Tuesday, June 23, 2020

by Big Bill, summer 2020, update to Storyworth Book

Being in the Wrong Place at the Right Time
The Eurovision Song Contest (ESC) is not a major source of interest in the United States, but it is in Europe. The competition has been going on yearly since 1956, with 66 winners including the Swedish group ABBA and Celine Dion (who is Canadian but competed for Switzerland). Twenty-seven countries’ entries have won, including a four-way tie in 1969. It being European, songs in fifteen languages have been winners: half have been in English and a quarter more in French—no surprise there—but Hebrew is third on the winners list, which also includes Crimean Tatar and Serbian.
Arguably one of the most exciting contests occurred in 1994. The contest format has the  winning country host the next year’s event. Ireland had won in 1992 and 1993, so it had hosted the 1993 contest in Millstreet, County Cork. As they were to host it again in 1994, they wanted a larger arena and chose Point Theatre in Dublin, which had a stage four times larger than the prior year. Because the theater is located on the River Liffey, they went with a river theme for the event, complete with a changing sky backdrop and the floor painted with dark blue reflective paint to suggest a river.
 It was filled with firsts.
1994 was the first year that the voting was broadcast via satellite, allowing everyone to see the various delegations cast their votes, giving twelve points to the country they had in first place, ten for second and on down. (A country could not vote for themselves.) The first three countries cast their first-place vote for Hungry, giving them a big lead and the appearance of a runaway. Alas, they only got one more first place and only two seconds out of the twenty-five total countries. In an exciting tally, slowly Ireland and then first-time contestant Poland moved past Hungary, giving Ireland a record six total wins in the ESC and the only time one country has had a threepeat. (They now have a leading seven total wins.)
The winning song was Rock ‘N Roll Kids, performed by Paul Harrington on piano and Charlie McGettigan on guitar, the first ever performance without an orchestra. They were the first song to score over 200 points and won by what was then the largest margin ever. (The scoring has since been changed, so comparison is now of little value.) Their song has been named the best Irish entry of all time in any ESC.
 It was no doubt a big night for them and they could not have done any better, but just seven months later, at the Royal Variety Performance in London, the emcee, when introducing one of the performances, referenced that year’s ESC and said, “Does anyone remember the song [which won that night]?” The audience was quiet. The reason few remembered the winner was a classic example of their being in the right place at the wrong time.
Despite all the firsts in the 1994 Eurovision Song Contest, it will be remembered not by the songs of the night, but by the “interval” in the middle of the event. It is unclear to me what the interval is. At seven minutes it is too short to get food or visit the loo. It is not even like the seventh inning stretch at a baseball game where everyone stands up and, well, stretches. At the ESC everyone stays seated for the interval, and there is a performance. In 1994 Ireland sent a dance team to a song contest. It was the first performance of RIVERDANCE.
The three thousand in the live audience erupted in a standing ovation for a performance that few people have not now seen live or at least on DVD or YouTube. There were 300 million viewers at home in front of TVs, and Irish dance was on the map.
Before that night Irish dance had been a local affair. There were no professional Irish dancers. The dances were done mostly in buildings with clay floors which afforded poor acoustics for the hard shoe dances, so they danced on the tops of barrels or maybe a door laid down on the floor, either of which would increase the sound but decrease linear movement. Two Irish dancing champions changed all that with a choreography that got the dancers off the barrel head and into the heads of millions of viewers. The demonstration was soon expanded into a full show and soon multiple troupes were touring the world year-round, including “small venue” troupes.

