The Donut

My favorite is blueberry cake. This morning, I had an early meeting. It started at “o-dark-thirty,” which is a Texas-Cajun way of saying it was dark outside and 30 minutes after some hour, but, who cared, it was early. One of the good things about this early-every-Thursday-morning meeting is that we rotate bringing the donuts. These are about the only donuts I get (being health conscious and weight watching – many of you may know the drill). So, I will never stop attending this meeting and the meeting itself can never stop being held. It may be an eternal meeting, the first ever in the history of mankind, because it is a “Donut” meeting and who could, or would want to, stop such a thing. Today, I brought a dozen blueberry cake, three plain cake, three chocolate-chocolate cake, a mix of six other cakes (chocolate nut, vanilla nut, vanilla icing, maple icing, strawberry icing and powdered sugar) and a dozen plain glaze freshly sugar-coated out of the fryer. You do not forget such things. They are the stuff sweet dreams are made of. . . .

Where’d it come from?

The donut, I mean.

Marco Polo?

No.

Today, I am not using the Internet. Scandalous behavior, I know, but I was up early and I need to shock myself — “re-book” myself in my still extant library without a computer. Today, I a using a book, to wit: “Panati’s Extraordinary Origins of Everyday Things.” It is quite a witty tome and worth the reference.

On page 415, Panati states that the doughnut (known by me as simply “donut”) originated in 16^th century Holland (perhaps the confectionery creation of an ancestral chef to the noble line of Queen Bea). Among the Dutch, the treat was known as an olykoek, or “oil cake,” because of its high oil content (being fried in oil, as it still is). The cake was made with sweetened dough (hence the “dough” or “do” in donut) and was in its original inception about the size of walnut (hence the “nut” in donut). The Pilgrims had stopped in Holland on their way to America. Well, it appears those Pilgrims developed an almost unnatural fondness for the little oily cakes (but not the name). They tossed a couple hundred dozen on board the ship for the trip (a little known bit of sea-faring culinary trivia), and, on arrival in New England — at the Rock named with their name, those industrious travelers promptly set up shop and renamed the New World cake the “doughnut.”

The donut was born — almost.

It was still just a little cake.

Enter, Hanson Gregory. . . .

Hanson lived in New England and eventually became a sea captain. But, in his formative years, sitting in the kitchen watching his mother — he, in his youth (as many of us do – or did) – he had his best idea ever. His mother was rolling out the dough and cutting out the cake shapes for a big batch of doughnuts. Young Hanson thought and remembered the soggy centers in last week’s cakes. When Mom turned her back, he reached over and poked holes in those round cake cut-outs. Spinning about, his mother was about to reprimand the young thinker, when she saw the magic of his invention. She tossed the punctured cakes and the holes into the fryer together. They were . . . wonderful, more uniform in texture and without that icky soggy center. The holes were good too. She hugged her brilliant son as they both sat down to a mid-morning munch of fresh doughnuts and donut holes.

At that, young Hanson Gregory invented the distinctively empty modern donut shape (which is the shape of the “o” in “donut”), and he invented the donut hole (which is also the shape of the “o” in “donut” and oh so tasty.)

A final note. . . .

Our book reports the following: “Today Hanson Gregory’s contribution . . . is remembered in his hometown of Rockport, Maine, by a bronze plaque, suggesting that in America, fame can be achieved even for inventing nothing.”

I like that.

Could you pass another donut over here?

And, a donut hole, if there’s one left.

They’re so light and tasty.

It’s almost like eating noting at all.

I wonder who invented them.

Now, you know that, too.

Good munching,

Grandpa Jim

“Take your hands off him. He’s mine.” The newly married young lady grabs her husband’s staff and threatens the flirtatious female offender. “Can’t you see this staff? Flash those eyelashes once more at my guy and you’ll regret you did.” As the young wife brandishes the staff in the air, the other lady turns and runs away – to find a more eligible, and less attached, object for her affections.

