In my Quantitative Reasoning class, we have to do a few mini-projects. My professor gives us some options from which to choose, and for this most recent project, one of the options was to write a creative story involving the concepts of Chapter 4.
Yes, please.
Here's my story:
Once upon a time in the land of Triangula, there lived two young boys named Side A and Side B. These boys, who were twins, lived with their parents on Right Angle Street. They were very nice young men. They did their chores without being asked, they were very good students in their fifth grade class at Triangula Elementary, and in their spare time, they volunteered at the recycling center and helped old ladies cross the street. Yes, Side A and Side B lived a quiet, happy life as model citizens. But unbeknownst to them, Side A and Side B had a secret.
You see, Side A and Side B were actually triplets. They had been born, along with their sister, on a dark, stormy night ten years prior to our story. Being triplets, the babies had come early and were having a few problems breathing on their own, so they were given adjoining beds in the NICU. Their parents, Ed and Dolores, who were so happy to finally have children, beamed with pride on their three newborns as they watched them through the glass. Satisfied that their children were in good hands with the good doctors and nurses at Triangula Medical Center, Ed and Dolores retreated to their room to get some much-needed rest.
But not all of the nurses at TMC were good. One in particular, Nurse Snatchit, was a newcomer to town. The chief resident had been reluctant to hire her, given her sketchy résumé, but there was a shortage of nurses and TMC badly needed the help. Nurse Snatchit happened to pull the night shift, and, like all the other staff, fell instantly in love with the tiny triplets. She had always wanted a daughter, but, alas, had never been able to have children of her own. So she gazed longingly at the three sleeping newborns and, as the rain lashed against the NICU windows, she hatched a devious plan. Snatchit waited until she was all alone with the babies, and then, ever so gently and quietly, she picked up the baby girl, wrapped her in a blanket, and stole off into the night.
Ed and Dolores hired the best private investigators to find their daughter, but after years of searching, they never found even a hint as to her whereabouts. They wanted their remaining children to be happy and well-adjusted, so they decided to keep their loss to themselves. They never told Side A and Side B about their sister, Side C.
One Tuesday afternoon, Side A and Side B sat in their favorite class, Math. They avidly listened as their teacher, Mrs. Right, taught them about a man named Pythagorus and his followers. They were spellbound as she explained to them the Pythagorean Theorem. They were transfixed as they came to understand the beauty of the fact that, in a right triangle, the square of the length of the hypotenuse is equal to the sum of the squares of the length of the other two sides. Such beauty! Such poetry! They boys knew that forever after, their lives would be impacted by this knowledge. But little did they know how much.
A week later, Mrs. Right introduced a new student to the class. Clara had come to them from the far away land of Hide-away. She had recently suffered the tragic loss of her mother and had come to live with a new guardian here in Triangula. Side A and Side B felt deeply sorry for their new classmate, but as they talked it over during lunch, they discovered that they both felt a deep connection to Clara—a connection that surpassed childish sympathy. They went home that night and told their parents about their new classmate, but didn’t mention the connection they felt. Surely parents wouldn’t understand a thing like that. The boys themselves didn’t understand it, and they didn’t want the folks to think they had a crush on Clara. Parents could be so weird sometimes.
Side A and Side B became fast friends with Clara, and always spent lunch and recess together. Clara, it turned out, also loved Math, and the three children would often call each other at night to review their notes from class. They didn’t, however, play together after school because the boys spent much of their free time at the recycling center and helping old ladies cross the street. They boys continued to feel a deeper relationship with Clara, but they just couldn’t figure out what it might be. So Ed and Dolores heard much about Clara but never met her, until the night of the end-of-year school program.
Side A and Side B had been given speaking parts, along with Clara, in the presentation of “A Condensed History of Triangula,” and they excitedly took their places next to their friend for the opening scene. As the curtain opened on the three youngsters, Ed and Dolores let out surprised yelps. Clara was the spitting image of their long-lost daughter! Even more, as she was standing between Side A and Side B, they couldn’t help but notice the trio made a perfect right triangle! Mrs. Right, noticing the buzz in the audience, called for a brief intermission and asked Ed and Dolores to come backstage and speak with the children. As the parents rushed to stage left, they decided to tell their boys the story of their missing sibling. Side A, Side B, and Clara listened as Ed told the whole story. When he was finished, Dolores told the children that they suspected Clara was their missing Side C. “If only we had some way to prove whether you are our missing child!” Dolores cried to Clara.
