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.

...And Night Falls

One of the best things about getting immersed in a story is, well, getting immersed in a story. The weekend I read Tommie Lyn’s new book, the weather here was sunny and maybe 70 degrees. Mid-way through my reading, however, my house felt like it was 99 with 100% humidity, the result of a Gulf Coast hurricane knocking out the electricity. (Seattle isn't usually affected by Florida storms, but...) I wanted to close the book and dig out my emergency supplies, but couldn't tear myself away from the story.

…And Night Falls is a story of secrets and murder, set in the Florida panhandle in late summer. If you’re susceptible to the thrill of suspense, don’t read this when you’re all alone. The characters have depth, the plot has twists, and a cross-country hide-and-seek game will raise your heart rate.

It amazes me that Tommie Lyn has been writing seriously for less than four years. This novel is well constructed in every way, and she’s just warming up! Look for more armrest-gripping books from her soon, but be careful. She’s got a gift for suspense!

…And Night Falls is but one piece of Tommie Lyn's fine work. For a link to purchase the book and to read her other material, click here. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Memorial Day Photos

Okay, here goes... Let's see how this turns out:

Yeah! It works! I probably haven't used the best methods to get here, but it's a start.

All right, so on Memorial Day I found myself with some time to spare. Wanting to try out the new camera phone, I headed for a little old cemetery in a nearby town. There are huge trees surrounding this cemetery, giving it just a little buffer from the traffic. There's also a beautiful fence around it, but I'm sure the fence isn't nearly as old as either the trees or the headstones.

When I pulled into the gravel parking lot, there were two ladies putting flowers on the headstones. One of them was dwarfed by her aluminum walker. The other, younger, might have been her daughter. They made their way slowly to each of the graves, marking them with single flowers and respectful moments.

I didn't want to intrude, so I began by walking around the perimeter of the yard, taking photos of the trees. Within a couple of minutes, however, my attention was on the mossy granite stones. When I moved around to the front of a row, I was surprised to see the inscriptions.

A Japanese cemetery! There were a few whites buried there, too, but most of the headstones were either Japanese calligraphy or American spellings of Japanese names. The iris left by the ladies was that much more stately and perfect, then.

I love old things. Maybe they give me a sense of security, of endurance. Maybe the classic styling and craftsmanship are what captivate me. In any case, it's the aged stuff that gives comfort to my heart. Architecture, furniture, and the oldest of all, God's creation, are feasts to my eyes and soul.

Coming Soon -- Better Photos!

We've got good news and bad news. Shall we dispense with the bad news first? Actually, the bad news is mostly over now. We didn't have an Internet connection for about a week, so there was no blogging. The good news is that, thanks to a son who upgraded his phone and some creative trading between family members, I now have a GOOD camera phone! It's not the best camera out there, but it's so much better than the free phone I'd had for two years. The photos are fantastic, and I can't wait to share them here... as soon as I learn how to get them off the phone.

The other big thing I've had to learn this week is how to use the new-fangled predictive text tool. I was used to spelling out every word, letter by letter, not using the T9 or whatever it was that was available on my old phone. But this new device has a better system -- and a QWERTY keyboard, too. Argh! The first few days of texting were painful, but I'm getting the hang of it now. I've got to remember to proofread my texts before sending, though. There are a few words that use the exact same keystrokes ("are" and "see", for example) and a message could be meaningless if not corrected. You know, my sons hang on my every word, whether spoken or texted. Yep.

I'll work on the photo thing this weekend, and hopefully will be able to put up some good stuff for you, my loyal reader.

Alternate title for this post: Teaching the Old Dog.

Dr. G Was Right

It's not stress. It's not simply fatigue. And the typeface in my little Bible didn't suddenly change.

I bought my first pair of readers yesterday.

After weeks of mucking around, squinting, and finding better light, I finally had to admit that it would be better to use a little magnification. So much for trying to make my sons say that I seem like I'm 29. (That only worked for a couple of weeks, anyway. Darn boys are too smart for my own good.)

A number of years ago, I lost my sense of smell. Although it had been noticeably fading and changing, it was terrible when I finally lost it entirely. A sinus infection was the fatal blow. I remember standing in the shower, lathering my hair, sobbing because I couldn't smell the shampoo. I opened spice jars in the kitchen, practically snorting cinnamon and cloves, to no avail. I pleaded with God to let me smell again. I mourned all that I would miss out on in life.

Because I know you're already forming these questions, here's more information. There is a family history of anosmia, and I have been seen by an otolaryngologist. There are no tumors or marbles up there blocking the olfactory receptors.

In the bigger scheme of things, it matters not at all that I cannot smell or that I need a little help to read fine print. Once you adjust to a loss, life goes on and there's a new normal. But that period of adjustment can be difficult, and sometimes I still have to remind people that I'm not experiencing things the same way. I've had a number of years of living without smell, and it's okay. So, once I learn to keep a pair of glasses nearby, I'll put them on before I open a book.


Rufus is totally clueless about aging, but Blackie understands. She and I agree not to disparage our gray hairs. "RIGHT, BLACKDOG? WE'RE OKAY WITH THAT, AREN'T WE?" (She's not hearing so well these days.) And my optometrist (Dr. G) knew what he was talking about when he suggested that I'd be making this change soon.