Back in those old times, in the Middle East, Greece, Turkey and there-about, young couples didn’t always exchange rings with their marriage vows. Instead, the guy got a staff and the gal kept her eyes peeled. The staff was the sign of marital status. So, when you saw a fellow coming down the street with a staff, you knew he was attached.

Our young couple has been married for a time. He’s walking down a road in ancient Greece, staff in hand, whistling a popular tune from the forum, when an old wife pops up in front of him, stopping the young man in his tracks.

The elderly lady has her hands hidden behind her back.

“Pick a hand,” the grandmother croaks.

Taken back, the young married man does not know what is going on.

The older woman pokes her nose at him.

“Pick a hand — now,” she intones.

With the staff, he touches the lady’s left elbow.

Out pops the arm, with a white lily in the woman’s fist.

“Boy. It’s going to be a boy.” The doddering female dances a jig and spins around. Her other hand holds a rose. “If you’d picked the red rose, it’d be a girl,” she sings, “but you got the lily and now it’s a boy — sure as a ring-a-ring-sing.”

The sense of shock dissipates from the young man’s face. He realizes what he’s just learned, turns and runs for home.

You can imagine his young wife’s face when she learns the news. Or . . . did she send the older wife on the errand to surprise the new father-to-be.

Now, that’s an old wive’s tale that’s worth repeating.

It happened to Joseph. The circumstances were a bit different – more miraculous. He was walking down a street in Nazareth. No, an old wife did not jump out and confront him. He lifted his staff and saw something at the top. Something was happening, something was budding. Sure enough, a white lily bloomed right there on the street on the top of his staff.

Well, that young Joseph turned right around and ran just as fast for home and Mary to tell her the good news. He knew what that lily meant. It was a boy.

I wonder if she knew?

Next time you see a statue or picture of Joseph, take a closer look. You may see a staff. And, I’ll bet you’ll find a lily close by.

Now, you know why,

Pretty amazing,

Grandpa Jim

Her official title is Her Majesty Beatrix, by the Grace of God, Queen of the Netherlands, Princess of Orange-Nassau, etc. etc. etc. It can go on for quite a bit, the additional titles of a noble line that goes back many years and to many places. The queen herself signs official documents with only “Beatrix.” In common parlance, she is The Queen or Her Majesty. Many of her subjects call her simply “Bea.”

Officially, Queen Bea will “abdicate” on April 30, 2013. “Resign” is altogether too Western and corporate a word for such an act by such a personage — certainly not noble enough a term for a queen. A queen is what Bea is and has been for 33 years. By all reports, it is a job she has done quite well. The local paper reported this morning that “the queen’s abdication . . . is sure to bring out an outpouring of sentimental . . . feelings among the Dutch, most of whom adore her.” I read those words to mean the people of the Netherlands care very much for their queen. To be loved by those around you is a very great compliment to anyone. I think for Her Majesty Beatrix there can be no greater compliment than to be loved by her people.

Bea will pass the crown to her eldest son, Crown Prince Willem-Alexander. The son is 45, a trained pilot and an expert in water management. For a country with a long and shifting relationship to the watery realms it borders and has, to some extent, appropriated, water management is an appropriate occupation for the crown prince. I can see him now flying his plane, hand outstretched and waving to the people below, on his way to fix the next leak in the dike. Like the little Dutch boy of legend, perhaps he, like his mother, will, in time, hold an endearing place in the hearts of his subjects. I like it that when he first introduced himself to his wife, Princess Maxima, he used only “Alexander,” though prince he was and king soon will be.

For us in the west, there is little of titled royalty in our midst. As I say that, I cannot help but think that for Her Majesty Beatrix there is more of royalty in herself than in any of the titles that trail her name. Perhaps the queen is not in the crown, but in the one who wears the crown. She wore it well and taught us that royalty in its lineage clean must that surmount to be truly queen.

To Bea, well done and thank you,

Grandpa Jim

I have been off for a few days.

Last Friday was a funeral down in the country near Uncle Joe’s farm. The lady was a first cousin and an avid polka dancer. I first met her and her husband at the National Polka Festival in Ennis, Texas, a couple years back. After that, I always looked forward to seeing her bright smile on the dance floor as she and her best friend polkaed, waltzed, two-stepped and twirled across the polished wood sprinkled with corn starch and racing children underfoot. Polka dancing is a family affair.

