Believe it or not, I forgot that today was Halloween.

When I went to the credit union they were passing out popcorn and cookies and it was then that I remembered. Good thing I had already bought candy a few weeks ago when I was in a "plan ahead" mode.

Weird, this is the first year that I can remember that I haven't carved a pumpkin. Not that we're mad Halloween-ers (ok, that was funny ... ) but it's been a tradition to carve pumpkins, toast the seeds, make some cocoa, pass out candy, walk the neighborhood ...

Of course, this is the first year Cassie hasn't been home.

It's weird how life has changed now that she's gone.

And that's as far as I want to reminisce on that topic tonight.

I went to speak at my alma mater on Thursday, at the Magazine Writing Class I attended, still taught by one of my favorite professors, Mary Loprocaro.

OK, that was weird!

I felt like I was walking into a time warp. Mary looked exactly the same - honest! - and the students could have been the same students in the class ... (cough) ... 19 years ago ... (cough, cough).

In my mind, I am still in my 20s. But it's obvious that I'm aging - physically and mentally.

After leaving the classroom, I looked for the elevator which brought me to the second floor of Basil (I was pulling a case on wheels with lots of books and 'show and tell' items that I didn't want to carry down the big open staircase). Due to the recent renovations (OK, the building now barely resembles anything it looked like when I attended there - and the infamous fountain in front of Basil is gone, along with the site where the historic car chase renactment was filmed for the cult classic film directed by Mr. Matt Giglio), I lost my bearings for a moment and asked a student where the elevator was. Seeing me for the senile, middle-aged woman I am, he replied, "You're standing right in front of it."

So the Yankees stunk up the joint this series. While I rooted for them, I can't honestly say I was disappointed to see the Marlins win tonight.

Josh Beckett, 23 years old, first World Series, pitched a 5 hit shut out on 3 days rest (which apparently is supposed to mean something), and better yet, tagged Jorge Posada for the game - and series - winning out.

Good for him. When he was awarded the trophy for series MVP, Beckett simply said that God blessed him with one more good game.

It's funny how much quiet spirituality there appeared to be on the field from both teams. Andy Pettite said after game 2 that his whole church was praying for him. Several other players quietly thanked God for allowing them to be there, or to play well - not for the win. No dissing the other team, or name calling, or whining about bad calls or unfair play. Everybody just played nice, and the better team won.

So while I'm bummed that the Yankees lost, I had fun watching the series, and I'm glad that Beckett had a great win tonight. He deserved it, and it was fun to watch him win with class.

"It's better to watch stuff than to do stuff."
Homer Simpson

--------------------------

Lisa: What Bart's experiencing is classic Oedipus complex.

Homer: What's that?

Lisa: Oedipus killed his father and married his mother.

Homer: Yeesh. Who paid for that wedding?

O gift of God! O perfect day!
Whereon shall no man work, but play
Whereon it is enough for me,
Not to be doing, but to be!

(from Day of Sunshine, by Longfellow)

When Baseball Hits Home

I've been getting some flak from a friend about rooting for the Yankees. In an email to me today he called them "the evil empire".

Weird, but I guess you either love 'em or you hate 'em. (The fact that he's Canadian might have something to do with it.)

But the truth is that I've loved the Yankees since grade school. Sixth grade, to be exact, when my parents separated and we moved to Massachusetts to live with my grandparents for several months.

Now, when I say "fan", I don't mean a true fan, in the sense that I watch all the games or sport the memorabilia. I don't know the stats or starting line up. I've never been to a game, and probably never will go. (confession: I'd rather watch the games on TV because I can see everything that's going on and hear the play by play.)

What I mean is that the Yankees are a part of my history; loving the team is one tiny element of my make up, like the fact that I prefer Coke over Pepsi, and grew up listening to Donny Osmond. It's who I am: a bubble-gum-pop-music-loving, Coke-in-the-glass-bottle-drinking, Yankees fan.

When my parents separated, I was in 6th grade, and my mom, sister and I moved to Massachusetts to live with my grandparents. It was a huge adjustment - we moved literally in the blink of an eye. One minute we were in class, the next in the car on the Thruway. And there was a lot of anger and bitterness flowing between my parents during those months we were away. Add to that the fact that there were already a bunch of people living in my grandparents' house when we got there, and there's a lot to remember from 6th grade.

