Days of Summer ~ 1

Wow. It has been an eventful summer to say the least (and I souldn't talk - summer's still got another month). Three pretty major things happened and many minor things got sprinkled in between.

Numero Uno. Our family reunion. We have a big small family. Or a small big family - I’m not exactly sure how to say it. Basically, if you have our last name, you’re blood-related to us. So we have hundreds of us running around the country, and when we see our last name it’s like an instant bonding thing. We have had family reunions on this beautiful family farm about once every 15 years (they used to have them every year way back when). About one to two hundred of us come. My parents, older sisters and I drove in one car, and my sister, brother-in-law and nieces drove in their car for the two day trip to Wisconsin (my brothers were working at a camp and flew in later).

I can’t decide if I’m a city girl or country girl. I love, absolutely love the city: the diversity, the food - it’s all good. But the farmland of Wisconsin is so gorgeous and the air smells so deliciously fresh. So on our first night of the road trip, we spent an hour looking for Old Country Buffet, but it eluded even the GPS so we settled for fast food. When we drove back to the highway, I was shocked to see that it was almost 9 o'clock; the sun was still burning and there were gorgeous purple and red clouds swirled around it. We stopped somewhere off of some route in the middle of nowhere and stayed in “Rainbow Motel.” I’d never heard of that motel before, but the price was half that of the palatial Holiday Inn (which looked like a White House knockoff bathed in blue ambiance lights) across the road.

My sisters and I decided we had to have tea time, so around 9:30 or 10 at night we tramped to the gas station up the road. The sun was finally setting. The first gas station didn’t have tea but the cop chatting with the cashier told us that the station across the road (the highway, the route - whatever) probably had something. We walked to the other gas station and a weathered old man was the cashier. He had a limp and talked with a twang. My sisters tried to get hot water out of the machine but he said, “oh I just unplugged that and put everything away. But don’t worry - there’s more’n one way ta get hot water ‘round here.” He shuffled to the cappuccino machine and got my sisters hot water. He talked to us about his life - he had far more near-death experiences than anybody should have.

Afterwards, Leesh was dying laughing because of how he got the hot water. He had pressed the rinse function. My dad told us, “Yep, he’s an old farmer - that’s how we think - there’s more than one way to do this.” We went to sleep kind of late that night, but we were all up before six and ready to hit the road.

More to come. :)

Tea, Family.

We have this family ritual called "teatime" or "having tea." It happens anytime after dinner, but generally later at night, at 9 or 10 perhaps. We don't all drink tea, but it started out that way and the name stuck. My older sisters drink tea with whipped cream, but my dad eats raisins and unsalted almonds, my brothers eat either cookies or cereal, and I generally eat fruit. We just kind of hang out and talk. My mother pops in sometimes, but she is generally doing clothes while she watches a cable news program. I'm not exactly sure why, but I got the urge to attempt capturing a small snapshot of tonight's teatime. So here goes nothing.

“Hey Rocko,” (my brother’s nickname for our sister - it’s from Rocky) “who was the brilliant person who left all the recyclables outside the back door? The dog tore up all these milk cartons and left them in shreds across the whole yard!”
“I’m sorry Danny, it was me - you cleaned it up?” she asked.
“Yep - did I mention there were tons of little pieces all over the yard? It was very, very hard work.” he told her in a playfully mistreated, indignant kind of voice.
“I’m sure it was.” she said good-humoredly. “So Esther, you’re almost finished with school for this semester? What are you going to do for the summer?”
“Yo Es, you should get a job at Dunkin’ Donuts.” Dan commented.
“Um, why would I want to do that?”
“ ‘Cuz you could get me free donuts then. Or maybe McDonalds - yeah that would be better.”
“I think a restaurant like Applebees would be more fun than that.”

