Front Seat Responsibility

When I was little maybe 7 or 8 I remember sitting in the front passenger's seat of the van late at night.  I had specifically been chosen for passenger duty. My mom was driving, and we were somewhere between Massachusetts and Utah. I was chattering away and my mom, her voice tired, said "I've got to stop I'm getting too sleepy."
"But," I said, "wasn't I doing a good job talking."
"Oh it's not your fault. It's just too late."
That allayed my fears somewhat but I was still kind of sad that I hadn't been able to keep my mom awake.

This week I went on a long car trip. Two days one way. I was in the front seat the first day and felt an obligation to converse with the driver. I thoroughly enjoyed the conversation but I know I talked more and shared more than I normally would have if I hadn't felt that duty to entertain the driver. The next day and the two coming back I was sitting in the back and I didn't feel that responsibility so keenly, although I have to admit I was a little disturbed how little the passenger seat occupants didn't seem to worry about it at all.
At first I was really confused how this almost inherent feeling of duty could be apparently nonexistent in so many others but then I realized a couple of things:
1) I've probably done a lot more long road trips than most people.
2) I was taught about it explicitly when I was little.
3) The others in the car that did understand passenger duty choose not to sit in the front because they wanted to avoid the responsibility.

Polishing Shoes

I was just polishing my shoes and my roommate asked "Is that how you polish shoes like in real life?"

"Yes, yes it is."

I polish my leather shoes the old school way with a rag and shoe polish that comes in a tin and a brush (except I don't have one). I know most people now don't use shoe polish anymore. They either have shoes that don't need shoe polish or they use the "fake" version or they just don't polish their shoes, not bothering to put in the effort.

My dad taught me how to polish shoes. I remember as a little girl following him excitedly to his bedroom where we would spread newspapers around us as we sat crosslegged on the floor. I remember putting my hand in his big shoe and lifting it up. Getting the crumbling black polish all over my hands and watching with excitement as he buffed the polished shoe and the matte black suddenly became glossy. 

My mom tells stories about how when she was a girl it was her chore every Saturday to line up her families Sunday shoes and polishing them all, all ten pairs.

I have also heard quite a few talks and thoughts that tie in spiritual ideas to polishing shoes. 

I like how peaceful it is to sit there and rub the polish into the leather and put that little effort into maintaining something that has served me well. 

So to me polishing shoes is tied up with a bunch of seemingly unrelated ideas and thoughts:

• Quality time with my Dad
• Peace
• Service
• Keeping the Sabbath Day Holy
• Heritage
• Renewal

How often do we end up associating menial tasks with deeper feelings, emotions, stories, etc.

Being Prepared

I started a master's program this week. A masters program in a subject I don't have much of a background in. In fact I have three main classes: GIS for engineers, Principles of Learning and Vertebrate Paleontology. All three of them are based in different departments: Civil Engineering, Informational Psychology and Technology (whatever that means) and Geology. Out of those three I've only taken classes in geology and they were fairly basic.
At first all I could think was "I have no background in any of these how am I going to survive." As I went through this first week I found it interesting how often I remembered things from other experiences I've had. I was more prepared than I thought.
Here are a few examples:
Working with GIS. 
I met a couple of time with a group after classes to discuss GIS in my senior year at college.
Working with GIS layers.
Working with layers in Gimp and other art programs.
Understanding Vector and Raster data.
Doing pixel and vector art and understanding the strengths and weaknesses of each.
Being in a class that discusses psychology and learning philosophies.
Attending a histories and theories class in anthropology.
Talking about dinosaurs and geologic time depth.
Reading a dinosaur text book to be ready for the class I'm TAing.

Anyway. I just found it fascinating how I was fairly prepared despite not having the background in the specific departments.
Perhaps it isn't that surprising but all the same it is interesting how things that don't at first seem like they would be relevant can be. Maybe that's why a holistic view of life makes so much sense. Just because we pigeonhole ideas it doesn't mean that they really are entirely separate. I mean who thought doing art would prepare me for an engineering class.

Silence

Not long ago I had a friend tell me something that I wasn't positive I understood.
She said that on days when she mostly worked by herself than she had a harder time making the effort of being social in the evening (or whenever) but on days that she worked with people all day long it was easier to be social at night too.
For the last couple of years I have, for the most part, spent all my time by myself or only with a small group of unvarying people (mostly family). Sometimes when I was by myself for inordinate amounts of time than I was more eager for conversation than ever.
I moved to an apartment this week and have been surrounded by strangers, and what my friend said suddenly made more sense. When I have been unsocial all day it is far more difficult to put forth the effort into being social, but I think the reason I didn't understand before is because it wasn't really that much of an effort to be social with my family. That's not nearly as hard as trying to be social with strangers. Which really isn't surprising but I guess I just hadn't thought about it before.