And I remember the Yankees. That was the era of Catfish Hunter and Thurman Munson, just before Bucky Dent became the Yankee pinup boy of the late 70s (Derek who?). I remember sitting with my cousin Lynne in the room we shared, making a poster with every team member's name on it, a big NY logo in the middle. Chris Chambliss, Lou Pinella, Graig Nettles, Willie Randolph, Catfish and Thurman, manager Billy Martin. (confession: I couldn't tell you who was on the team before the first game I watched this season, but by the third inning they were as familiar as family.)

You'd think that the Yankees would remind me of the turmoil in my life during that time, but the truth is that while my life turned upside down during 6th grade, there were a lot of fun memories, too.

Like the family - I had cousins coming out my ears while we lived there! Back home in Rochester, there weren't any cousins, but Pittsfield made up for it. And the friends I made while we lived there were very special. There's something about walking to school every day with kids you pick up along the way that bonds friends. Lots of time to talk, throw snowballs, and enjoy each other's company.

It was during that time that my cousin Lynn introduced me to General Hospital (confession: I still check to see what's new, 25 years later) and my grandfather introduced me to professional wrestling - Andre the Giant, Haystack Calhoun and Ivan Putsky. (confession: I gave that up the day we moved back to Rochester, although I recently heard that one of my cousins is now a WWE wrestler. Who knew?)

And, of course, the Yankees. I never became a rabid Yankee fan, although I was a big Bucky Dent fan in junior high. (confession: years later, I was working in the sales dept. at the hotel where the baseball teams stayed when they came to town, and I'd heard that Bucky Dent, who was managing the Columbus Clippers at the time, was checking in at the front desk. I snuck through the front office to catch peek. He was graying and older, but cute nonetheless.)

Mostly, the Yankees remind me of a time in my life when my world was tipped upside down, when both terrible and great things happened to me at the same time, when I began to become who I am.

Which explains why I'm a Yankees fan.

Or maybe it doesn't.

Not that it matters, because whether you think the Yankees are the gods of baseball, or the evil empire, I'll still root for them.

You always root for family.

I do not function well in this dreary northeast climate. I am light deprived already, and it's not even winter yet. It's perpetual dusk here in western NY. I've only been up for 4 1/2 hours, but I'm ready for a nap.

Tonight I'm going to a movie preview of RADIO, with Cuba Gooding Jr, and Ed Harris. I think this is going to be a good movie, and I've been waiting for the preview. I love that I'm on the movie preview list - in a few weeks, I get to preview ELF,and then LORD OF THE RINGS. Cool, eh?

Tomorrow, I have an interview with David Johnson, one of the creators and writers for PAX TV's "Doc" and "Sue Thomas FB EYE". David and his brother Gary are committed Christians who left the mainstream television scene to make quality family shows. While these two shows are the highest watched shows on PAX, often beating out network shows in areas of the country where PAX has a strong signal, they are usually neglected by the mainstream press. Seems like the media prefers to promote shows like Alias, where women run around half naked and things explode all night. If you want to support family programming, check out these two shows on PAX and then tell your friends.

Speaking of great new shows, I'd be remiss if I didn't give two thumbs up to "Joan of Arcadia" on CBS. I was skeptical about portraying a God who shows up personally to a young high school student in different forms (after all, the Bible tells us no one sees God and lives to tell about it), but it really does portray God in a respectful light, and I think it's really well done. Joan approaches God the way most of us do - skeptical of His existence, always questioning His plans, wanting to know the big picture instead of being content doing our small part well. God, on the other hand, just keeps equipping her to do the strange and unusual tasks He gives her, one task at a time - things she complains she's not qualified to do, like building a boat. In any event, the show is worth checking out, Fridays on CBS.

Note to Aunt Kathy: I promise to try and write more regularly, because I know how boring study hall monitoring can be. I wouldn't want those pesky high school students to bore you to tears with questions about the Puritans. :)

The October 20th issue of the Democrat & Chronicle carried a story about a study that concluded that smaller schools might help students academically, but that they "may not be good for the emotional well-being of every student".