Side B spoke up quickly. “But mom, we do!” He quickly explained to her what they had learned about the Pythagorean Theorem earlier in the school year. Shaking with excitement, Ed pulled a tape measure out of his pocket (Ed was in construction and could often be counted on to carry random tools with him), and measured the three children. Side A was length 3, Side B was length 4, and Clara was length 5. Side B wrote down the theorem, and plugged in the children’s heights. Sure enough, Side A’s height squared plus Side B’s height squared equaled Clara’s height squared. She was their hypotenuse, their missing link! The family embraced, crying and laughing, relieved to finally all be back together. And they all lived happily ever after.
The End.
Tuesday, July 07, 2009
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Chloe got baptized
I figured the best way to write this post was to recreate as best I can what was said and done at the actual event.
A few weeks ago our church/friends/group got together in the backyard of a couple who have a hot tub. Aaron, Chloe, and I stood in front of our friends and I started with the disclaimer that we had no idea what we were doing. (To those of you who don't know, there have not been very many baptisms in our little home church, so there's not much of a precedence. We have no pastor, so there's no one to officiate the ceremony. This was a homegrown process, and we were a tiny bit nervous, but excited that this was such an organic gathering.)
I started with the story of why we were there.
About a year or so ago, the kids and I were driving around town and for some reason or other that I cannot now remember, Chloe asked how to become a Christian/have Jesus come live in your heart/know Jesus, and I told her she just needed to ask him; to thank him for dying on the cross and forgiving her sins and ask him to rule her heart and mind and life. She asked if she could do that, and I, somewhat nervously, not wanting to screw this up, led her in a prayer. And so Chloe's heart came to belong to Jesus.
Then a few months ago, for some reason or other that I cannot now remember, Chloe asked about being baptized. We talked some about what it meant, and prayed about it. We wanted to make sure it wasn't being done for the wrong reasons, and we wanted to know that it was really the Lord's will for Chloe, that she was following him and not just following a whim. We asked the church to pray for us, too. After that the conversation dropped off and I pretty much forgot about it. But Chloe didn't. A couple months ago, she brought it up again. We were in the car again (this seems to be a great place for conversations), and so we prayed about it again, asking that the Lord would make it plain to Chloe if this was something he wanted her to do. As we were praying, the Lord brought to my mind the idea of having Chloe read some verses about baptism. I told her about it, and when we got home I BibleGateway-ed some verses on baptism. Chloe went upstairs to be alone and read them. When she came downstairs a few minutes later, she said, "Yes, I definitely want to be baptized!" I asked her why; what was it about what she had read that really spoke to her, and what did it mean? She said that she wanted to leave sin behind and tell God that her heart belonged to him and that she wanted to follow him. There are obviously no "right" answers, but that was definitely a right answer! So, after a little planning on our part and a lot of planning on the part of some of our friends/group/church, we got together in the backyard.
Aaron then read the verses that had so impacted Chloe: "All that passing laws against sin did was produce more lawbreakers. But sin didn't, and doesn't, have a chance in competition with the aggressive forgiveness we call grace. When it's sin versus grace, grace wins hands down. All sin can do is threaten us with death, and that's the end of it. Grace, because God is putting everything together again through the Messiah, invites us into life—a life that goes on and on and on, world without end. So what do we do? Keep on sinning so God can keep on forgiving? I should hope not! If we've left the country where sin is sovereign, how can we still live in our old house there? Or didn't you realize we packed up and left there for good? That is what happened in baptism. When we went under the water, we left the old country of sin behind; when we came up out of the water, we entered into the new country of grace—a new life in a new land! That's what baptism into the life of Jesus means. When we are lowered into the water, it is like the burial of Jesus; when we are raised up out of the water, it is like the resurrection of Jesus. Each of us is raised into a light-filled world by our Father so that we can see where we're going in our new grace-sovereign country. Could it be any clearer? Our old way of life was nailed to the cross with Christ, a decisive end to that sin-miserable life—no longer at sin's every beck and call! What we believe is this: If we get included in Christ's sin-conquering death, we also get included in his life-saving resurrection. We know that when Jesus was raised from the dead it was a signal of the end of death-as-the-end. Never again will death have the last word. When Jesus died, he took sin down with him, but alive he brings God down to us. From now on, think of it this way: Sin speaks a dead language that means nothing to you; God speaks your mother tongue, and you hang on every word. You are dead to sin and alive to God. That's what Jesus did." Romans 5:20-6:11, The Message.
