FOLLOWING THE LIGHT

Our dog Pekah Boo has an obsession. She loves the laser light. We keep it above the phone in a woven basket with other miscellaneous items. At least once a day she will go over and sit under the basket and repeatedly look up at the basket, and then over at me. She says, "You know." If you read my blog from last summer, you are aware that I really don't know what she is saying. Lin has to tell me her thoughts. I am well trained, so I obediently get the laser and we get started. If it is really wet outside, we stay in the house. There is a well traveled route from our living room, up the stairs, and back again. I keep watching for signs of wear in our 16 year-old carpet, but so far haven't seen any. If it is not too wet, we head out the patio door and she really gets up some speed, racing back and forth the full length of the back yard. After a few minutes, she begins to slow down. She never really stops, and I've never had the nerve to see how long she would chase it. Besides, I don't want to think about doing CPR on a boston terrier. I wouldn't mind the heart massage, but the mouth-to-mouth is a little much to get my brain around. If she does collapse, my plan is to immediately begin the massage, while frantically calling Lin to come over and begin the mouth-to-mouth, or in this case, mouth-to-nose. I used to be a certified CPR instructor, so Lin would not likely ask me to trade places, especially if I spoke with a voice that commanded authority. A few times I have made the mistake of taking Pekah outside when the ground is saturated. Have you ever seen mud caked up inside a dog's paws? She is an indoor dog, of course, so we have to clean her up before we can let her back in the house. It ruins a bath towel when you wipe between her toes, and her running is not very kind to the grass, either. We have huge ruts from her path, and when spring arrives I have to figure out how to smooth them out. I guess I could go out anytime and use my feet to reshape the grass. The ground is like putty. It squishes when you walk on it. I have a recurrent nightmare in which a 120,000 man army walks three abreast through our yard, and I go outside eight hours later to find a three foot deep trench, similiar to the buffalo migration trails that used to go through Kansas. When I wake up, I try to imagine the circumstances necessary for that to have happened. My mind has come up with some scary scenarios. You don't want to know.

RAMANUJAN

The Man Who Knew Infinity, by Robert Kanigel

Srinivasa Ramanujan Iyengar was born in 1887, in Southern India. Srinivasa was his father's name, and Iyengar referred to the particular branch of South Indian Brahmins to which his family belonged, and so he was simply known as Ramanujan.

Sometimes you read about someone so incredibly gifted that you wonder where the world would be if they had never been born. Mozart blessed us with music. Einstein transformed the world of physics. Ramanujan's gift was mathematics.

On January 16, 1913 he wrote a letter to G.H. Hardy at Trinity College, Cambridge. It began:

"Dear Sir,

I beg to introduce myself to you as a clerk in the Accounts Department of the Port Trust Office at Madras on a salary of only 20 pounds per annum. I am now about 23 years of age. I have had no University education but I have undergone the ordinary school course. After leaving school I have been employing the spare time at my disposal to work at Mathematics."

His letter went on to describe his desire to study at Trinity College, and was followed by nine pages of mathematical theorms.

Hardy showed the letter to his friend Littlewood, also a mathematician at Trinity. At first they thought the equations might be the work of a prankster, but after several hours of pouring over his writings, they realized they were examining the works of a mathematical genius.

Ramanujan ended up in Cambridge with Hardy, and Robert Kanigal describes in detail the adjustments and disappointments he faced, coming from a very poor part of India and trying to fit into modern academia.

Sadly, he died April 26, 1920 of tuberculosis.

Reading this book will acquaint you with Ramanujan the man, and Ramanujan the genius. The book has a lot of math in it, but the story line continues around the math, so if you are like me, you can gaze at the equations in awe for a moment, and then get back to the story of the man.

However, if you like math, you will appreciate both the story and the mathematics.

RELATIONSHIPS

My friend Gary commented to me some time ago that the importance of relationships is becoming more apparent to him as he grows older. As time goes by, I am increasingly seeing the truth in his remark. In fact, it occurred to me that every movie produced; every book published; every story told, is a story of relationships. Even stories of men exiled alone on an island are actually about their attempt to reconcile back into civilization. In addition, every good story includes themes of betrayal, reconciliation, and redemption. Tell me your favorite movie, and you can be sure it contains intense relationship issues. In fact, I challenge you to think of an idea for a story that does not involve relationships. Critics analyze movies and books based on how characters and relationships are developed.

I have several questions: Who is your most important relationship with? Is it meaningful? What percentage are you giving/getting? Is it a relationship worth maintaining? Are there open lines of communication? What commitment have you made to it? Do your actions reflect your commitment? Are there positive or negative expectations of behavior imposed on you by being in this relationship? Did you make a mistake? Is it time to set some limits?

My most treasured relationship is with Lin. We have invested 33 years in it, and are reaping the benefits. I also deeply value my spiritual relationship with God. His grace is free and he has forgiven my sins. We have a rewarding relationship with our adult children & their spouses. It would be great if we could all live in one house and have a continual party! (They might not agree.) Life isn't like that, unfortunately. It only happens on holidays when they all happen to be here at the same time.

We have a good rapport at our job. It is fun to be with those I work with. It would be terrible to get up in the morning and have to go to a job and face someone I didn't really get along with. We have a blast with our LeTip friends. (Most of them are the same age as our kids, so we can freely give unsolicited advice and ask somewhat probing questions.) At church we have some of the most long lasting and closest friends. The adult ESL class we teach is a delight. The Latino students are generous and kind.

There is one thing that bothers me, however. If I am in a public place and see sadness in someones eyes, I want to break down the stranger barrier and touch their hurt. It's hard to get past that wall. I find myself wondering what circumstances they are facing and what past choices they made to arrive in their current situation. Most likely the seeds of our relationships today were planted years ago. What seeds are you planting today for your relationships tomorrow?

CHILDHOOD MEMORIES

The morning began as a routine vacation day. The year was 1954. We were preparing to drive to Grandma's house. We lived on a dairy farm in Western Kansas, along highway 50. Syracuse was 7 miles to the East, and Lamar, Colorado was about 18 miles to the West. An old shack beside the highway was all that remained of what had once been the location of a gas station. A sign was still standing, declaring the name Midway. Our house and barn sat about 1,500 feet off the road.

Dad was fueling the car. Being somewhat mechanical, he had converted our car and tractor to propane, and between the house and barn we had a large capacity propane tank.

I was five years old, doing whatever five year-olds do. Mom was preparing breakfast and watching the baby (Nancy). Suddenly, Dad burst through the door. "We have to get out." he shouted. (My dad never shouted.) "I've backed into the propane valve and broke it off. Shut off the stove, I'll get the baby." Our home was heated by a free standing gas stove. After what seemed to her like an eternity, Mom finally was able to shut off the stove and the pilot flame.

We fled down the driveway toward the highway. It was about 30 degrees, with absolutely no breeze. My pajamas did not keep out the cold. We watched as a cloud of propane gas gradually filled the farmyard and blocked our view of the house and barn. It was eerily quiet. Dad made a lame joke about not striking a match. Mom was praying, and Dad was agreeing. It took about 30 minutes for the cloud to dissipate. As we walked back, we were thankful to God that we had not been blown to bits. The real surprise, however came as we approached the house. The car was still sitting where Dad had backed into the valve. It was idleing. He had forgotten to turn it off.