Texas State University professor Tori Terling Watt examined small and large schools and compared the number of students experiencing depression and suicide attempts, and those who brought weapons to school.

Her conclusion was that in schools with less than 300 kids, males are four times more likely to attempt suicide and have a higher incidence of depression. If they attend a private religious school, they're more likely to bring a weapon to school or threaten to use it; the same goes for girls.

Watt's theory is that in a small school, those who are "different" stand out more because of the lack of diversity. It's easier, she says, to find someone like yourself in a big school, even though there's a higher degree of anonymity.

Watt used data from the National Longitudinal Survey, which surveyed 13,000 students in grades 7 through 12, from 1994 to 1996.

According to the article, there are 5 million students attending private school in the US from kindergarten through 12th grade, 62% of whom are in schools with less than 300 students. There are 47 million attending public schools in those same grades, 32% in schools with less than 300 students.

Using my handy dandy calculator, I figure that that means that in the US there are about 3,100,000 students in private schools with less than 300 students, and 15,040,000 in public schools with less than 300 students.

That's about 18,000,000 (that's 18 MILLION) students about whom Watt is theorizing, based on surveys from 13,000 students. (Feel free to check my math. I went to a large public high school so my academic skills in this area are lacking.)

And those surveys are six to nine years old - done before Columbine, and before the rash of other public school shootings that took place in its wake.

To be frank, it just makes common sense that in a smaller school, those students who are different stand out. But they stand out all over, not just in school - but in church, in boy scouts, on the baseball team, in the grocery store. OK, that causes stress, depression, and anxiety.

But I think the report is missing a few things. If I had to theorize, for example, many of those smaller schools are in rural areas, where bringing a weapon to school may be normal (we forget here in the big city that there are still areas of our country where people shoot their dinner and where carrying a jacknife in your pocket is like wearing a cell phone.)

Add to that the fact that many small private schools - religious schools, especially - take in problem students from the larger schools in order to help them make it through high school in one piece, and that might shed a different light on the data as well.

And let's not forget that students from small schools excel academically, and learn not just their ABCs, but grow in character as well. They don't get lost, they're not just a name, and the community is often heavily involved in their education.

Let's not condemn small schools with one tiny report that used a tiny student sampling and some fairly old data. I'd like to know how many students feel safe in a large school? How many students die at the hands of fellow students each year in small schools vs. large schools?

I'm not saying the conclusion is wrong - I'm pointing out once again that the media is portraying as fact a theory that hasn't been explored fully.

As if there was ever a doubt ...

Yankees 6
Marlins 1

... now if we could something about those inane interviews after the game ... although I do admit that it's nice to see a player thank God on TV. Before Bernie Williams answered whatever banal question the interviewed asked, Williams said, "First I want to thank God for allowing me to be here..." Mariano Rivera also gave thanks after the win in the 7th game of the ALCS.

It might seem trivial or even insincere to thank God for a sports victory, but in a day and age when God is a four letter word - especially on national television - it takes courage to simply give thanks publicly.

GO YANKEES!!!!!

It's easy, sometimes, to think that we live our lives in a vacuum. That our life story is all about us, that it begins when we take our first breath, and ends when we exhale for the last time, and that everything that happens in between is simply the story of our own life.

But the truth is that our life story is simply one chapter in the book of life, which had no beginning and has no end. The record of our existence is but a tiny drop of dew in an ocean with no boundaries, a grain of sand on a beach that goes on for eternity.

I was thinking about this today because I was listening to the song "Nonny, Nonny" by Chris Rice, which talks about the Author of our own biography. The last verse says:

All grown up and living fine
Biographies all intertwined
With billions
And soon He turns the final page
We'll look the Author in the face
Then the book really begins
'Cause something tells me all these years of memories
Are only the first sentence of eternity

Think about that for a minute. Your life story is intertwined with billions of people all around the world. It's always kind of funny when you meet someone who knows someone you know, but if you think about it, it makes sense. Everyone you've met has met someone else, who's met someone else, who's met someone else. Every person you've touched goes on to touch someone else, who touches someone else. Every smile you pass along is passed to another and to another and on and on. Every breath you breath out is breathed in by someone else. Literally, to infinity.