Freedom

This is a short story I wrote some time ago (right after high school maybe) but I was thinking about it recently, so here it is even though it's long (for a post not for a story). I still like it even though it has a bit of an odd subdued flavor.

Freedom

Two men strode down the nondescript hallway. One in front, one behind. One a prisoner, the other free.

Passing many precisely labeled doors they finally entered one of the small bright rooms. The door stated that it was the “Enemy leader as Prisoner Debriefing Station.”

Several minutes later, several more militarily precise men entered the room, the same stern expression on each face.

* * *

“Lieutenant, how are you?” said the prisoner as they walked down the hallway once again.

“What difference, sir, does it make?” The Lieutenant spoke mockingly. Whether at himself or his companion it was hard to tell.

“Quite a bit, actually.” said the prisoner “As my captor, and companion, to my next place of residence you have quite a bit of power over me, and that power may be used positively or negatively, which often depends on your own disposition at the present time.”

The Lieutenant remained unmoved, his only answer was a slow blink that suggested a plea for patience.

At the end of the hall was a set of glass doors flanked by security cameras and guards. Natural sunlight entered unquestioned at the door, and glinted on a small paper clip lying on the floor. The quick-eyed prisoner noticed it and barely lost his stride as he reached down to pick it up.

“Eyes front, feet forward, sir.” the Lieutenant reprimanded, but made no move to stop the prisoner's attaching the paper clip to the collar of his shirt.

They left the building, blinking in the sunlight. A prisoner transport hovercraft awaited them, they climbed in, followed by two two sets of guards in a small patrol ship, manned by several more soldiers.

* * *

“Why?”

“Why, what Lieutenant?” the prisoner returned. It was the first time the Lieutenant had initiated any interaction.

“Well, what did you hope to accomplish by your rebellion?”

The prisoner paused, “Freedom, the same thing as most revolutionaries.”

“We are free.”

“So you say, we are like instruments. Free to do anything... anything our musician chooses to do with us.” The captive rejoined.

“If you feel free, you are.”

“Are you sure? Besides, I didn't 'feel' free.”

The Lieutenant looked out the window for a moment, and then replied. “It's not freedom. Even if there isn't force or threats – or blackmail.”

“I certainly don't think so, sir.”

Both drifted off into silence, their own thoughts far away from the hovercraft winging its way towards its destination.

* * *

Still aboard the hovercraft a sudden alarm broke the silence. The Lieutenant half slid across the seat to the small door that connected to the cockpit.

“What's going on?”

“I'm not sure, Sir.”

“Find out then!”

The pilot quickly checked several gauges as the craft lurched alarmingly.

The young pilot reported; “We're losing power, Sir.” A green light flashed across the screen. “Auto-pilot has shut down.”

Flung against the window with another lurch the prisoner found himself staring at an endless sea. The windblown swells looking disturbingly close to the small craft. He was separated from them by less then a meter of Plexiglas and air.

Another lurch and the nose of the craft dipped into the water. With no other warning all three passengers were launched skyward, flung up and out of the hovercraft by the automatic ejection seats.

Next thing the three knew they were plummeting downward into the sea below. In three enormous splashes they made contact with the water once again. What breath they had left was knocked out of them completely as their safety harnesses inflated painfully fast.

Gasping for air, the three tread water as they watched the unmanned hovercraft weave its drunken way for a while and then disappear beyond the horizon.

The prisoner removed his boots and hastily tore off his belt, lightened considerably he began to search the sky. Seeing only unreachable clouds be glanced back at his companions bobbing in the ocean. The young pilot still stared disconsolately at the spot where his craft had disappeared from view. The Lieutenant had other things on his mind however. He looked at first one charge and then the other, and then along the horizon.

“Can you swim?”

The prisoner answered in the affirmative, the pilot only nodded hesitantly.

“We go this way.” The Lieutenant said as he set off in futile pursuit of the drunken hovercraft.

“You. Between us!” he added gesturing to the prisoner.

After several minutes the prisoner, noticing that the pilot seemed to be gulping more water then air, ventured a question.

“Where are we heading? I think it's best if we make land soon.”

“Doesn't matter. It's our duty to follow the ship.”

“I'm supposed to go down with my ship.” gulped the pilot.

“So, it's our duty to die?” the prisoner asked sarcastically. “My life is worth more than that, and I think yours are too, even if you don't think so.” Pointing at a bird flying dark against the sky the prisoner continued “That's a land bird, I think, let's go that way and he started towards it without a backwards glance. He soon left his bewildered companions behind as he struck out strongly.