 Jean Butler and Michael Flatley have become household names around the globe. Do you remember names of the singers who won the 1994 Eurovision Song Contest?

by Big Bill, summer 2020, update to Storyworth Book

Live Television
I watch hardly any live television: I don’t like commercials, I hate waiting for plays to be reviewed, and I detest most political rants. I Tevo live football games, watch something else I have previously taped for 60-90 minutes, then start the game and skip the interruptions and half time. I finish the game with the rest of you.
So, it is surprising to me the number of unexpected and sudden events that I have seen live.  I saw Challenger explode, Jack Ruby shoot Lee Harvey Oswald, and the second plane plow into the World Trade Center. All on live television. (I have no idea why I was watching a TV feed from a Dallas parking garage when they were moving a suspect to a different jail, but there I was.) I turned on the Masters one year just as Tiger Woods chipped onto a green from a fairly deep depression on the right of the screen.  The cup was at the top of the screen and he miss hit the chip so badly that it flew to the bottom of the screen.  As the ball kept slowly moving and the announcer said something like, “here it comes”, I got oriented enough to realize the green sloped from the bottom to top of my picture and Tiger hadn’t missed the chip nearly as badly as I had initially supposed. It has become one of the most iconic chips in golf history, certainly televised golf: the ball getting closer and closer to the cup, Tiger and his caddy creeping forward in anticipation, the ball hanging on the edge with the Nike logo perfectly positioned, then falling in to roars by the announcer and the Patrons.
There are other events, like JetBlue flight 292 that landed with the wheel locked sideways amid sparks and smoke, that are still brought up in some conversation or another and I marvel that I just happened to be watching live that one time. TopTenzNet, a video blog, has a list of their top ten shocking live TV moments, and I saw four of them, though I don’t count things like Hurricane Katrina because it wasn’t “sudden”.
But the one that I think of the most, the one that inspires me every time I think of it, happened back in the 1960s during the Cold War at a track meet between the USA and the USSR. I have tried to look up the details, but it happened more than half a century ago and before the internet. My memory allows that there were several countries represented—some from Iron Curtain countries and maybe Canada and Great Britain. It was either the 4 X 100-meter or 4 X 200-meter relay and the United Stated was losing, badly. Then Wilma Rudolph got the baton.
Wilma Rudolph had been behind before. She was a poor black female living in the South (Tennessee). She was born prematurely weighing only 4.5 pounds, the twentieth of her father’s twenty-two children by two wives. Those were just inconveniences compared to the polio. Her left side was paralyzed almost totally and her leg was twisted, resulting in braces and long therapy sessions. The prognosis wasn’t good and the Rudolphs weren’t given much hope.
“The doctor said I would never walk again. My mother said I would. I believed my mother.” she would remember. One day, to the medical staff’s amazement, she took off the brace and walked out.
So, there she was, years later, on live TV, representing the USA in a relay, with another obstacle to overcome. As she came around the curve in the final leg of the 4 X 200, and I admit my memory may have this a little off—it could have been the third runner actually running the curve if it was the 4 X 100—due to the curve it was hard to tell just how far behind she was, but it was several meters. (Having to make up ground wasn’t unusual for her. In the 1960 Olympic games 4 X 100-meter relay she was behind two runners when she got the baton for the anchor leg. When she crossed the finish line her team had a world record.)
 She started passing runners like they were photographers standing on the track to get closeups. The finish wasn’t close.  I’m sure someone, somewhere has made up that much ground in so little time against world class competition in an important race, but I’ve never seen it.  I am still amazed.
Some people I know, taking advantage of a sure thing, bought 500 $2 win tickets at the Kentucky Derby on Honest Pleasure—the odds-on favorite in 1976 to win horse racing’s Triple Crown.  The Idea was to do the same at the Preakness and Belmont races, then mount the winning tickets in Triple Crown Plaques complete with a picture of the horse in a winner’s circle with the winner’s flower garland, smiles all around, etc.
They were sure to make a lot of money selling the one-of-a-kind plaques. The problem was that Bold Forbes won the 1976 Kentucky Derby (and the Belmont). Honest Pleasure was second by half a length at Kentucky and didn’t get a call after that.
I have one of their $2 win tickets in my wallet to this day, and when I get tempted by some can’t miss get-rich-quick or at least double your money scheme, I get it out and remind myself there are no sure things.