So, no blog on Friday. Sorry.

Then, over the weekend I took a walk on the trail with Ms. Mary. On our return, we noticed my back was twisted to the right. Sure enough, I was in spasm. That old sciatica had acted up. It’s been about ten years since I had an episode. The sciatic nerve is the largest and longest nerve in our bodies. Starting out from the lower back, it begins about as thick as a person’s thumb. It travels out from the spinal cord, between a couple lower vertebrae, and down the leg to the foot, branching and thinning as it goes. This is the main phone line to your leg and foot. The problem is that where it travels between those vertebrae on its exit from the spinal cord, the space is tight, not much room between your bony backbone and the gelatinous disk between your vertebrae that keeps the space open. That disk can become compressed (say, by lifting something the wrong way). When this happens, the verterbral bones move closer and can touch the sciatic nerve, abrading its surface. Oh, Wowee!! That sure can hurt, sending shooting pains down the leg. To prevent the pain from and damage to the nerve, when the nerve detects the irritation beginning, it signals up the spinal cord to the brain to pull and tighten the back muscles to open the passage wider, if they can. That’s the muscular spasm, a pulling and tightening by your back muscles to pull the bone away from the nerve to protect the nerve and you. When this happens, it’s best to lie flat and rest and give your body some time to straighten things out. Your doctor can help with what to do and take to relax and repair things. To prevent these spasmodic episodes of lower back pain (sciatica), I do straightening exercises for my spinal cord every morning, I squat down and lift things with my legs rather than bending over and lifting with my back (must have forgotten this one), I get up and walk around when I am sitting long at the computer, I exercise (walk and lift light weights – I’ll wait a while to start these again), and I try to sit with both feet on the floor (crossing the legs is rough on that sciatic nerve). Sciatica is very common – about 40% of the entire world’s population will experience some form of sciatica in their lifetimes. The good news is sciatica is treatable by rest and a visit to the Doc, and it is preventable by changing a few things you do and getting some regular exercise.

So, I haven’t been writing for a few days. Sorry.

I love to write.

I am finishing the background reading and will begin writing a book. The plan is to publish each chapter here, on Uncle Joe Stories. I am hoping to have the first chapter for you to read sometime next month, February 2013. Keep your fingers crossed.

So, I may be writing fewer blog posts in order to work on the book. Sorry.

Keep stopping by — as always, a lot is happening,

Grandpa Jim

“Alacrity” is defined as a “brisk and cheerful readiness, an excited willingness and eagerness to proceed.”

In a sentence, it might appear as follows: “With fulsome delight and focused demeanor, the alacrity of the investigator to accomplish the client’s desires was both admirable to observe and rewarding to the outcome of the case.”

“Please proceed with alacrity, Watson.” Sherlock Holmes announces to his friend. “The game is afoot. Do you have your revolver?”

If there ever was one with alacrity in pursuit of a dangerous criminal, who was also perspicacious and sagacious in his approach and analysis, it was that detective with the Inverness cape coat, deerstalker hat and poised magnifying glass.

“Perspicacious” means “to be observant and perceptive.” A synonym (another word in the same family of meaning) to perspicacious is sagacious. “Sagacious” means to be “smart and judicious.” Perspicacious and sagacious go hand in hand.

It takes a perspicacious individual to see the facts surrounding a mysterious occurrence (observant) and to identify the relationships of those facts to the unwinding of the riddle (perceptive), but it requires a sagacious individual of heightened intelligence to sort those facts and perceptions (smart), an individual who also possesses the gift of wisdom to select the right course of action (judicious), to devise the trap to capture the perpetrator before the evil act is done.

However, an individual can be both perspicacious and sagacious and still allow the villain to escape. To catch a crook, when the time comes to act, the pursuer must do so with alacrity. Certainly, a good detective must be both perspicacious and sagacious, but a great detective acts with alacrity when the time for action has arrived — when the game is afoot.