The Lieutenant's eyes shifted from his prisoner's departing back to his companions exhausted face. He wanted to live too. Besides he rationalized, his companion would need help soon, and he could not keep control of the prisoner and the pilot by himself. His decision made, he gestured to the pilot and they both struck out after the prisoner, and towards land.

* * *

Dragging themselves and their companion on shore with a last final effort the prisoner and the Lieutenant lay wearily on the sand, the young pilot unconscious between them.

“Thank you.”

Too exhausted to reply the prisoner just gave a faint nod.

* * *

As the recently captured leader of a group of guerrilla fighters the prisoner was used to odd situations, and living a rough life. He was the first to revive. After making a fire with some drift wood and patience the prisoner began to ask questions.

“What do we have? Empty your pockets, anything of use, put it here,” he said gesturing at a place within the fire's glow. The now conscious pilot began to empty his pockets wordlessly. Out came a waterlogged health bar, pocket lint, and a mass of soggy notes.

The Lieutenant did not comply so easily. “What we need is a way to contact our former guard ships. They're probably the closest people. I don't have anything of the kind now that my communication device was fried in the salt water. Besides, you are still a state prisoner.”

“You are the one that volunteered us to death. I'm about life, so quit arguing, those guard ships are probably long gone and your hovercraft is probably still going out there so no one watching the tracking devices will go out looking for us. Yet.” Locking eyes the prisoner silently challenged the Lieutenant as he pulled the paper clip off his collar and put it in the small pile, he also tore off the useless buttons that adorned the front of his shirt.

Used to taking orders from people who acted like they knew what they were doing the Lieutenant weakened, besides logic told him the prisoner was right. He unlatched the communication device from his waist, and added it to the pile. Reaching into his pants pockets he pulled out several coins. He took a mechanical pencil, and pen from a breast pocket, marveling that they had stayed in place throughout the exertions of the day.

The prisoner stared at their small pile, absently stirring the objects with a forefinger.

“Yeah, I agree, what the heck can we do with that?” the Lieutenant made one last jab.

The remark was entirely ignored by the one he had aimed it at. The young pilot on the other hand, gave him a look of fear or worry, making the Lieutenant wish he had said nothing at all.

* * *

A couple of days later the three stranded men were once again around the fire. It looked more like a camp now. Palm fronds had been placed over several branches leaning against a rock to make a crude shelter and a turtle shell filled with water stood close by. The prisoner's discarded buttons were stuck to a wide frond leaf shimmering in the slight wind and setting sun. The men's appearances however did not look better for their rough existence. All three sported beards, and sand and grime now seemed a permanent part of their clothing.
As the days passed the pilot and Lieutenant had begun to look unquestioningly at the prisoner for help. They would not have been able to make shelter or provide food for themselves without his help and guidance. He was always able to make what they needed from their surroundings. Even though the proper or suitable equipment was never around.
This night the pilot was staring out at the ocean, he reveled in the new freedom he had on the island. Although limited by geography he had never been able to do whatever he wanted before. Now, he realized, he had been contained, not by bonds, but by ways of thought. He remembered only being six or seven when he had been "caught" playing with a football -the wrong way. He had been trying to spin it like a top. He was punished for using it the wrong way.
Lying comfortably under the palm frond shelter the Lieutenant's thoughts shifted from his happy childhood to his pressured adult life, and finally to the meaning of duty.
The prisoner sat a little way off tinkering with the materials that had not yet been used from that first night. After a sudden movement he laughed,
"I got it!" His two companions turned to stare at him.
"Look at this guys!" He held up the Lieutenant's communicator device a few inches. Dangling from the bottom of it was the paper clip, now straightened and broken in half, attached to a piece of pencil lead and a coin, each was stuck into the skin of a tropical fruit.
"This battery won't last long, but we'll be able to make contact." The two men looked incredulously back at their excited companion.
"I know it looks a little haphazard, but I'm pretty sure it will work." He defended himself.
"Here Lieutenant, give it a shot."
The Lieutenant got to his feet and moved a palm frond out of the way before he advanced. His eyes met the prisoner's, who passed the device to the Lieutenant, careful not to upset the tentative wiring.
The prisoner gave a final, determined nod, and the Lieutenant looked down at the the device he held. The pilot looked on, uncomprehending.
The screen flickered and flashed to life, The Lieutenant pressed a few buttons then appeared to get through.
"Yes, this is Lieutenant Marks, the prisoner is still in my hands. Yes, the hovercraft malfunctioned. Yes, we need to be picked up." And then with another blink the screen flickered off and the device was once again just metal and plastic, and a haphazard fruit battery.
"That's it then. We'll be found. Their GPS will have tracked the device to the island."
The pilot hung his head, the Lieutenant turned quickly towards the ocean, and the prisoner sat down suddenly.
"Why? Why'd you do it?" the pilot asked quietly.
The prisoner shook his head. "My people still need me."
"You'll still be a state prisoner." And then as an after thought the pilot turned to the Lieutenant, "won't he?"
"Duty," the Lieutenant murmured to himself. And then he spoke a definitive "Yes," to the pilot. No one said anything for a moment.
The prisoner broke the silence. "Well you men deserve better then living on a deserted island for the rest of your lives, besides I'm not sure how much longer those lives would be if we stayed out here."
"Don't be a fool. You could live anywhere for as long as you want.” The pilot gave the prisoner a friendly push. “And who said we wanted to go back.”