But, as happens more often, when the odds are long and there is no encouragement by the people who should know; when I’m behind through no fault of my own; I think about Wilma Rudolph with a baton in her hand coming off the curve in a long-ago track meet, running past the competition, and the polio, and the other disadvantages that she would not let become excuses. I ask myself, “Who are you listening to?  What are you believing?” I don’t always make a winning comeback, but I certainly don’t quit.

by Big Bill, summer 2020 update to Storyworth book

What Is Your Favorite Churchill Story?
Here is one answer that can be shared with children.
told by Fulton Oursler, Jr. the son of the author of The Greatest Story Ever Told:
It is a terrible thing to be 16 and never have shaved. At Christmas, I received a mug with scented soap, a bone-handled brush and the most modern razor on the market. “You’ll be needing them soon,” my father said, with a confident wink. Every morning I searched the mirror, but the new year, 1949, began without the slightest shadow on my face.
In February, I made the dreadful mistake of bringing my mug, brush, and razor to school and hiding them in my locker, in the hope that my masculinity would suddenly sprout between, say, social studies and Latin. The implements were discovered and displayed – with hilarious commentary – by two hairy older boys.
After that, the elusive first shave became an obsession. I daydreamed, imagining the rites of the ritual: how I would coax the warm, rich lather from my mug, how I would spread it, slowly and luxuriously, over the skin and then make the masterful, sweeping razor strokes that would initiate my manhood. But no matter how often I looked, the mirror still proclaimed that I was beardless.
Then my father announced that Mother and he were planning a brief visit to England. If I wished, he said casually, I could come too.
I packed my unused mug, brush and razor and, on April 2, I walked up the gangway and into the sumptuous comfort of the Queen Mary.
The hour before departure was frenzied. My parents had a cabin on A Deck, and it was immediately filled with well-wishers. (This was the week that my father’s book The Greatest Story Ever Told reached the top of the bestseller list.) My cabin was on the deck above, and I had barely reached it with a group of school friends when a great blast from the ship’s horn announced that all guests must leave. One of my friends had been reading the passenger list. “Look!” he shouted, pointing to a name. I read it aloud, in disbelief: “Winston Churchill.” Churchill! At 16, I thought of him as a kind of god.
The ship’s horn sounded again and, after we said goodbye, I raced to my father’s cabin. “Do you know who is on this ship?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said and handed me a note. “My dear Mr. Oursler, how fortunate we share the same voyage! Could you, Mrs. Oursler and your son have tea with us on Tuesday?” It was signed by Churchill.
In the next days, I saw the great man twice. First at dinner, two tables away from us. The round, pink face shone above a dark pinstripe suit. He smiled at everyone until the main course was served. Then he frowned at the plate, and his face turned from pink to red. The chef was summoned, and with much animation, Churchill pointed to the food and waved his hands in the air. It was clear that he was demonstrating how the meal should have been prepared.
Late one night, I saw him again. Two men were helping him as he moved unsteadily towards his cabin. It seemed to me that Churchill actually wanted to go in the opposite direction, but the men, with determined gentleness, guided him firmly to his door.