Who is Author of your life story? Are you responsible for the events that have happened in your life, the cirumstances you've found yourself in, both good and bad? Can that even be possible - when you don't even have control over your next heartbeat?

God tells us that before the world was even created, He had you on his mind. The entire story of you was written - from chapter one to the final "the end" - before you even took your first breath. Each sentence of your life's story was constructed so that it fit perfectly with every other sentence - not only in your life's story, but in the stories of every single person you would meet during your time on earth.

I read those song lyrics at my grandmother's funeral, because they reminded me that while the chapter of her life here on earth was finished, her story was still being written, word by word, sentence by sentence, for eternity. And it made me think about how much of my story here will continue on after I'm gone. We are here for such a short time, but our influence will continue until God pulls the plug on this planet.

May I spend my time on earth setting into motion actions that point others to the Author of their biography, and may you catch a glimpse of Aslan's mane*, and long for His treasure.

I'll leave you with this poem by Anna E. Hamilton. It's a favorite of mine:

This learned I from the shadow of a tree,
That to and fro did sway against a wall:
Our shadow-selves, our influence, may fall
Where we ourselves can never be.

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* If you don't know who Aslan is, may I suggest you read the classic series The Chronicles of Naria by CS Lewis? The stories are delicious fantasy tales - allegories of Christ really - written for children. I especially love the story of how Eustace turns into a dragon and is transformed back into a boy in The Voyage of the Dawn Treader. If you ever wondered what it means to be completely transformed from an ugly, sinful wretch into royalty, this allegory will make it painfully and joyfully clear.

The Singers
by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

God sent his Singers upon the earth
With songs of sadness and of mirth,
That they might touch the hearts of men
And bring them back to heaven again.

The first, a youth, with soul of fire,
Held in his hand a golden lyre;
Through groves he wandered, and by streams,
Playing the music of our dreams.

The second, with a bearded face,
Stood singing in the market-place,
And stirred with accents deep and loud
The hearts of all the listening crowd.

A gray old man, the third and last,
Sang in cathedrals dim and vast,
While the majestic organ rolled
Contrition from its mouths of gold.

And those who heard the Singers three
Disputed which the best might be.
For still their music seemed to start
Discordant echoes in each heart.

But the Master said, "I see
No best in kind, but in degree;
I gave a various gift to each,
To charm, to strengthen, and to teach.

"These are the three great chords of might,
And he whose ear is tuned aright
Will hear no discord in the three,
But the most perfect harmony."

An awful lot of gossip is spread in the church under the guise of "prayer requests".

I learned that lesson early on in our church. At the first women's Bible study I ever attended years ago, the women were in small groups sharing "prayer requests". Most were lengthy, detailed stories, and the women were discussing them in great details. As one woman shared her request for prayer for her babysitter who lived on my street, I asked a couple of questions - and the small group leader cut me off with a very curt and blunt, "This is not the time for gossip, Joanne."

The woman who rebuked me apologized later for being so blunt in front of everyone (she was sincerely apologetic), but I was so embarrassed that I didn't return to Bible study for a year.

But I learned an important lesson nonetheless - prayer requests are not simply exchanges of information. They are personal and private requests. I don't need detailed information to pray. God already knows the whole story. My desire for more information that day was gossip.

That was several years ago, and since then I've watched with a careful eye not only the prayer requests I give, but the ones others give. And I've noticed that many times, prayer requests are used in the church to simply exchange personal information. Oftentimes the person passing on the request assumes a role of importance for being able to share someone else's personal information.

For example, one morning at church a woman on the crisis prayer chain stopped me to tell me that I might want to pray for someone who had been in an accident. I'm not on the crisis prayer chain, and I had been under the impression that those requests were only to be shared with those on the chain. When I said that I wasn't on the prayer chain, the woman told me that it would probably be ok for me to hear since I might want to pray about it. Of course, I was happy to pray for the person in the accident, but I don't think it was up to that link in the prayer chain to pass that request along. I've never given a prayer request to the prayer chain since.

This past Sunday, a man in church asked me how I was feeling. I was a little puzzled as I replied, "Fine ... why do you ask?" He told me they'd been praying for my thyroid tests. When I asked him how he'd heard about that, he told me it had come up at a deacon's meeting.