Would we all be as perspicacious and sagacious in our evaluation of that which matters most to us as Detective Holmes, and, when the time comes to take action on whatever our plan may be, may we act with the alacrity of the quick-paced Sherlock having on our face a wiry smile and in our mind a confident determination.

A good mind without alacrity can write a good report, but it will never be quick enough to catch the crook, enjoy the chase and win the case.

Be ready to act and don’t delay when the time is right and act you must,

Grandpa Jim

They just don’t come no better than a bear (mammal), who can bear (carry) much on its bare (no clothes) back. “And me I just bear up to my bewildered best, and there’s some folks even seen the bear in me.” Thank you, Steven Fromholtz, and the July 23, 2012 blog post on homophones, homonyms and heterographs. Just type “Bear, Bear, Bare” into the search box above and you’ll have plenty to reacquaint yourself with bears, Steven and the h-term words.

By way of a quick review, homophones are words that sound the same, have different meanings and can be spelled the same or differently. If they are spelled exactly the same (bear for animal and bear for carry), they are homonyms. If they are spelled differently (bear for a growly mammal and bare for where are my clothes?), they are heterographs.

That all seems straightforward enough, if somewhat confusing and hard to remember. But, what do you call a group of words that sounds like another separate word of different meaning?

Let me give you an example.

“This beach, this island, the hotel, the pool, the restaurant, the parrots, the butterflies and you,” the husband says, on his knees, to his wife, both of whom are on their second honeymoon. “It’s all just too much. Thank you for transporting me to paradise.”

A “paradise” is a place of extreme beauty, delight and happiness.

Nathan Detroit (Frank Sinatra) wants to keep playing craps (a dice game) in the 1955 musical “Guys and Dolls.” Nathan’s friend, Sky Masterson (Marlon Brando), knows it’s time for Nathan to stop – the dice are cold and Nathan will lose his money. So, Sky proposes a bold bet: He, Sky, will roll the dice – if he loses, he will pay each of the other gamblers $1,000 – if he wins, they will all attend a prayer meeting at the local Mission. Sky bends down, shakes those dice and let’s ’em roll. The next scene is the front of the Mission. A line of gamblers is waiting to be let in. Sky won. He saved his friend Nathan from a cold pair of dice.

A “pair of dice,” which is often pronounced “pair a’ dice,” refers to two small cubes with each side having from one to six numbered spots. The dice are thrown in gambling games such as craps. Dice are also called “die.”

A big roll and a big win with a “pair a’ dice” could lead to a feeling of “paradise,” or it could lead, with the help of Marlon Brando, to a seat on a hard Mission bench and a sermon on the evils of a pair a’ dice and the odds of reaching paradise with those die in your hands.

The word “paradise” and the phrase “pair a’ dice” sound exactly the same to me, but they have different, if not opposite, meanings. They are like homophone words that are also heterographs, but one is a word and other is a phrase, and I cannot find a term for a word and phrase that sound the same and have different meanings.

Let us make up a new word.

Latin for a “phrase” or “group of words” is “coetus verba,” with “coetus” meaning “group” and “verba” meaning words. The suffix “onym” means word, and the prefix “hetero” means “different.” So, a different group of words for one word can be written “heterocoetusverbaonym.” That’s pretty long. Let’s shorten it to “heteroverbonym.” I like that.

A “heteroverbonym” is a group of words that sounds like a single word of different meaning.

The phrase “pair a’ dice” is a heteroverbonym to the word “paradise.”

Another heteroverbonym is “out a’ tea” for the word “oddity.” The English might say those have the same meaning.

And, here’s one by the Beatles: the phrase “can’t buy me love” (from the song “Can’t Buy Me Love”) comes out “puppy love” when sung by John and Paul. See the “Puppy Love” blog post of January 13, 2013 to hear this one. Wait a second – that’s two groups of words with the same sound and different meanings. Puppy lovers may say they have the same meaning. Nevertheless, we need a word for this group-to-group situation.