Le interrupted, “You know what, you’d be great working at Starbucks, Es. You fit right in with all the fruity intellectuals.”
“Gee thanks Leesh,” I said sarcastically. And I’m thinking, hey, look whose talking - I’m a science major, but you took tons of social classes and became a lawyer. Who’s calling who the fruity intellectual? But her description was dead right, as usual. “Actually,” in a more serious tone, “I think I’m probably more of of a fake wannabe fruity intellectual.”
“No, you’re real, you pretty much define it, you’re it sweetie.”
“Wow, that says a lot about how sad fruity intellectuals really are if I define them - I’m not sure who’s getting the worse insult - me or them.”
Whatever.

Le turned to Steve. “So I heard you got a 1250 on your most recent practice SAT.”
I jumped in. “What?!! You didn’t tell me that! What did you get on the math section?” I had been working with my brother on the math section, so I was naturally curious.
“I got a 680.”
I yelled, “Dude that’s awesome!! I can’t believe it! That’s so much higher than last time, and that’s higher than what I got on any of the practice and real SATs.”
“Rocko” asked, “That was after Esther started helping you with the math, right?”
“Steve, you and Esther are definitely studying SATs this Saturday.” Dad interjected in a no-nonsense voice. I could tell he was happy that Steve had applied himself and gotten a good score.
“So this really motivates you to keep studying, doesn’t it?” I asked Steve.
“Yeah” he replied with a suppressed smile of satisfaction.

Lately I have been attempting to convince my brother to become a surgeon. He wants to be an electrician and a small business owner, without attending college.
“But you’d make such a good surgeon, Steve. You do intricate cabinetry and detailed things so well - you made our front door for crying out loud. And you have the brains to go to medical school,” I tell him all the time.
“No, that’s not me, I don’t like school and I’m not very good at it anyway. Dan’s the one to be a doctor. And I can’t stand blood - it makes me sick.” He replies.
Oh well. It was worth a try. He really would make a brilliant business man. The unbelievable discounts on products he wheedles Apple and Verizon (and plenty of other companies) salesmen into giving him never cease to floor me.

"Okay, g'night ya'll, I'm going to go write a paper." I left. And came here.

Happy Mother's Day

To my wonderful mother: you are a beautiful, strong, amazing woman, and I look up to you so much. To my oldest sister: you have done an incredible job raising such precious little girls who love you and their Apah (father) very much. To mothers around the globe: you have my respect and appreciation for all that you are and do.

What a Gorgeous Universe

According to Yahoo News,

This NASA image released on May 4, 2010 from the European Space Agency's Herschel Space Observatory shows the cloud associated with the Rosette Nebula, a stellar nursery about 5,000 light-years from Earth.

Is this cloud not absolutely breathtaking? Makes Michelangelo's Sistine chapel look like crayons in comparison. I simply had to share.

Villette

Bookworm. It’s something I have always been, even before I was interested in science and before I learned algebra (one of my absolute favorite things in the world). I read voraciously as a little kid, and although some of what I read was lit.-lite preteen stuff (think Ramona Quimby), for the most part, I stuck with the classics. Jane Austen, Charles Dickens, Leo Tolstoy, the Bronte sisters - they were all my favorites (and remain so). My father encouraged me to read difficult books (rather than “fluff”) when I was as young as eight. Before my twelfth birthday, he promised to let me watch Lord of the Rings if I read the Hobbit and the entire trilogy beforehand. Talk about motivation - I finished everything in three weeks.

Jane Eyre I read when I was eleven and it was an instant favorite. I read some of Charlotte Bronte’s other books. When I came across Villette, I began reading it and finished about one fourth of the book before growing bored; I then broke the unspoken rule of reading, and peeked at the end of the story. I was furious to discover that the main character ended up with the short guy that I disliked intensely. I refused to read anymore of the book. About a year or so later, I picked up the book again and read it through in its entirety. Here is my personal take on it.