I'm pretty sure I only gave that prayer request to one place. I'm not on the deacons' committee, and this man's wife is not in our Bible study. So how did my prayer request at women's Bible study end up being discussed at the deacons' meeting?

Considering that my thyroid tests were a minor thing, I just rolled my eyes and commented that I was once again amazed at how quickly personal information makes it's way through the church. But just days before, after the study was over, I sat with four women and shared something very personal that was going on in my life - and I specifically asked that it not leave the room. I'm not feeling too confident now that my private concern is going to stay in that room.

Prayer requests need to be handled delicately. If I place that request on the table of women's Bible study, it needs to stay in that group. You can't pass it on to the next group without my permission. That request is mine - not yours. I shared it with you because I felt safe doing so in that Bible study.

Greg Laurie has a great acronym for evaluating whether something is gossip: the THINK method. If the information you are about to share isn't all of these things, then it's probably gossip.

Is the information:
T - true
H - helpful
I - inspiring
N - necessary
K - kind

The fact that I was having thyroid tests was true, and the person was probably trying to be helpful, but the information wasn't really inspiring or kind, but it certainly wasn't necessary for anyone else to know. It most definitely wasn't that person's information to share.

In any event, I can laugh about yet another example of how "loving" our church is by sharing someone else's prayer request. But it will be a long time before I share a prayer request with that group again.

from the Bible study Conversation Peace, by Mary A. Kassian, page 101:

The story is told of a young man during the Middle Ages who went to a monk to ask what he should to do repent of his sin of slander. The monk instructed the the young man to put a feather on every doorstep in town. When the young man returned, the monk instructed him to go back and pick up all the feathers. "But that's impossible," cried the man. "By now the wind will have blown them all over town!"
"So has your slanderous word become impossible to retrieve," replied the monk. "Though you are forgiven, you can never retrieve the damage you have done."

The ancient philosopher Horace said, "Once a word has been allowed to escape, it cannot be recalled."

The average person speaks between 100 and 150 words per minute, but thinks up to 600 words per minute. Choose wisely which of those words you'll let loose. I know that's something I need to work on daily.

Yesterday, I received my contributor's copy of a national magazine which included an article I'd written. My first story in a national magazine! I was like a kid on Christmas morning, flipping through the pages to find my name.

And there it was! My name, on the glossy pages of the magazine that would be read all over the country, and sold at newstands from sea to shining sea!

Except that it wasn't my article. Sure, it was on the topic I was assigned, and my name was there getting credit, but it wasn't the story I submitted.

I recognized a line or two from my original story, but the rest? I don't know who wrote it.

To say that I was dismayed is an understatement. Back in high school, the teachers used to drill into our heads that taking credit for something you didn't write was illegal and unethical. And here the magazine gave me credit for a story I didn't write. I'm not mad, because the article is really well done. It just feels fake to get credit for something I didn't do. And get paid for it.

Why would they put my name on the article? Why not tell me what I gave them wasn't what they'd wanted and credit the story to the person who wrote it? Why ask me for the invoice so they can pay me? Why not pay the person who wrote it?

My friend Paula says that happens all the time in publishing. She says sometimes the editor changes the focus of an article at the last minute, and has to rewrite it. Or the space restrictions change. Or they just rewrite it to rewrite it. She told me not to worry about it. Since the magazine already asked me to do another piece, they obviously liked my writing. She said to wait and see if it happens again.

I've only had a problem with this once before, when an editor bought a query story I submitted. Instead of asking me to edit the article to fit the word count, she edited it herself because she was on a tight deadline. She rewrote the introduction to the story, which completely changed the slant of the article. She also shortened some quotes which changed their meaning and made the lead source look a little shady. I was really upset when I got my copy of the paper. Fortunately, she's a great editor to work for, and we talked about how to communicate better so she lets me know how many words she needs so I can try and give her what she wants. Makes us both happier.

And let's face it. Editing happens all the time, to shorten a story, or change a word here or there. It's the editor's right to chop up the story.

But this is more than that. It feels uncomfortable to know that my byline can appear on something I didn't really write, like I have no control over the use of my own name. And frankly, it makes me wonder how many times other writers have gotten credit or flack for something they didn't write.

