Security Questions

(This post is pointless and not worth your time to read.  You are forewarned.)

Every few weeks or so, my bank makes me re-verify my computer, even though it's the same computer I've been using to log in for the last 3 years.  I'm not annoyed by this; more security surrounding my bank account can't be a bad thing.  What I AM annoyed by is that the questions they suggested and that then I answered have multiple forms of the same answer.

For instance (and I'm going to use fictional questions that are close to the mark), "What street do you live on?"  Well, when I first answered that question, did I include the Street at the end or no?  And if I DID, was it spelled out as "Street" or did I abbreviate it as "St."?

Or, what about, "What city do you live in?"  Well, Cincinnati, but did I put "Cincinnati" as my answer or "Cincinnati, Ohio," or "Cincinnati, OH."  All of those answers are "correct," but my bank only recognizes one of them as the correct answer.

So even though I know the answers to all these questions, I have a small panic attack every time I have to re-verify my identity.  I don't want the bank to think I'm not legit because I can't remember in what form I put the name of my middle school.

Stolen Quote #16

From "Teaching of the Vizier Ptahhotep," which is a collection of ancient Egyptian maxims:

If you are a leader,

be calm while you hear a petitioner's speech!

Do not prevent him from purging his body

of what he planned to tell you!

A wronged man loves to pour his heart out

more than achieving what he came for.

About someone who prevents petitions, they say,

'So why does he thwart it?'

Everything for which a man petitioned may not come about,

but a good hearing is what soothes the heart.

Stolen Conversation #15

Miciah (my 8-year-old daughter):  You can't go through that door.  It's a trap.
Elijah (my 5-year-old son):  For a baby?
Miciah:  No, it's a TRAP.
Elijah:  A trap for a baby?
Miciah:  No!  Just for normal people!
Elijah:  What's a trap?
Miciah, in a huff:  When you go through that door, the Queen pushes you to the alligators.  So you can't go through that door, okay?
Elijah:  Oh.  Okay!

Stolen Quote #14

Today's Stolen Quote comes from The Keys of Egypt, a book about Champollion, the guy who first deciphered Egyptian hieroglyphs.  Here's the set up:

Champollion was amazingly talented from a very young age and apparently had little tact (though also little guile--sounds like he and I would have been friends), so he made enemies quickly.  Thomas Young, his main rival in the race to decipher hieroglyphs, deduced 4 hieroglyphs first, and was always angered that Champollion actually came up with a valid system and beat him to the fame and glory that was deciphering hieroglyphs.  And so, in large part, Champollion was denied the glory that he deserved because people went about bad-mouthing him and claiming that Young was the REAL hero.

Anyways, over time people gradually decided that Champollion's system actually worked, so they stopped giving him such a hard time.  There were only a few hold-outs, including Young, and some of Champollion's jealous cohorts.

Champollion went to Egypt from 1828 - 1830, six years after unlocking the secrets of the hieroglyphs.  This is what the book says about his "triumphant" return, followed by the quote from Champollion:

"[Champollion's] reluctance to return to Paris was compounded by hearing that opposition to him had increased during his visit to Egypt, and he was even being accused of falsifying evidence to fit his system of decipherment.  Writing to Rosellini [one of Champollion's supporters], Champollion declared that his first concern would be to finish his hieroglyphic grammar, which 'will appear at the end of this year:  it is the indispensable preface to our voyage.  It will not convert, however, those who fight my system and deprecate my work, because these gentlemen do not wish to be converted and are uniquely dishonest...I spit on them.' "

Rock on, Champollion.

Champollion died 2 years later.  His hieroglypic grammar came out several years after his death, published by his loyal older brother.  Champollion's life would not have been possible without his brother's support.  It's a good story.

Champollion

Winter and Reptiles

It's about this time of year, every year, when I realize how reptilian I am.  I tell people, when the topic comes up (and when wouldn't it come up that I'm a reptile?), that I'm cold-blooded.

Not talking personality-wise.  I'm talking actual blood temperature.

For some reason I can't keep heat inside my body and I am almost constantly cold.  My circulation is horrible.  When I ran track in High School, I was exempted from having to find my pulse after sprints, because not even the coach could find it.  It's all related:  low blood-pressure, lack of circulation, cold extremities...

I am a reptile.

In the winter this becomes more of a problem because, being incapable of creating my own heat,  I have to find external heat sources.  The best heat sources involve hot water, and so in the winter months I am obsessed with soups, hot cocoa, hand-washing dishes, and too-hot-and-too-long showers.  Showers are my favorite, and I can easily spend up to an hour every day in the shower (that's 3 showers times 20 minutes a piece).  Lately this has been striking me as a grand waste of time.  But, oh, the hot water!  Blissful.