Both incidents disturbed me. This was not the way I had expected a god to act. At breakfast in the morning before the tea, I told my father what I felt. Churchill was rude; he was intemperate.
“And you are judging him?” My father took a deep breath. “More than 50 years ago, this man rode in the last great cavalry charge in history. He escaped from imprisonment in the Boer War and, although there was a price on his head, made it back to England. In World War I, he devised a great plan to bring the war to a swift conclusion. The plan failed and for years he lost his political power. Then he warned the world about Hitler, but no one listened. Finally, when all his predictions came true, when it was almost too late and when America still remained neutral, he inspired his country to fight the Nazis alone. He is one of the greatest orators in history and has written some of the greatest English since Shakespeare. And you are troubled because he is publicly fastidious about his food and you think he drinks too much. Do you know what Lincoln said when people complained that Grant was a drunk?”
“No.”
“He said, ‘I’ll send him a case of whiskey if it will help him win the war.’ Do you know what Cromwell said when he sat for a portrait?”
“No.”
“The painter wanted to flatter him, but Cromwell said, ‘Paint me, warts and all.’”
My father was silent for a moment. Then he said quietly, “You are becoming a man. You should know that no one is perfect. Certainly not heroes. You must develop a sense of … proportion.”
That afternoon as I dressed for tea, I was not only chastened, I began to tremble with a kind of stage fright. I had taken a fool’s measure of, not a god, but a very great man. Now I was to meet him. Suppose he were to take my measure? (“Tell me, young man, what are your thoughts on the Boer War?”)
I can remember how cold my hands were as I walked with my parents to Churchill’s suite. “Who were the Boers?” I asked suddenly.
My father turned to me. “I’ll tell you later,” he said. “Now remember no one is perfect. You, for example, have a tendency to talk too much. This afternoon I expect you to listen!”
In the first giddy moments after we had entered, I saw with relief that Churchill was not in the suite. 
Mrs. Churchill had begun making introductions when the room fell silent. I turned and there – like Mephistopheles emerging from a cloud of smoke – stood Churchill himself, puffing on an enormous cigar.
He was dressed in the strangest suit I’ve ever seen. It was grey and one-piece, made of canvas-like material, with a zipper in the front. Later I learned that this was his battle dress during World War II.
Churchill walked through the crowd, shaking hands; then he took my father by the arm and strode to the opposite side of the room. When they sat down, everyone else sat in the nearest chairs. This left me perhaps six meters away, and I watched in agony while the idle chatter around me obliterated their words. My father said something and Churchill laughed. Desperately, I leaned forward and, in that instant, Churchill happened to glance in my direction. He smiled and motioned me across the room.
When I arrived, my father gave me a look that I could not misunderstand: I was to remain absolutely silent.
Churchill began to talk about his speech at Fulton, Missouri, in which he had first used the phrase ‘Iron Curtain’. My father said, “Your predictions have come true again. There is a terrible division between Russia and the West. But your foresight could not make you a happy man.”
“On the contrary,” said Churchill. “I am very well satisfied. We needed Stalin and the crises he brought with him. His aggressiveness has united the West as never before. Together we must make Russia give up the countries of Eastern Europe through free elections.”
“How would you propose to do that?”
Churchill did not immediately reply. He looked at me as if to see if I was following the conversation. Then he regarded the other guests across the room. “Ah, now,” he said, his voice rising, and he delivered his next words deliberately as if he were making a speech in Parliament.
“Now – you are asking me to tread – the narrow bridge – above the chasm – that separates platitudes from indiscretion!”
There was an explosion of laughter, and for the first time since I had entered the room, I felt at ease. In fact, I felt so much at ease that I found myself speaking. “Mr. Churchill,” I asked, “if the Russians developed the atom bomb, do you think they would hesitate to use it?”
My father blinked. Then his head snapped and he stared at me. Immediately I regretted my words. But Churchill seemed delighted.
“Well, that would all depend, wouldn’t it?” he said. “The East might have three bombs; the West might have a hundred. But, then, supposing it was vice versa?”
My father started to speak, but Churchill continued. “You see –” he mumbled with the same deliberate rhythm, his voice growing louder with each word, “you see – with the atom bomb – (the room was growing quiet again.) it is all a matter of – (there was still conversation in the far part of the room) it is entirely a matter of – of –”
He seemed to be at a loss for the precise word to complete his thought. I did not perceive that he was merely waiting until he had the attention of the entire room. At that moment, all I knew was that for some reason my father was not going to rescue Churchill from his sudden excruciating inability to express himself.
“Sir,” I said, and my voice seemed to crack, “do you mean that it is all a matter of – proportion?”
Wide-eyed, my father leaned forward in great agitation, but Churchill raised a majestic hand and pointed that commanding cigar at me.
“That is it, exactly!” he said. “Proportion is a very good word, and it is too often forgotten, in war and in peace. You should say it, young man, every morning when you wake up. You should say it to yourself, every time you stand before the mirror when you shave!”
At those words, my head began to swim. With relief, I could see that my father was no longer angry at me, and I sat in silent glory as the talk continued – talk about coming elections, about the Atlantic Charter, about Mao’s recent victories in China.
When tea was over, and we were walking down the corridor away from Churchill’s suite, I was exultant. “Can you believe it?” I cried. “He actually thought I shaved!”
My father stopped and looked at me carefully. “If I were you, “ he said, “I’d find a mirror and take a good look.”
In the bathroom of my cabin, after much examination, I saw the truth. There, under my nose and on either side of my chin, were the unmistakable hints of whiskers. They were so soft that my fingertips could barely feel them, but they were there.
I found my mug, my brush, and my razor. I made a lather that could have serviced every man on the ship. I lifted the razor, looked in the mirror and, in the deepest voice I could manage, I spoke my first words as a man.