Writing, for me, is much more a mental exercise than a physical one. Sure, I need to actually put pen to paper, or in this case, fingers to keyboard, but in reality, by the time I sit down to the computer, most of the story is already written in my head.

Which is why writing this current article is so frustrating. I have nothing in my head. No thoughts, no ideas, nowhere to even start.

The fact is that instead of writing, I’m much rather be reading. I went to Barnes and Noble to “look” at books, and came home with four that I’d love to dive into right now. But I really need to finish this article.

Not even an article, really, just an outline. But no matter how much I think about it, I just can’t get the idea started. Which is weird, because the topic interests me greatly, and when I pitched the idea to the editor, the article was writing itself in my head. But now that I have to put it on paper, it’s vanished from my memory.

I suppose I should have started writing first thing this morning, but I had Bible study, and this was the first time that I’ve finished all 5 days of the lessons and I wanted to go. Then, I had made plans with my friend Margie for lunch. I thought seriously about canceling, but frankly I like spending time with her, and look forward to an hour or so of just shooting the breeze about nothing. (Call it outreach, if you need an excuse.) At lunch, I ran into David’s uncle, who gave me a gift certificate to Barnes & Noble bookstore as thank you for driving his grandmother to dialysis last week. That was the end of my writing day.

I wanted to go to Barnes & Noble yesterday, but talked myself out of it by reminding myself that I need to stick to a budget now that I have a car payment. But with a gift certificate, things changed. I spent 2 hours looking at books. Never mind that I also spent the certificate plus an extra $24.

So here I sit, on the porch, thinking more about where I should write (on the porch? at the library?) than what I’m going to write about. Those books are calling me, but if I start reading, I’ll never think about the topic at hand.

So I have to plug my ears to Cry The Beloved Country and Notes from the Underground, and think about the task at hand. If I can finish this outline, my reward will be a night of reading.

Reuters reported today that scientists with the U.S. Department of Agriculture say they have found that consumers who drink black tea may lower their bad cholesterol count.

The researches say that consumer who drank black tea for three weeks experienced a decrease of between 7 percent and 11 percent in their low-density lipoprotein (LDL), or so-called bad cholesterol.

Sounds promising, right? Makes you want to run out and buy a box of Red Rose?

It isn't until you get halfway through the article that you're told that the study involved 15 people.

Fifteen people!! What kind of scientific study is that?

Granted, numerous studies have been done on the benefits of drinking tea. I used to own a tea shop. I studied the subject for several years. Tea has significant benefits, but it's not a cure all beverage. It is a healthy alternative to carbonated beverages and even coffee for some people.

But there's a lesson to be learned here, and it's that the media often throws out statistics as fact that may not really be very scientific at all.

Take, for example, the old Coke vs. Pepsi debate.

I could accurately report that in my independent study, 100% of respondents preferred Coke over Pepsi. My husband and I love Coke. That's two for Coke, zero for Pepsi. The statistic is accurate, but highly misleading. If I reported that to you, you'd call it ridiculous.

And yet statistics and polls are reported daily as complete fact, without any qualifiers that allow the public to better understand the data.

Take the President's approval rating. If I interviewed 100 people at my church, I would get a very different response than if I interviewed 100 people at the local Democratic Party headquarters. I could report the numbers as fact, but wouldn't you better understand that data if you knew where it came from?

Any response to any survey can be reported in any way to prove any point by anyone. Using my Coke analogy, if I interviewed 15 people, and 8 said they preferred Coke and 7 people said they preferred Pepsi, here are a few ways that data could be reported:

- The majority of people surveyed prefer Coke.
- Most people prefer Coke.
- Fewer than half preferred Pepsi.
- Almost half of those surveyed preferred Pepsi.
- The respondents were almost split evenly split on their preference.

Any of those statistics could be reported by either company to either make themselves look good or the competition less favorable.

It's all in the spin.

So when the media throws out statistics, or polling data, or the latest health find, take it with a grain of salt. Remember that someone involved in the reporting is trying to prove a point, and it's likely that with a different spin, the opposition could easily have used the very same data to prove their own case. Find out who contributed responses, how was the data collected, and whether or not there was a large enough group of people responding to make the survey unbiased.

Because sometimes those media polls are about as useful as a used tea bag.