On 2nd Thought
Letters are more valuable than numbers. Or so I’ve convinced myself. Letters make words and words make sense of life. Whereas numbers seem only to muddle my life. I have an aversion to numerals, literally denying their existence in some cases. Since grammar school (See what I did there?) numbers became a burden. No longer were they lyrical rhythms to sing and count. Now they needed to be stacked, carried, halved and converted. Numbers were at odds with me, and all of them were irrational. I got lost in the numbers. Then the numbers were lost on me.
By the time I got to high school, the only solve for ‘x’ was “Y me!” From there I systematically brainwashed myself into pooh-poohing anything to do with numbers, relying solely on the calculator (or its human counterpart: my husband).
It became abundantly clear to me on a recent trip when we were checking in at a hotel. The clerk asked us for our license plate number, which is a random mix of alphanumeric characters. My husband knew all the numerals, but none of the letters. I knew all the letters, but none of the numbers. Although it was glorious testament to how we perfectly complement each other, it stuck with me that I had purposely, and unknowingly, bypassed those innocent numerals.
It got me thinking: How often was I ignoring numbers my life? Well for starters, I never memorized the placement of the numbers on the keyboard. I can type over 70 wpm until a number is thrown into the mix. Then it’s hunt and peck for me. When I read articles, I skim over statistics and percentages. One time, I watched a lovely how-to show on quilting intricate and gorgeous patterns. My fascination turned to stony indifference when the measurements started flying fast and furious. I silently vowed to never take up that hobby.
It’s lazy, I know. But I woke up to the fact that I have believed a lie. I have told myself, "I’m not good at math." Because I never tried, I never try. What a vicious cycle, an endless loop, a Catch-22, if you must. I need to find a way to fall in love with what I perceive as unlovable. I need to see how numbers have beauty and symmetry and patterns and expressiveness. I need to re-train my brain to not vilify math, to not think of it as some kind of cruel torture devised by the devil himself.
Numbers should not be feared, but instead pursued with reverence. Just like words, they hold power, knowledge, and endless possibilities. And who knows? If I ever do solve for “x”, it may be the greatest treasure I ever find.
The Dog Days of Summer: Get Sirius
The Dog Days of Summer, those relentless hot weeks, have nothing to do with dogs panting or lazing around.
The most prominent correlation to dogs and hot-summer-days comes from the
brightest star in our earth’s view: Sirius. It is first visible in the
pre-dawn hours during July and August and part of the constellation Canis Major
(“The Greater Dog” in Latin.) It follows Orion on his nocturnal hunting trips
and Sirius, the nose of Canis Major, is the brightest star in our sky. Although
it resides 8.6 light years away, its luminosity is unsurpassed (said to shine
with red glints and blue flashes.)
The appearance of this “Dog Star” can synchronize with the hottest days of the
year, dubbed by celestial enthusiasts as the 40 days from July 3rd to August
11th. The infamous “Dog Days of Summer." However, the rising
of Sirius depends on your global position, the century you live in and your
worldview (as in your particular philosophy of the world, not your view from
planet earth.)
The story of Orion and his dog entourage is steeped in wonderful Greek
mythology, but I found another, divergent origin: Samson.
In the book of Judges, it is Samson’s wrath against his wife’s father that binds
dogs to hot summer days. Samson used foxes (referred to in Egyptian lore as a
“Dog-Fox," and evolved into our modern day “dog”) to burn down the
valuable grain fields. This origin correlates the time of year with wildfire
season, as well as purposeful crop fires known as “agricultural burning.”
Plus, the use of “40 days” has significance in many Hebrew prophecies and
judgements, whereas the dates don't have any clean corresponding relevance to Sirius’ rising.
I
found the Samson connection wonderfully unexpected. But being an ardent star-gazer,
I can’t help but delight in the Greek origin a tad more. It’s dreamier.
Plus, the idea of looking for Sirius in the pre-dawn sky gives me motive to get
up early and search the heavens for treasure. And I need a reason to
enjoy these hot, dog days of summer.
Those words between brackets. They interrupt. But they also serve. Technically, they can be skipped and I often dart my eyes past them. Then I find myself coming back to the parenthesis, to glean wisdom, clarity.
Those daily moments that interrupt. They are the parenthesis of life. Some are joyful, some are sorrowful. Most are simply missed qualifiers of the world around me. It's all those skipped moments (the one's that transport me away from earth to the heavenly realm) that fill my soul with memories, if I just stop my mind long enough to see them.
Writing helps me stop and see all of life that is happening in the parenthesis.
