other person to submit?

And exactly what is it about Nancy and me as a couple? Why is it that we still behave like love-sick teenagers in public and horny teens in private? How is it that, after 30 years of knowing each other, we can't stop talking to each other and playing with ideas together and joking and learning new things? Why is it that, in the middle of the night, one or the other of us will wake up and just marvel that we get to spend our lives with the person sleeping next to us? Why won't another hundred years together be too little?

Is this something we can share with others, or are we a 6 sigma anomaly where the two best people for each other wound up married?

Mind you, I'm not complaining…

This was the grocery list I found on the kitchen table:

bread and bread
creamer and creamer
grapes and grapes

This grocery list might need some explaining. We eat Country Hearth 12 Grain Bread, while some birds on special diets get Pepperidge Farms Nutty Oat Bread. The bread gets used at different rates, but sometimes we run out of both at the same time, especially since running out of one means the other will be used instead. We also keep two kinds of creamer for coffee — powdered regular and Carnation's liquid Coconut Creamer. While watching TV, a healthy snack will be a package of grapes, split among us (with the birds getting one or two each). To simplify things, I get two packs, which is two days worth. These items are fairly standard.

I read this list, chuckled, and called out "Grapes and grapes! What is "grapes"?"

Nancy replied "Oh, no! They've stolen Spock's grapes!"¹ There was a pause, and then she spoke again. "I'm afraid to ask what they'd call a "creamer" on a Vulcan."

I asked Nancy what she would get if she saw "brain and brain" on the grocery list. Without hesitation, she replied "Fresh and frozen cauliflower, of course."

We have fun around here. I'm not sure anyone else could stand us.

1. This is an obvious reference to "Spock's Brain," the worst Star Trek story and possibly the worst story of any TV SF ever. [back]

Yesterday, when I met Floyd for lunch, I got the news that Kate of Kate's Cancer Journey died.

To the best of my memory, I never met Kate except through her blog. I knew her husband from high school, and he and Kate were good friends with Floyd. But somehow, I never met her. A few months after I re-started UnSpace, Floyd mentioned that the only blog he read was Kate's. I started reading it then and found out about what she was going through.

Kate was diagnosed with a vicious form of cancer, leiomyosarcoma, back in January, 2003. Her local oncologist gave up, but Kate and her husband aren't the sorts to give up. She fought. Reading her blog, I believed she would beat this unbeatable cancer through force of personality alone.

She blogged when she could, as much as she could. Her blog was a way of updating people so that she wouldn't have to cover the same ground over and over again. If you read through her blog, you'll note that she was careful to protect herself and her family; I'm continuing with that tradition here at UnSpace, though I obviously know a bit more.

The next to last entry in her blog was mostly wonderful:

The cruise was June 23 - July 2 and I wish it could have lasted forever.

In this life, nothing goes on forever. Kate lost her battle with leiomyosarcoma. She leaves behind a family that loves her and will never forget her, friends that were inspired by her fight, and friends of friends and blog readers and forum folks who will miss her inspiring words.

Bye, Kate. God be with you.

The basic news is, this will take months to resolve. Nothing significant will happen for a long time, apparently. Sigh. Comic book or "A-Team" type