Random Book List by a Bunch of Dinner Guests

I've read maybe three of these?  But the list makes me hungrier than the smell of any fine meal. How I wish I had time for fiction!

Gabriel Garcia Marquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude
Marianne Robinson, Gilead
Jeffrey Eugenides, Middlesex
Ian McEwan, Saturday
Anita Diamante, The Red Tent
David Mitchell, Cloud Atlas
Arundhati Roy, The God of Small Things
Harutie Murakami, The Wind-up Bird Chronicle
Orhan Pamuk, Snow
Edwidge Danticat, Brother I’m Dying
Jhumpa Lahiri, Unaccustomed Earth
Dave Eggers, What is the What?
Jane Smiley, 1000 Acres
Vikram Seth, An Equal Music
Mikhail Bulgakhov, The Master and Margarita
Jose Saramago, Blindness
Oliver Sacks, Musicophila
Oliver Sacks, Uncle Tungsten
Bernd Heinrich, The Snoring Bird 
Lawrence Weschler, Everything that Rises
Annie Proulx, The Shipping News
Michael Ondaatje, Coming Through Slaughter 
Cormac McCarthy, The Road
Richard Powers, The Time of Our Singing

A Viral Internet Sensation from 1999

In 1999, this story was sent to me over email:

THE MIRACLE OF A BROTHER'S SONG

Like any good mother, when Karen found out that another baby was on the way, she did what she could to help her 3 year old son, Michael, prepared for a new sibling. They found out that the new baby was going to be a girl, and day after day, night after night, Michael sang to s little sister in Mommy's tummy.

He was building a bond of love with his little sister before he even met her. The pregnancy progressed normally for Karen, an active member of  the Panther Creek United Methodist Church in Morristown, Tennessee. In time, the labor pains came.

Soon it was every five minutes, every three, every minute.  But serious complications arose during delivery and Karen found herself in hours of labor.  Would a C-section be required?  Finally, after a long struggle, Michael's little sister was born.  But she was in very serious condition.  With a siren howling in the night, the ambulance rushed the infant to the neonatal intensive care unit at St. Mary's Hospital, Knoxville, Tennessee.

The days inched by.  The little girl got worse.  The pediatric specialist regretfully had to tell the parents, "There is very little hope.  Be prepared for the worst."

Karen and her husband contacted a local cemetery about a burial plot. They had fixed up a special room in their home for the new baby but now they found themselves having to plan for a funeral.

Michael, however, kept begging his parents to let him see his sister." I want to sing to her," he kept saying.  Week two in intensive care looked as if a funeral would come before the week was over.

Michael kept nagging about singing to his sister, but kids are never allowed in the Intensive Care.  Karen made up her mind, though.  She would take Michael whether they liked it or not!  If he didn't see his sister right then, he may never see her alive.

She dressed him in an oversized scrub suit and marched him into ICU.  He looked like a walking laundry basket, but the head nurse recognized him as a child and bellowed "Get that kid out of here now!  NO children are allowed!"

The mother rose up strong in Karen, and the usually mild-mannered lady glared steel-eyed right into the head nurse's face, her lips a firm line.  "He is not leaving until he sings to his sister!"  Karen towed Michael to his sister's bedside.  He gazed at the tiny infant losing the battle to live.  After a moment, he began to sing.  In the pure hearted voice of a 3-year-old Michael sang:

"You are my sunshine, my only sunshine,

you make me happy when skies are gray."

Instantly the baby girl seemed to respond.  Her pulse rate began  to calm down and become steady. "Keep on singing, Michael,"  encouraged Karen  with tears in her eyes.

         "You never know, dear, how much I love you.

Please don't  take my sunshine away."

As Michael sang to his sister, the baby's ragged, strained breathing became as smooth as a kitten's purr.  "Keep on singing, sweetheart!!"

          "The other night, dear, as I lay sleeping, 

           I dreamed I held you in my hands..."

Michael's little sister began to relax as rest, healing rest, seemed to sweep over her.

"Keep on singing, Michael."  Tears had now conquered the face of the bossy head nurse.  Karen glowed.