THE STORY
The protagonist, Lucy Snow, relating to the reader in first person, begins her story at age ten at which time she is residing with her godmother, Mrs. Bretton, Mrs. Bretton’s teenaged son John Graham Bretton, and a little girl named Paulina Mary who was given to Mrs. Bretton’s care.  We pick up with Lucy as an adult, who, after being forced to eek out a living on her own, leaves for Europe, and is hired as an English teacher by Madame Beck, the headmistress of a girls’ boarding school, Pensionnat de Demoiselles, in the city of Villette.  In the school, Lucy meets Ginevra Fanshawe, a vain, self-absorbed student.  Ginevra takes an interest in Lucy and makes her a confidante, relaying the various tales of her many suitors. 

As Lucy becomes acclimated to living in school, she meets Monsieur Paul Emmanuel, another teacher at the school.  He is a fiery, passionate, noble little man: temperamental and irascible but kind-hearted.  Though she respects him, Lucy initially finds M. Paul and his denunciations and reproofs annoying, but gradually develops a strong friendship with him.  In Lucy’s words, he “... was born honest, and not false – artless, and not cunning – a freeman, and not a slave...his devotedness, his sincere pious enthusiasm blinded his kind eyes sometimes, made him abandon justice to himself to do the work of craft, and serve the ends of selfishness.” M. Paul is around forty in the book - to me, that sounded slightly older than my grandfather, especially since likes twenty-four year old Lucy. Despite that, his personality is very amusing, and he is a much more fascinating character than, for example, the handsome, golden-haired John Bretton.

MY OPINION
So I have to admit, I loved Villette the second time around. It is beautifully constructed and more complex than some of Bronte’s other novels. Various subplots occur.  One of Ginevra’s suitors, “Dr. John,” is revealed to be Graham Bretton, who, at first enamored of her beauty, eventually glimpses her shallow and self-centered character, and rejects her.  Graham befriends Lucy in a particularly lonely and bleak period when she is apparently having some sort of hallucinations, and is able to cheer her up.  Another character is reintroduced when Graham helps save a young lady at a theatre, to find out that she is little Paulina grown into a lovely woman (they eventually get together).     

I honestly consider Villette Charlotte Bronte’s best novel; she skillfully crafted a masterpiece that perhaps outshines even Jane Eyre.  Though Jane Eyre had already revolutionized the literary world with its strong characterization of the female main character, Villette probed deeper into this concept of a woman standing firmly on her principles, wrestling with sorrow, loneliness and despondence and emerging victorious.

The situation and story of Villette is not as melodramatic as Jane Eyre, thus highlighting character development more than plot.  Whereas Jane’s childhood is a tempestuous onslaught of adversity and abuse, Lucy’s is a quieter swirl of sadness and neglect, flecked with a small measure of contentment.  As Lucy matures into adulthood, she is tentative, but displays strength, and will not compromise her morals simply to please others.  Calm resignation overlays her deeply feeling, defiant nature.  She seems to possess a reserved, albeit sardonic, nature, making her desperate outburst toward the end of the book quite powerful.  
THE

DESPERATE OUTBURST

The incident transpires after Lucy discovers that M. Paul, whom she now loves dearly, will be leaving for the West Indies on business. Madame Beck (the lady in charge of the girls’ boarding school), selfishly wanting M. Paul’s hand in marriage and intent on keeping Lucy from him, has contrived every conceivable device to prevent Lucy and Paul from seeing one another. A few days before Paul’s departure, the couple finally meet.  Just as Paul is about to tell Lucy something, Madame Beck intrudes and claims his attention.  Lucy, genuinely fearing that she will never see Paul again, “Pierced deeper than [she] could endure, made now to feel what defied suppression…,” releases her pent-up emotions with her poignant cry: “My heart will break!” This motivates Paul to action; he orders the domineering woman out of the room. Afterwards, Paul shows Lucy a cottage with a schoolroom he has made arrangements for her to live and teach in while he is gone and declares his feelings for her. “Lucy, take my love. One day share my life. Be my dearest, first on earth.”


WHAT’S INTERESTING

However, Villette is not bundled up nicely and neatly. Lucy does find happiness in her love for Monsieur Paul and is transformed beyond recognition by Paul’s love for her, but Bronte leaves the ending ambiguous for the reader to interpret whether Paul returns and marries her or dies on his voyage home in a violent storm.