“You know,” I said, “it is all – ah, it is entirely – a matter of proportion!”

It's Official

June 2012:

We are moving to Cal-i-forn-I-A!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! You wouldn't think we'd be happy about yet another move, and yet it comes with much relief and excitement. We can finally settle in for awhile. Matthew will teach within this great books program. The fit couldn't be more perfect. So here's our moving schedule as we know it:

song Pack It Up

recent picture dump















































Monday, June 22, 2020

Easter then and now

Throwback to the Easter when Benjamin had just been born (note bruised Emily to show for it):





Friday, September 14, 2012

Claimed for Jesus

"The Christian community welcomes you with great joy. In its' name, I claim you for Christ our Savior. . ."

(picture missing)

Is there anything greater? I felt like I couldn't say "YES" with enough of myself. Make them faithful witnesses to your gospel, make their parents and godparents worthy examples of the faith, lead them by a holy life into your kingdom of joy.

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We recite the creed and hear "This is the faith of the Church. We are proud to profess it." And we are charged to keep our children walking in the light of faith.

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And then a prayer for parents---the mother now thanks God for these children, born into new life, and "may she be one with them in thanking God forever in heaven". May the father and mother "be the best of teachers, bearing witness to the faith in all they say and do in Christ Jesus our Lord."

A great big charge--to lead God's little children to know and to love Him--but it's given with grace from Him and through his body.

Father David said that what came to him when praying about this particular baptism was the joy of the mother being complete. It fit beautifully with a poem David had found days prior (Baptism by John Keble)


"But happiest ye, who sealed and blest,
back to your arms your treasure take,
with Jesus' mark impressed,
to nurse for Jesus' sake"
. . .

"Sweet one, make haste and know him too,
Thine own adopting Father love,
that like thine earliest dew
thy dying sweets may prove"

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We were surrounded by grandparents and friends. And Grace and Sheldon's godparents sent the most beautiful baptism gift. You can see it here, in a very sweet post.

We are so blessed.

Monday, September 10, 2012

Third Birthday Party

We left off here:




And then he made another one. It was a lovely lion and was a hit with the parents as well as the kids.













The kids decorated masks when they arrived, and then we paraded to the "circus ring" (rope on the round) and played duck-duck goose.



Then the ring became a high wire, and the kids walked across it.






Then we used the rope to section off the bean bag toss area. It took the kids a while to figure out how to knock down the tower, but they did get the hang of it. Thanks, Mom, for making 14 lovely, durable bean bags! They will be great too in future games!



We had lunch and then the carousel opened. This was a big hit.















Gracie started the "Happy Birthday" song for us. She had been practicing for weeks leading up to the event.


When telling her Aunt Kerri about the day, she said she had a "lollipop party". The lollipop centerpiece was my one takeaway from Pinterest.


Happy Birthday, sweetest girl. You are a delight and we love you.