          "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.    

Please don't take my sunshine away...."

The next, day ... the very next day ... the little girl was well enough to go home!

Women's Day Magazine" called it "The Miracle of a Brother's Song."  The medical staff just called it a miracle. Karen called it a miracle of God's love!

Never give up on the people you love.  Love is so incredibly powerful. Please send this to all the people that have touched your life in some way.  To the world you may be one person, but to one person you may be the world!

*****

 I was inspired to write the following:

THE NON-MIRACLE OF SCIENCE

Like most biologists, Professor Schlump was committed to the scientific method. In teaching his classes, he insisted that students learn about evidence, observation, experimentation and hypotheses.  In his pathology courses, he put a great emphasis on the germ theory. Unless he could explain the curative powers scientifically, he refused to give credit to alternative medicine, except for the placebo effect. 

Professor Schlump was a lonely man.  He had few friends, no family; in fact, all he really had was science.  He was often depressed.  One day a student, Maggie, came to see him.  She had never been a particularly good student, but she was a kind person.  Maggie told him a moving story she received over the internet about a baby who had serious complications and was near death, until her 3-year old brother sang to her. As a result of her brother's singing, she relaxed, recovered and survived. 

The professor saw how shallow his life of science really was.  He recognized the importance of having family members who sing to you.  His whole life changed! He got married, had children and taught them to sing.  In his medical school classes, he became far more accepting of alternative medicine.  In fact, he became less rigid about science.  Far more people passed his courses and went on to become doctors.  One of these was Maggie, who had touched his life.

A few years later the professor was ill with a brain tumor.  He was not yet an old man, and since he had only recently become happy he desperately wanted to live. He went to the surgeon and was overjoyed to see it was Maggie!  She agreed to do the delicate and complicated procedure to remove the tumor.  When the day came, she arrived in the operating room before they gave him the anesthesia. She leaned over, and through her mask sang to the professor, "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine." Professor Schlump was comforted, relaxed and happy to have such a caring doctor. 

Unfortunately, Maggie had never been a good student and she wasn't a very good doctor. The surgery was not successful and Schlump died. Probably if he hadn't given her a passing grade she wouldn't have been a doctor, but she was and it killed him.

Never give up on the scientific method.  It is incredibly powerful.  Please send this message to anyone who ever touched your life through critical thinking, even if he is a very lonely, boring person.  It may not be heartwarming, but science can save your life!

No Taxes on Chocolate

What about this thing I heard on the BBC this morning?  A suggestion to impose vice taxes on chocolate, like cigarettes and alcohol!  Listen up world:  it's time to stop thinking of chocolate as a bad thing.  All these recipes called "chocolate sin" and the like; they've got to stop.  

Chocolate is a blessed form of grace, nearly wide enough to qualify as a common grace.   Taken at the right times, it can almost transform us and bring us into a new hope.  

Celebrating the Year of Calvin

What with Poe's, Darwin's and Lincoln's 200th birthdays, Americans just haven't focused on the opportunity provided by John Calvin's 500th anniversary, coming up in July.  Good thing that the Dutch are taking the lead on planning the festivities.  But, what sort of festivities does one plan for John Calvin?  Either one doesn't see much reason to celebrate him or one doesn't celebrate much at all. It's a conundrum. 

A Dutch colleague sent me news about the anti-celebration commemoration.  It was drawn by an artist named Kamagurka and published in the NRC Handlesblad (a Rotterdam newspaper) on January 15th of this year.

That's John Calvin above, wearing his usual hat. The text is in Dutch. (It's always been a bit of an embarrassment to some people that Calvin didn't speak Dutch; his Frenchness was an historical accident.)  As stern as ever, here's what he says:  "Above all else, don't celebrate!"  

English-speaking world: you heard it here first.

Apologies for any copyright infringements.  It was too good not to steal.  My depravity made me do it.