Then Aaron and Chloe climbed into the hot tub; he prayed for her and baptized her into the wonderful, beautiful, crazy Body of Belivers.
You can read Rishi's eloquent and emotional take on the event here, as well as see some stunning photography.
A few weeks ago our church/friends/group got together in the backyard of a couple who have a hot tub. Aaron, Chloe, and I stood in front of our friends and I started with the disclaimer that we had no idea what we were doing. (To those of you who don't know, there have not been very many baptisms in our little home church, so there's not much of a precedence. We have no pastor, so there's no one to officiate the ceremony. This was a homegrown process, and we were a tiny bit nervous, but excited that this was such an organic gathering.)
I started with the story of why we were there.
About a year or so ago, the kids and I were driving around town and for some reason or other that I cannot now remember, Chloe asked how to become a Christian/have Jesus come live in your heart/know Jesus, and I told her she just needed to ask him; to thank him for dying on the cross and forgiving her sins and ask him to rule her heart and mind and life. She asked if she could do that, and I, somewhat nervously, not wanting to screw this up, led her in a prayer. And so Chloe's heart came to belong to Jesus.
Then a few months ago, for some reason or other that I cannot now remember, Chloe asked about being baptized. We talked some about what it meant, and prayed about it. We wanted to make sure it wasn't being done for the wrong reasons, and we wanted to know that it was really the Lord's will for Chloe, that she was following him and not just following a whim. We asked the church to pray for us, too. After that the conversation dropped off and I pretty much forgot about it. But Chloe didn't. A couple months ago, she brought it up again. We were in the car again (this seems to be a great place for conversations), and so we prayed about it again, asking that the Lord would make it plain to Chloe if this was something he wanted her to do. As we were praying, the Lord brought to my mind the idea of having Chloe read some verses about baptism. I told her about it, and when we got home I BibleGateway-ed some verses on baptism. Chloe went upstairs to be alone and read them. When she came downstairs a few minutes later, she said, "Yes, I definitely want to be baptized!" I asked her why; what was it about what she had read that really spoke to her, and what did it mean? She said that she wanted to leave sin behind and tell God that her heart belonged to him and that she wanted to follow him. There are obviously no "right" answers, but that was definitely a right answer! So, after a little planning on our part and a lot of planning on the part of some of our friends/group/church, we got together in the backyard.
Aaron then read the verses that had so impacted Chloe: "All that passing laws against sin did was produce more lawbreakers. But sin didn't, and doesn't, have a chance in competition with the aggressive forgiveness we call grace. When it's sin versus grace, grace wins hands down. All sin can do is threaten us with death, and that's the end of it. Grace, because God is putting everything together again through the Messiah, invites us into life—a life that goes on and on and on, world without end. So what do we do? Keep on sinning so God can keep on forgiving? I should hope not! If we've left the country where sin is sovereign, how can we still live in our old house there? Or didn't you realize we packed up and left there for good? That is what happened in baptism. When we went under the water, we left the old country of sin behind; when we came up out of the water, we entered into the new country of grace—a new life in a new land! That's what baptism into the life of Jesus means. When we are lowered into the water, it is like the burial of Jesus; when we are raised up out of the water, it is like the resurrection of Jesus. Each of us is raised into a light-filled world by our Father so that we can see where we're going in our new grace-sovereign country. Could it be any clearer? Our old way of life was nailed to the cross with Christ, a decisive end to that sin-miserable life—no longer at sin's every beck and call! What we believe is this: If we get included in Christ's sin-conquering death, we also get included in his life-saving resurrection. We know that when Jesus was raised from the dead it was a signal of the end of death-as-the-end. Never again will death have the last word. When Jesus died, he took sin down with him, but alive he brings God down to us. From now on, think of it this way: Sin speaks a dead language that means nothing to you; God speaks your mother tongue, and you hang on every word. You are dead to sin and alive to God. That's what Jesus did." Romans 5:20-6:11, The Message.
Then Aaron and Chloe climbed into the hot tub; he prayed for her and baptized her into the wonderful, beautiful, crazy Body of Belivers.
You can read Rishi's eloquent and emotional take on the event here, as well as see some stunning photography.
Monday, June 15, 2009
Bob got a haircut
Bob has long, luxurious fur. I have never seen or felt a cat with such soft, lovely fur.
The only problem with this long, luxurious fur is that now Bob is an inside-outside cat (emphasis on the outside). He stalks and hunts and lazes in the grass. Long grass. With sticker-burrs.