MY CRITICISM

The only slightly annoying this is that many of the conversations are in French. This was fine for people living in 19th century Britain, but kind of inconvenient for me (even after I took a year of French). Maybe there are some versions of the book that have the translations. If so, it would be awfully nice to get my hands on.




OVERALL

Loved it, loved it, loved it. Throughout the novel, Bronte conveys isolation and sadness without causing us (her dedicated readers) to be depressed; rather, we empathize with Lucy in her struggles and partake of her joy.  The superior handiwork of Bronte is evident in the sharp, witty dialogue of Villette, blended with the melancholy, but ultimately hopeful, tone.

END

In Defense of Scientists

Something discussed in English class sparked my interest. We discussed the fact that science majors seem to be arrogant and look down on English or humanities majors. My first thought was, “Oh c’mon, science and math majors are looked down on as nerds and geeks. It might be more subliminal in college than it was in high school, but it’s still there.”

Then I started thinking that science majors are perceived as arrogant because many of them are arrogant. Since I am a chemistry major, this is kind of personal. There is undoubtedly arrogance and pride in the field of science. Students become puffed up with the knowledge they learn. They grow impressed with themselves for understanding complex scientific theories. I find even myself falling into this attitude at times, viewing what I’m majoring in as more important than what humanities’ students are majoring in. Part of the reason is that in the 7 core classes I have taken so far (classes such as art history, music theory, philosophy, etc), I have noticed that the students in the top fourth of the class are generally science or math majors or doing the pre-med track.

This arrogance is wrong. Dead wrong. However, if anybody were to have the right to be proud (and in my opinion, nobody’s ever got that right), it would be scientists. Statistically, scientists are some of the most highly educated, lowest payed professionals, and despite having up to a decade of education, have a salary similar to that of bus drivers (not that there is anything wrong with being a bus driver - I have lots of friends who are bus drivers). That is partly why I have such a strong admiration for scientists. They are like the Marines of society, suffering greatly at times to provide the rest of us with a comfortable world in which to live. Last semester’s organic chemistry professor looked like a stereotypical mad scientist - he had a PhD from Harvard, and he looked disheveled and wrinkled everyday, having twinkling eyes and wild salt and pepper hair that pointed and curled in every direction. In his lectures, he told us story after story of chemists who had literally died (in various unsavory ways) for science.

Funny thing is, (returning to the arrogant scientist thing), any scientist worth his salt is generally not proud, but humble because the complexity of the universe he studies forcibly imprints on him the awareness of his own inconsequence. Thomas Alva Edison had it right when he said that “We don't know a millionth of one percent about anything.”

Hydrogen

I hope you don’t mind this, but right now I’m in the mood to launch into a scientific discussion. The topic? Hydrogen, which is a pretty darned amazing little element. I don’t know if you have ever given thought to elements on the periodic table, and why they might be noteworthy - I, for one, haven’t thought much about the periodic table - you know, whether thallium has more interesting properties than polonium or something. But hydrogen is special: out of all the little nuts and bolts that help keep the world spinning, this little bugger is definitely in the running for top ten.

So, the reason (or a reason) hydrogen is extremely important = hydrogen bonding. When I first studied this type of molecular interaction, my teachers all taught me that it was a very weak force. I dismissed hydrogen bonding as unimportant, and certainly not as interesting as ionic bonding, in which atoms have a straight up + or - charge, and are attracted to each other because of those opposite charges and generally form pretty-colored crystals. And covalent bonding, in which the atoms actually have physical electron bridges to each other: this bonding interaction is extremely strong.

But no, hydrogen bonding is this puny polar interaction of slightly positively coated hydrogens with slightly negative atoms (usually oxygen). Oxygen is a pessimist - it loves negativity, and sucks negative charge out of the hydrogens onto itself, making O more negative and H positive, such as in the water molecule H2O.

