Japanese Braille

One of the photos the guys sent from Japan features *authentic* Japanese Braille. I can read American Braille, so I pored over this particular photo to see what I could decipher.

Braille usually consists of combinations of up to six dots per cell, arranged like a vertical six-pack. There are different degrees of difficulty in Braille. Grade One spells out everything letter by letter. People who read this level only have to know the alphabet and punctuation. Grade Two Braille uses a number of short forms for common words or word parts. For example, "and", "the", "ed", "ar", "ing", and "for" each have their own distinct one-cell short forms. There are other signs to indicate "capital", "numeral" and each bit of punctuation.

So, what did I discover about this photo? The short answer is... nothing. The Japanese short forms are, well, Japanese.

But you get bonus points if you can figure out where they boys took the picture. You know, in general terms. Click on the photo to enlarge.

A Picture's Worth...

...a thousand words? I'm speechless.

Japan Team

My camera isn't the greatest, nor is the photographer, but here's a photo taken early this morning when the guys met at the church to head for the airport and points West. They look amazingly awake for 6 a.m.! (And, by keeping the photo rather indistinct, I can get away with not paying them any royalties for the use of their likenesses.)


Here's their blog, where they hope to post interesting encounters during the trip.

Who Says You Can't Shoot a Moving Target?

Son #2 leaves for Japan tomorrow, so I forced the boys to gather in the back yard for a thirty-second photo shoot. Somebody (me) had the bright idea to include the dogs, but Blackie refused to go to the way-back part of the yard and then we used up Rufus's patience. So, here we go with stiffly-posed boys and one dog at a time. Such is life.


And, just to show relative heights, one standing-up-without-a-dog photo.

Quiet Places

I've had occasion to drive in the valley quite regularly this spring. My favorite road is the former north-south "highway" along the valley's western edge. Part of the route is snugged right up against the hill, with marshland on the other side. Few houses, lots of trees and fields and grasses, and quiet.

Stop me if you've heard this one... Before I was born, my grandparents bought a farmhouse, acreage, and several beach lots on a small bay in Puget Sound. My aunt and uncles on both sides of the family ended up owning a beach lot and some woods, and most of them built cabins or homes there. My family spent every summer weekend at The Beach.

My childhood (before the age of 12 and a half) was not stressful, but I loved that drive from Tacoma to The Beach. It started with traffic and lots of people, but gradually I-5 calmed down and there were the Nisqually Flats to enjoy. Once we turned onto Highway 101, it was mostly trees and fields and estuaries and quiet. A short stretch of downtown smalltown, and then onto the highway along the bay. If my eyes could leave the road without inducing carsickness, I'd steal a few quick glances across the water to our place.

When we reached the foot of the bay, we'd turn up the hill and across country to the other side. There were lots of interesting homes along the way, with the typical range of country un-kemptness and occasional neatness. Old cars, refrigerators, a beaver dam swamp, a miniature railroad layout, a boulder painted "Dad's Kidney Stone". Another estuary, and then our little road. Home.

Years later, after the last of the property had been sold, my Aunt Margret commented on how much that place had meant to all of us. She added, "I hope each of you has a piece of The Beach inside you." Even though we didn't own it any more, she knew we needed the peace we'd felt there.

Well, Aunt Margret, you're right. I need the feeling of openness and quiet I get from visiting scenes like the one above. I am so thankful that I can drive just a few minutes and get to meadows and wetlands like this. Even if all I do is pass by, it fills my heart-space again. And whenever I hear a Swainson's thrush calling in the trees, it takes me back to that A-frame cabin at The Beach.



Happy birthday, Dad.

Seedlings to Sculptures -- Organically

What's the difference between a sapling and a shapely maple? Size, yes. Strength, of course. Beauty. Complexity. I've spent considerable time studying huge old trees with tangled branches, but almost no time appreciating the straight growth of a newbie.

One of my writer friends said this in a recent post:

I'm learning that God's miracles aren't magic tricks, and that He works much more organically than I'd prefer. Instantaneous success doesn't seem to interest Him that much - not when He can accomplish so much more by a long obedience in the same direction. -- Pastor Michael Scott

There have been a lot of circumstances in my life that haven't gone according to my preferences. There are some big ones today that aren't moving in the direction I would choose. But I'm committed to walk in obedience and faith, as much as I can, and I'll wait for the payoff to come later.

Paul said--
And not only this, but we also exult in our tribulations, knowing that tribulation brings about perseverance; and perseverance, proven character; and proven character, hope; and hope does not disappoint, because the love of God has been poured out within our hearts through the Holy Spirit who was given to us.

The beauty of a big, complicated maple tree is its balance. The branches go this way and that, but the general outline is pleasingly round. From a distance, it's a massive bulk. Up close, the interplay of criss-crossed branches is fascinating. It's worth waiting a few years -- a couple of decades -- for the tree to develop.

I think life is like that. Although I admire the energy and action of youth, it's amazing to hear the wisdom that comes from a long life well-lived. Experience, strength, and hope are the fruit of maturity, and I hope I'm growing in that general direction. Despite the tangledness of my branches.