These are not sharp sticker-burrs (is this word totally a Southern thing?), but they stick to long, luxurious fur like you wouldn't believe. Over the past few months, Aaron and I have spent many minutes picking these sticker-burrs out of Bob's fur. We could leave them, but there are times he's been COVERED in the things. And Bob's only way of getting them out is by bathing, and this leads to some serious hairballs. Not good.
So to cut down on the problems with the sticker-burrs (seriously, let me know if there's another word I should be using), and because it's already quite hot (I will refrain from grousing), we decided that Bob should get a summer haircut.
Let me prelude that no pictures can do justice to the hilarity.
*Bonus--new rug in the living room! (Needs vacuuming in the picture. This has recently been rectified in real life.)
I seriously laughed for three days any time I saw Bob. I'm starting to get used to it, but I still think he looks somewhat like a Chinese Crested dog.
But, given his recent stalking and hunting tendencies, we tell him he looks like a lion.
Yeah, that's it.
The only problem with this long, luxurious fur is that now Bob is an inside-outside cat (emphasis on the outside). He stalks and hunts and lazes in the grass. Long grass. With sticker-burrs.
These are not sharp sticker-burrs (is this word totally a Southern thing?), but they stick to long, luxurious fur like you wouldn't believe. Over the past few months, Aaron and I have spent many minutes picking these sticker-burrs out of Bob's fur. We could leave them, but there are times he's been COVERED in the things. And Bob's only way of getting them out is by bathing, and this leads to some serious hairballs. Not good.
So to cut down on the problems with the sticker-burrs (seriously, let me know if there's another word I should be using), and because it's already quite hot (I will refrain from grousing), we decided that Bob should get a summer haircut.
Let me prelude that no pictures can do justice to the hilarity.
*Bonus--new rug in the living room! (Needs vacuuming in the picture. This has recently been rectified in real life.)
I seriously laughed for three days any time I saw Bob. I'm starting to get used to it, but I still think he looks somewhat like a Chinese Crested dog.
But, given his recent stalking and hunting tendencies, we tell him he looks like a lion.
Yeah, that's it.
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Cupcakes
And, while I'm on the subject of not posting Europe pictures yet, I want to post some other pictures.
The kids' school offers cake-decorating 'classes' from time to time, given by HEB. They do this at times like Valentine's or Mother's Day. The problem is, these classes, and accompanying cakes, cost $5 per child. That's $15 for three mini-cakes. I'm just not digging it.
So this year, Aaron suggested that, instead of the kids decorating cakes at school, we could decorate a cake at home. I suggested that, instead of decorating one large cake, we could decorate cupcakes. So we did.
The kids' school offers cake-decorating 'classes' from time to time, given by HEB. They do this at times like Valentine's or Mother's Day. The problem is, these classes, and accompanying cakes, cost $5 per child. That's $15 for three mini-cakes. I'm just not digging it.
So this year, Aaron suggested that, instead of the kids decorating cakes at school, we could decorate a cake at home. I suggested that, instead of decorating one large cake, we could decorate cupcakes. So we did.
Britain trumps China
I know I need to post pictures, but first wanted to update you on the end of my semester. My group project ended up bringing my grade down several points in my China to Chinese American class, so I'm pretty irritated by that (especially because I had a 99 going into the group project, and I ended up having to pick up much of the slack from less-than-stellar group members), but I still ended with an A. And an A is an A is an A...
Ironically, I ended up making a better grade in my Brit Lit class. Yup, you heard...um, read that right. After my 98 on my rewrite of the first critical essay, I made a 98 on my second critical essay and a 100 on the final. A 100 ON THE FINAL!!! When I first got these final two grades I thought at first that maybe my teacher had just run out of time and so she generously tossed some points my way. But the average grade on the second essay was an 82 and the average on the final was an 88. It feels niiiiice.
Also, I just have to share her comments on my final: "Bravo! This test is excellent! I only wish I had time to enumerate all the ways in which it excels. The most significant is the manner in which it extends seemingly slight implications into inferences that articulate their central significance in sustaining coherence and thematic unity."
Who kicks English ass? Me.
So maybe my theory that my teacher was trying to pull more out of me with that 72 was correct. I did find a way to up my game, and I am supremely gratified. Boosh!
Ironically, I ended up making a better grade in my Brit Lit class. Yup, you heard...um, read that right. After my 98 on my rewrite of the first critical essay, I made a 98 on my second critical essay and a 100 on the final. A 100 ON THE FINAL!!! When I first got these final two grades I thought at first that maybe my teacher had just run out of time and so she generously tossed some points my way. But the average grade on the second essay was an 82 and the average on the final was an 88. It feels niiiiice.
