We are not the rational animal but the rationalizing one

My title comes from a comment by Hugo Pottisch on Megan McArdle's blog at The Atlantic. Love the comments here, Megan is somewhat provocative, but her readers are erudite and interesting. They always give me something to think about. Lately I've been puzzling over the environmentalist thing in my head and although I'm against creating false dichotomies, the whole collectivism vs. individualism lens is useful here. I'm glad to see the societal swing toward doing what's right for the planet. I've begun buying my reusable grocery bags that are now available everywhere, but I feel like a disinterested observer in the process. I feel like an old woman sitting back with a stale lament, "Why didn't we do it in the 1970s when we were lined up to buy gas? We knew then we tying the economic knot with middle east oil." Is it about the environment or about the economy? Of course it's about both, with tons of political interest thrown in to keep everyone watching their backs. That's the end of one nonsensical rant.

Tomorrow I go to see my folks for my sister's birthday celebration. Poor thing, born so near Christmas. I always felt her birthday was tagged on to Christmas somehow--the final gift I would buy. My sister and I, while not enemies, are not friends. She and I rarely talk when not with my folks. Buying her a gift is a minor mine field which I may avoid with an Amazon gift certificate. Visiting with my parents and my siblings at the holidays provokes all the old insecurities and few of the joys of when we were children. Don't worry, I don't think I'm unique in this. Holiday family duty looms on the list of must-dos at Christmas. This shrink says 68% of us look forward to such gatherings with dread. I'd say it's a mix of pleasure and dread--or at least apprehension-- for 90+% of people I know.

So, what am I rationalizing this season? I am manufacturing lame excuses for still having piles of grading to deal with (Jan 8, 2008 deadline seems a year away), much housework that must be done (my daughters will pitch in and we'll knock it out just in time), shopping not yet complete (they have those tacky generic gift sets at the 24 hour Wal-Mart close by), and not having sent a single Christmas card (New Year's personal letters are better).

Ready for a stress-free holiday in your house? I wish you peace and joy in the big picture, no matter how muddled the circumstances seem close up.

Little known things

I'm working on a book report of sorts, but so far it bores me. Here are a few little known things about me:

1. When I was three I told adults I wanted to grow up to be the Dancing Bear from Captain Kangaroo. The video here came out about 12 years after I coveted the job and I don't remember that hideous soundtrack. I can almost recapture the magic if I leave the sound off. Don't laugh.
2. I can't whistle. It broke my heart when I was twelve, but I finally gave up trying. It gives my kids something to tease me about.
3. I decided that writing was important to me in the 2nd grade when I did an "extra credit" book report that the teacher allowed me to read to the class.
4. For most of my childhood I thought I would study law. After 12 years in the classroom, I love teaching more than I would ever have imagined.
5. I am a pacifist, but married a hawkish Navy man. Over the years (28) I've become a shifting moderate, a category I find includes most folks I know.
6. My daughters are the first girls in my husband's family in three generations. Before they were born, I was told to expect only sons. I was happy with that, not loving the idea of raising girls to discover the realities of being female. Now my daughters are among my best friends.
7. I have started the same novel six times. It's still brewing.

Now that I read them again, I don't know how little known some of this stuff is, but I did manage to get to seven.

Tiny "leather" jacket

Many of my students will be participating in the Dupont Challenge. They needed some help to get started as the science teacher told them about it yesterday and their deadline is 1.9.2008, the day after we return to school--interesting, since the website says the deadline is 1.28.2008, but that rant is another post. I came across Bioartists' Flesh Sculptures when using another story from NPR. It seems they're growing art in the labs now. I pulled up a few more images while we listened.

I think Stuart Little really wants that little jacket. He wouldn't call it leather, though. It would be his flesh jacket. He would require a flesh fedora to go with it.

More serious science that caught my eye: Fever-autism link. Can't think of a snappy comment to go with this, but it's amazing.

My truth this time

What? my sensible self says, You've created yet another place to think into your fingers without any real plan or purpose? And you have an insider to recruit an audience? Yes, and I'm starting with the postmodern taboo of truth. You really gonna start with that topic? Hell no, I'm just using it to get in, and affirm that whatever ends up here is just a window into my truth--more likely many small truths.

Surreal moment of my week thus far: Last night my family and I went out to see the Christmas lights. Family here equals my girls, Mariel and Sarah (19 and 21), Mariel's boyfriend, James, and my husband, DG. Not a big deal, really we just went to see James's parents' house. Seems they're prizewinners in their little 'burb. James was telling us about improvements until we just had to see it even though it was after ten and pushing hard on my bedtime. It was impressive; the new addition is a series of arches over the driveway built of PVC and wrapped with lights. We smiled and sighed and headed home. The surreal moment coming up. After listening to my girls repeatedly trade the same four measures of "Carol of the Bells" that they play on one of the jewelry ads, I got us singing "Angels We have Heard on High," the only carol we can reliably sing in harmony. We're making a kind of music as we pass the street where we generally turn. It's blocked with a police car, and a flatbed trailer with two cars on it; several other cars and another police car are just behind it. We all turn and look with well-stretched necks in a slo-mo unison motion as we sing "Gl-o-o--o-o--o-o-o--o-ria..." The officer stands close to two young people. They look dazed and strangely amused in the second I manage to focus on faces. I wonder if it was more than one second.

We finished the song. Sarah gave her sister a rough time and then singing tips when she heard Mariel singing "Gl-o-o--o-o--o-o-o-glo-ria." All day today I've thought about blue lights flashing, our commonplace voyeuristic gazes and the familiar glory to God in the highest sounding strangely alien in my ears.