The other great external heat source at my disposal is Rob.  When I come up to him on a winter's day or night, and I start lifting his shirt, this is NOT a come-on.  And if you ever saw it (saw it), you would hear Rob screaming like a little girl, even before my hands hit his bare stomach.  The problem with this heat source is that as my hands warm, I have to find new places to put them, since the heat source loses substantial heat by being in contact with my hands.  And, the heat source frequently yelps as I find new warm spots.

When Rob is not available and I am feeling ashamed about the amount of time I spend letting hot water scald my body, I huddle over the main heating vent in our house.  The problem with this external heat source is that it isn't constant, so I either have to deal with it being off a good deal of time, or I have to turn up the thermostat to keep the furnace running.  And even if I DO turn up the temperature, I have to fight the kids for my spot over the vent.  It's a family "fun spot."  Definitely first rate real estate.

I do have a rice bag that I heat until it's nearly scalding and then I hug into my chest, leaving a red mark.  Then I move it to my feet until they can't stand it any more, and then back to my chest.  This process can repeat for about half an hour.  And Rob loves the rice bag because it largely keeps his stomach incident-free.

So as I think about winter and maintaining body heat, my commitment to lowering my water and heating bills slips.  I am a reptile, and I need warmth.  However I can get it.

A Piece of My Existence

I was driving home from a soccer game tonight, doing some thinking.  (Truly, some of my best thinking time is while driving.  If I could write and drive at the same time, I would.)  Thinking about an idea I've been building on for years.  It's always bothered me that, say, missionaries will come home from their 2-year missions SO EXCITED about the country/state where they served.  "The people are so nice/generous/humble/teachable."  "The landscape is beautiful."  To hear them talk, apparently everything about the place was Amazing.  The people, the place, the food, the shops, the public transportation.  Everything.

What bothers me isn't that they think the place they went was amazing.  They should think that.  What bothers me is that they don't seem to realize that this love could be--and SHOULD BE--translated to every other people and every other place on earth.  They didn't love Mexico before they went there.  Why do they love it after living there for 2 years?

Because it became a part of them.

As I was driving home from my game, passing ordinary, non-special Cincinnati places, I checked for a sign that always has something funny written on it only to be disappointed to see it blank.  I was interested to see if there was traffic at a particular corner, because there's always traffic there, no matter what time of day, and that kind of stuff interests me.  I checked how many cars were in the Kroger parking lot--it was late, what were people still doing at Kroger?  I noted that there weren't any cars parked in the right hand lane that sometimes is a parking lot and sometimes is a lane--a few years ago, there were always a few cars parked on the road, in front of an apartment complex, but those people must have moved away because the lane has been car-free for a while.

Why do these non-special details matter--to me, if to no one else?  Why do I look for them, think about them, wonder about them?  Because they're a part of me.

There are people in my life.  Non-special people by nearly every standard of judgment.  My brother who is my best friend and can nearly read my mind.  My husband who is the rockbed of my sanity.  My children who keep me on my toes and in touch with laughter.  My neighbors who have been so good to my children.  My friends who listen to me and I listen to them.

These non-special people matter because they are a part of me.

But more than that, I am a part of them.

I think part of what we're looking for in this life, is validation that we exist.  (Okay, this is part of what I'm looking for, and maybe everyone else knows that they exist and they don't spend a moment thinking about it.  But go with me here.)  These people, these places, these things... they are special to us because they tell us that we Are.  We have memories of these places.  We have shared experiences with these people.  We can think back on times that were.  We have carved our existence into a particular time and place and people, and those particular times and places and people become special to us because they tell us that we Are.


I try to remember that when people talk about their kids or their vacation or their native land.  These things are special to them because they know these things, and are known by these things.  These things are no more or less special than the people, places and things are in my own life, but those things are Theirs, and that makes them Special.

I don't think the lesson we should learn is that nothing is truly Special.  I think the lesson is that we ought to open our hearts a lot wider, because so many things, so many places, so many people, are special and wonderful and good.  The world is a big place, and we're each experiencing a little piece of it.  We share some of those pieces with many others, and we only have few pieces in common with others still.

I think God did that on purpose.

Books

I have been on a reading kick lately, and I'm thoroughly enjoying it.  The problem is that I'm right now reading four books at once, and hence making little progress on any one of them.    

There are larger problems in the world, and yet I complain about the number of books I'm reading at once?  Yes.  Yes, I do.

Suddenly world hunger pales in comparison.

Tamra