Also, I just have to share her comments on my final: "Bravo! This test is excellent! I only wish I had time to enumerate all the ways in which it excels. The most significant is the manner in which it extends seemingly slight implications into inferences that articulate their central significance in sustaining coherence and thematic unity."
Who kicks English ass? Me.
So maybe my theory that my teacher was trying to pull more out of me with that 72 was correct. I did find a way to up my game, and I am supremely gratified. Boosh!
Friday, May 15, 2009
Happy Birthday, Halle!
Halle recently celebrated her 10th birthday. Aaron and I gave her the choice of having a party with her friends, which is what we usually do, or having a family outing to Practically Pikasso. She chose the family outing, which made us happy and proud (and thrilled). I will post pictures of our creations at some point in time, but first, the party.
The cake is supposed to be an artist's palette, to accompany the art-y theme of Practically Pikasso. Halle picked this out of our cake book. And, to those of you wondering, no, I did not use the Betty Crocker 100 Piece Decorating Kit. It's not my best work, but it tasted good.
The cake is supposed to be an artist's palette, to accompany the art-y theme of Practically Pikasso. Halle picked this out of our cake book. And, to those of you wondering, no, I did not use the Betty Crocker 100 Piece Decorating Kit. It's not my best work, but it tasted good.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Triumph
Remember this post? Remember the fury, the pain, the anguish?
All has been redeemed. I made a 98 on the rewrite.
AND, I turned in my final today, so I am done, done, done for this semester!
Next up: Europe, baby!
All has been redeemed. I made a 98 on the rewrite.
AND, I turned in my final today, so I am done, done, done for this semester!
Next up: Europe, baby!
Monday, April 20, 2009
I type, therefore I am
Last night I was lying in bed trying to go to sleep, and for some reason I began to think about my story. I think it had something to do with a conversation I had this weekend with Angie about a story she's writing. Anyway, I was thinking about how I need to rewrite my bad guy. After the first few paragraphs I wrote, I've never been completely satisfied with him. He's just ending up much more bombastic than slyly evil, and I want to strike a slightly darker tone.
These thoughts led me, in some roundabout way I don't even recall, to remember something I read somewhere about writing. It may have been Stephen King's On Writing, but I'm not sure. The thing I remembered was something like, there's something very organic and powerful about the act of physically writing instead of typing. I thought this was a nice idea when I read it, but just not something that will work for me. What struck me most when I was thinking about this last night was that, when I remember my origins of writing stories as a kid, I don't remember physically writing. I remember typing. I remember sitting at the typewriter, pounding out words letter by letter, fitting as many words as possible on one line, whiting out mistakes with this special typewriter white-out. I'm not 100 percent sure what my motivation was for typing, but I wonder if it was because I thought there was something very writerly about typing. Any kid can scribble out a story on a piece of ruled paper, but only a select few are worthy of something as grown up and authorial as typing.
I'd never made this very simple, almost silly connection between my writing roots and my present-day practices. Besides, nowadays my reasons for typing are pretty mundane and practical. I type much faster than I write, and I need to be able to keep up with my thoughts, to get them on the page before they disappear. But now, remembering my origins, I think it's perfectly fitting, and much more organic and powerful, for me to type. How could I do anything else?
These thoughts led me, in some roundabout way I don't even recall, to remember something I read somewhere about writing. It may have been Stephen King's On Writing, but I'm not sure. The thing I remembered was something like, there's something very organic and powerful about the act of physically writing instead of typing. I thought this was a nice idea when I read it, but just not something that will work for me. What struck me most when I was thinking about this last night was that, when I remember my origins of writing stories as a kid, I don't remember physically writing. I remember typing. I remember sitting at the typewriter, pounding out words letter by letter, fitting as many words as possible on one line, whiting out mistakes with this special typewriter white-out. I'm not 100 percent sure what my motivation was for typing, but I wonder if it was because I thought there was something very writerly about typing. Any kid can scribble out a story on a piece of ruled paper, but only a select few are worthy of something as grown up and authorial as typing.
I'd never made this very simple, almost silly connection between my writing roots and my present-day practices. Besides, nowadays my reasons for typing are pretty mundane and practical. I type much faster than I write, and I need to be able to keep up with my thoughts, to get them on the page before they disappear. But now, remembering my origins, I think it's perfectly fitting, and much more organic and powerful, for me to type. How could I do anything else?
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