But I have so far only described why I had considered hydrogen bonding unimpressive - here comes the (hopefully) more interesting part. Hydrogen bonding is the reason water exists and allows this planet to be habitable. Without the millions of little interactions of hydrogen, a horrible oxymoron would be true: water would essentially be dry. It would evaporate fast, boiling at a low temperature. Since much energy has to be invested into water to disrupt the hydrogen bonding interactions and free the molecules from liquid form to become a vapor, water has the really weird ability to retain heat (comparable molecules have far lower boiling points) - this personality trait of water both keeps the temperature of earth fairly even, and regulates the internal temperature of our bodies, preventing our cells from exploding.



Hydrogen bonding, this weak little attraction between polar atoms is in fact an incredibly powerful and quite important force. It finds its strength in numbers. If I tied your hands with a piece of sewing thread, you would easily free yourself, but if I tied your hands with 150 pieces of thread, you’d find your bonds much more difficult to escape. The double strands of our DNA helices are held together by thousands of little hydrogen bonds between the groups on each strand; this is why our DNA is so sturdy, and is not easily ripped apart like single-stranded RNA is.

I like to think that hydrogen bonding sort of helps describe democracy - or perhaps less specifically, how people, banding together, can be vitally important to the world. One person might not be able to effect much change by himself, but a gathering of people can affect history, and a whole crescendo of voices can be heard.

Equilibrium

Equilibrium reactions. I can remember when my chemistry professor taught this concept in Chem 2 (That was way back when I was a young freshman in college: those were the good old days. Of course, I’m far wiser now as a sophomore in college.) His (my professor’s) way of teaching us this subject in lecture really stuck with me.

They, (the way he contemptuously spit the innocuous article out implied he thought of all chemistry high school teachers as second-class, low-grade persons not fit to be spoken of in erudite company), they taught you in high school that equilibrium reactions are some sort of stationary, boring solution where everything has come to a stop. Although at first glance, it looks as if the solution is simply an inactive chunk of reactants and products sitting blandly, staring at the walls of the beaker, nothing could be further from the truth.

These reactions that have reached an equilibrium are most certainly not static; the reactants are constantly reacting and forming products, while the products are constantly degrading and reforming reactants. That is the point of an equilibrium reaction; while the participants have reached a peaceful agreement as to concentration (i.e. the amount of the reactants and product remains the same), they are still flowing from one side of the reaction equation to the other, rapidly interchanging one chemical bond for the other.

I have a feeling many people are a lot like equilibrium reactions. And this feeling, or theory, or whatever name you wish to give it can work two ways. First, they can be apparently ordinary people, living normal lives. Perhaps they don’t seem to have very captivating personalities. But the truth is that they have creative ideas, brilliant minds, and have done fascinating things. Maybe they are honestly more interesting than noticeably charismatic people: they have reached an equilibrium, a peaceful point, but they have so much going on when you take a closer look. Or, secondly, these people can be completely insane. They look “at peace” on the outside, but that is simply at first glance, and it hides the fact that they are internally chaotic and crazy. (Last night I watched a movie about the Amish school shooting in 2006: the gunman looked like such a normal guy, but he was so wretched internally.)

As a child, I can remember being in the car with my mother driving down the highway so many times: almost every time, I was hit with a wave of overwhelming curiosity to know about the people driving down the highway in other cars. Most of those people’s faces looked normal and unconcerned as they whizzed by, but I knew that they each must have their own problems and concerns; I wanted to hear what they were thinking, to know what their minds were imagining. I then thought that there were millions and billions of people just like me, thinking thoughts at the same time as I was. These ponderings lent me such feelings of insignificance. Sitting in that car often gave me one of those fleeting moments of perspective where the bigness of life can overwhelm, drown a person. I am so grateful my chemistry professor taught us about equilibrium reactions.