Obama's First Inaugural

I've never anticipated a speech before. What will he say? I'm no expert; so therefore, I can say unequivocally that the best inaugural ever was Lincoln's second. Here's a reminder:

One-eighth of the whole population were colored slaves, not distributed generally over the Union, but localized in the southern part of it. These slaves constituted a peculiar and powerful interest. All knew that this interest was somehow the cause of the war. To strengthen, perpetuate, and extend this interest was the object for which the insurgents would rend the Union even by war, while the Government claimed no right to do more than to restrict the territorial enlargement of it. Neither party expected for the war the magnitude or the duration which it has already attained. Neither anticipated that the cause of the conflict might cease with or even before the conflict itself should cease. Each looked for an easier triumph, and a result less fundamental and astounding. Both read the same Bible and pray to the same God, and each invokes His aid against the other. It may seem strange that any men should dare to ask a just God's assistance in wringing their bread from the sweat of other men's faces, but let us judge not, that we be not judged. The prayers of both could not be answered. That of neither has been answered fully. The Almighty has His own purposes. "Woe unto the world because of offenses; for it must needs be that offenses come, but woe to that man by whom the offense cometh." If we shall suppose that American slavery is one of those offenses which, in the providence of God, must needs come, but which, having continued through His appointed time, He now wills to remove, and that He gives to both North and South this terrible war as the woe due to those by whom the offense came, shall we discern therein any departure from those divine attributes which the believers in a living God always ascribe to Him? Fondly do we hope, fervently do we pray, that this mighty scourge of war may speedily pass away. Yet, if God wills that it continue until all the wealth piled by the bondsman's two hundred and fifty years of unrequited toil shall be sunk, and until every drop of blood drawn with the lash shall be paid by another drawn with the sword, as was said three thousand years ago, so still it must be said "the judgments of the Lord are true and righteous altogether."

Obama has cultivated his connection with Lincoln, notably in his victory speech. Next month sees that Great Soul's bicentennial, so he's sure to feature in the 2009 inaugural address. But what will this senator from Illinois say in his inauguration? Will he make a play to match the best of Lincoln? If so, it has to be an entirely different kind of speech. Lincoln's second inaugural is too dark for the early twenty-first century. Americans think of themselves as victims of Bush, of Islamicists, of Wall Street, of anyone but themselves. We would take great umbrage at the thought of any repayments with our own blood.

Lincoln was a famous melancholic. Obama built his political career on hope. So I'm betting that the similarities with the message Lincoln's second inaugural will be limited. We'll get a great speech on Hope. But can a speech on hope light a candle to Lincoln's second inaugural? Don't get me wrong; I'm all for hope. I'll stay home to watch it and probably mist up. But what I don't know yet is how Obama will remind Americans of their own responsibilities. What of righteous judgments? Of the possibility that we ourselves will be judged?

I have hope for our new President. After what we've been through, that's not so hard. But I'm wondering how he and America will grapple with melancholic realities.

Redtails in Winter

Walking home shortly after New Year's, campus was deserted. It was extremely cold. No students, no little animals, no traffic. I heard this odd, high cry, repeated and repeated. At the corner I saw two redtails up the block landing on a fire escape. I was the only person there. No wonder the squirrels were hiding. All this for me alone? Should I wave down passers by?

The crying bird was on the lower railing, back flat, head up, begging. It didn't look young, but acted it. The mother (I presume) was a flight up, impervious, only now and then flapping. So bitter & still, except for the baby's cries! I watched for a while. Two passing cars slowed. One pedestrian joined me. The baby persisted, the mother was unmoved. Eventually, she raised her huge wings and flew. The baby stayed, but now had no reason to beg. I moved on.

Later, I saw her on a chimney. The next day, I saw one flying high above the green. Yesterday a graduate student phoned to say one was on a street near campus, perched low in a tree, watching humans hunt for parking spaces.

The City of New York

We went to New York after New Year's. When we arrived a Penn Station and emerged onto 7th Ave, Daisy said, "Is
this New York City?" I said, "Yes, Daisy, this is New York City." A newspaper vendor heard us and interjected: "No, THIS is the City of New York." It was said with pride and warmth, a welcome. It reminded me of the humanity I always encounter there, in the busyness and among the crowds. I like seeing how New Yorkers live with many, many others and still retain their humor and generosity.