“Shut up kid. It's our duty.”

Then there was silence.

* * *

A few hours later the Lieutenant still sat with his back propped against a rock. A tiny hermit crab scuttled nearby hardly aware of the stationary man. Then suddenly the hermit crab was swallowed in sand.

“Enough of duty,” whispered the man as he threw another handful of sand at the crab's hiding place and got to his feet.

* * *

The next morning there were dark dots in the pink strewn sky. Helicopters were identified mid morning and by noon they were hovering over the island. They landed a little way from the camp in a whirl of wind and noise that seemed unbearable to the men's isolated ears.

The prisoner was promptly bound and the makeshift camp trampled and mocked by the soldiers.

All three rescue-es were strangely subdued, hardly greeting their rescuers with a single word. They all acted like prisoners as they glanced back at the camp as they were hustled onto the transport helicopter.

* * *

A few months later three men walked into a crowded, well lit basement room. All free.

Joyous cries welcomed the man in front.

“You're back.”

“You escaped!”

“Welcome home.”

“How'd you do it?”

“Who are they?”

The man in front held his hand for silence. “Glad to be back. These men are my friends, and they're going to help us. They want to help everyone be free.”

Popular Science

I went to the grocery store the other day and I was absolutely disgusted by one of the magazines by the checkout, but probably not for the regular reasons.
It was the magazine called Popular Science and the front page article was entitled "100 Things Science Got Wrong" and one of the things they were to discuss was "The Piltdown Man." Now just to get it straight I didn't read the article, I didn't open the magazine. I have no idea what it said or didn't say, but this is why it bugged me.

1. It just sounds like clickbait.
2. If a magazine is called Popular Science I would assume it is geared to those who may not know the lingo of professional scientists but still find their findings fascinating. Thus, by having a title that is negative about science seems like it would either annoy their target audience or at least make them have less faith in science (and thus less likely to continue to be interested in science).
3. The thing about science, at least in my understanding, is that science is made up of guesses and assumptions (hypotheses) that are disproved. That's the whole goal. So to say that "science got it wrong" is actually like "yeah, that's what science is--asking questions to find out what you're getting wrong." It's part of the process.
4. Why do you rarely, if ever see an article like "100 things intuitive knowledge gets wrong" or "100 things Old Wives Tales Gets wrong?" Because they actually do get things wrong, and it's not part of the process.
5. Now for the Piltdown Man reference. The Piltdown Man was some human skull fragments that someone with very questionable ethics gathered up with some ape mandibles or something and then proceeded to pretend to find together. Thus they "found the missing link" between humans and apes. For a while scientists thought that they really had found the missing link and were rather confused about the whole thing. But it turns out someone was just a liar. It's not science that was wrong it was the liar. Yes, maybe scientists should have been able to distinguish the fake but it doesn't mean the hoax was their fault when they didn't.

Alright I hope that didn't sound like too much of a rant, it wasn't really meant to be.

Purty Pictures from Nauvoo

Here are just a few of my favorite pictures from my trip. I apologize. I usually don't post boring ones like this. OK, maybe more than a few. But they are pretty. I think.

Fire hydrant in Nebraska. I have a fire hydrant thing.

Winter Quarter's LDS Temple.

Nauvoo Temple

Sunset.

Muskrat in the Mississippi.

Rainbow Over the Mississippi.

Inside a Cement Mixer

Stone Bridge.

Sunset Over the Mississippi

Waterfall

Pet Owl Rock

Artifact in the Dirt

Cool Clouds

Moon stone on the Nauvoo LDS Temple

Nauvoo Temple

Flowers

Emma Smith in the Nauvoo House. This one is more clever than good.

Raccoon Skull - I couldn't resist

Herons and Clouds on the Mississippi

Actors Playing Joseph and Emma Smith Outside the Mansion House.

My "photoshopped" version of the above picture. (I use Gimp).

Bunny

Earthenware Pitcher my friends excavated and I dug up.

This time I did take all the pictures, well except the last one. I was holding the pitcher.