The Mommy Track

After school today, I met my young nieces and my sister at Target. While carting my two oldest nieces around in a wagon, I noticed many other people shopping with small children. I have never seen that many kids in Target before. I guess either four pm happens to be a hot time for moms to go shopping, or being with the nieces caused me to notice other children. Not entirely sure which.

Watching moms interact with their children can be fascinating...and painful. I hate seeing the screamers; a mother screaming at her child for one reason or another. It makes me cringe and want to shake her: no matter what your child has done, don't scream at them - that's simply awful, and you are killing your child's heart.

Not so painful, but very annoying is the lax mommy. This woman is extremely permissive and easy-going; she lets her child run around and create havoc in the store, making everybody else's life miserable. She generally gives her kid whatever the heck he wants. Related to lax mommy is the badgered mother. She is a slave to her own children's whims. Her kids often bring out the alligator tears and throw tantrums to bully their mom into giving them what they want. And how can you blame the kids? They are smart to act exactly how mom has taught them to behave; cry enough, and mommy will give in.

If I had to write a book on raising children, I think I would use three words: boundaries, consistency, and spankings. Of course, I think that a "darn-good spanking" will do the trick almost every time. Spanking is infinitely better than screaming - if done with love (and not angrily), spanking gives the child a tangible sense of consequences for wrongdoing, and in practice, makes them much happier than before being spanked.

I hate to harp on this, but screaming is horrible (just thought of mothers yelling and dragging their child by the arm is like bright red fingernails on a squeaky chalkboard); it confuses the child, it scars them, and it brings the parent down to the level of the child.

Of course, it is incredibly easy for me to observe and denounce. The thought of being accountable for the life of a little person, of having responsibility of a child's heart mind and soul is staggering. Just plain scary. I cannot imagine when I will be ready to assume that type of responsibility. All this mommy talk made me think that motherhood is so undervalued these days. We think so little of this vocation.

My sister was a public school teacher before she had her daughters. After her third child, someone told her she had it easy staying home all the time and not having a real job. My sister was slightly annoyed. "It would be much easier for me to teach school - my job of training and teaching my daughters is very real, and it is not an 8 - hour day job. It lasts 24/7." I honestly cannot think of anything more important than raising children well - my hat is off to my sister and other women like her who spend all of their time raising their children.

Introduction

Singularity. (sĭng'gyə-lār'ĭ-tē) Noun. A point in space-time at which gravitational forces cause matter to have infinite density and infinitesimal volume, and space and time to become infinitely distorted. Really, it's a beautiful word for a “black hole.” If I had known this word personally when I was a senior in high school, I most likely would have chosen it for my college application essay: “What is your favorite word and why?”

It is such an elegant word with a fascinating definition to match it. A point at which time and space are infinitely distorted. This word makes me start thinking about life from a different perspective. It can be utterly dizzying taking a step back and looking at the universe. It is both breathtaking and frightening. All along the spectrum from microscopic to macroscopic, the complexity and delicate power of nature never ceases to thrill me.

Our DNA, so small that it is to our bodies what earth is to the milky way, contains information that equals about 200, that is two hundred, Encyclopedia volumes. Our lives can be completely disrupted by nature: a tornado or a hurricane can strip away our homes and lives in minutes. We think that nuclear weapons are impressively dangerous; according to unasked.com, the Mt. St. Helens volcano had the “energy equivalent to 27,000 Hiroshima-sized nuclear weapons” when it erupted. In space, supernovae, exploding stars, can expand to the size of our solar system and give off cosmic rays.

Everything in the universe has its unique individuality and beauty. To study and explore nature and the stars, dandelions and singularities; I can think of nothing more interesting. I have found that there is such poetry in something as seemingly mundane as solving a mathematical equation.

This blog isn't going to be a list of scientific case studies, but I can't help loving science and math, and it will necessarily be kind of sciency from time to time. I love the idea from Madeleine L'Engle in her book, “Troubling a Star” that the actions of a butterfly somehow have an effect on the most distant star across the universe. Really, I'm going to talk about life, with both the ordinary and extraordinary playing their parts.