Let’s invent another word: heterocoetusverbym.

A “heterocoetusverbym” is a group of words that sounds like another group of words with a different meaning. We can thank the Boys from Liverpool for this one.

Keep your ears tuned to the next heteroverbonym or heterocoetusverbym as it sounds and waves its way to you on the avenues and airways of aural amusement and applause.

Good listening and distinguishing,

Grandpa Jim

Sherlock Holmes had been dead almost eight years when he was discovered near the Baskerville estate in the bleak Dartmoor highlands. Hidden beneath the black tor and  camped in the neolitic ruins of an ancient home, he continued the investigation of the late Baron’s fallen body and, near the spot of the crime, “the footprints of a gigantic hound”.

The world’s first consulting detective, the coldly cerebral and daringly deductive Sherlock Holmes, was first spied in 1887 in the company of his friend and narrator, Dr. John H. Watson. Their first adventure was a longish short story entitled by the publishers “A Study in Scarlet.” A 28-year-old storytelling physician by the name of Arthur Ignatius Conan Doyle had glimpsed the antics of the brilliant Holmes and the bumbling Watson. Conan Doyle proceeded to place the two on paper to the endearment of a growing and devoted audience of fans. Through the second Holmes story, “The Sign of Four,” published in 1890, and twelve more episodes of incisive intrigue and reasoned revelation, released between 1891 and 1892 and compiled in “The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes,” Dr. Doyle chronicled the growing success of the secretive sleuth and his steady sidekick.

Of that success, Arthur Ignatius Conan Doyle became jealous.

The observing physician with the quick pen confided that it was he who had first brought the stories to popular attention, and he, Arthur Conan Doyle, never thought much of the condescending Holmes. The detective was always showing off and acting so smart. What did Holmes know? Arthur Conan Doyle was just as smart — just you wait and see. Conan Doyle wrote his mother that he was thinking of doing to Sherlock Holmes what the insufferable detective deserved.

“The game is afoot,” and the criminal perpetrator is none other than the author himself.

In December of 1893, Arthur Conan Doyle killed Sherlock Holmes.

It was at the top of Reichenbach Falls in Switzerland, in the story entitled “The Final Problem.” Holmes is struggling with his archenemy, the master criminal Professor Moriarty, whom he has tracked down and trapped. Justice is about to be done . . . evil defeated. The determined detective is prevailing. When . . . someone rushes from the dark at the two grappling figures and pushes them both over the precipice to the sharp rocks and crashing waters below.

The public outcry was deafening.

How could you!!!

Conan Doyle sat back, counted his money and threw the letters from the Holmesian fans into the trash.

Eight years passed. Our scrivener physician had written many other books and stories. They and he had been somewhat successful. Still, the public was clamoring for more Holmes and Watson.

“What is it about those two?” Conan Doyle thought to himself. “Oh well, a little extra cash won’t hurt. There is that ‘real creeper.’ I never shared the story with anyone. Let me remember . . . it occurred back in 1889, four years before Holmes fell from the falls. I see it now. Holmes was asked to advise on the ‘curse of the Baskervilles.’ What a tale that is. As I recall, there was ‘a great, black beast, shaped like a hound, yet larger than any mortal eye ever rested upon,’ with ‘blazing eyes and dripping jaws.’ That is a good one. It’ll get the public off my back and I’ll make a bundle while I’m at it.”

And so, in August of 1901, the first installment of “The Hound of the Baskervilles” was published.

The public and the King loved it.

A year later in 1902, Conan Doyle was knighted “Sir” Arthur Conan Doyle by King Edward. After the ceremony, pulling the now middle-aged and rounding physician aside, the King winked and encouraged his newly dubbed vassal to investigate what really had happened back in 1893 at Reichenbach Falls. Was the chronicler certain the secretive Holmes had not survived and was avoiding the public gaze?

Did the King know something the man of letters did not?

When the King asks, it is best for a new knight to go on the quest.

The new Sir Arthur recalled that, in the excitement, he had not walked to the edge of the cliff and looked down to see what had happened to the detective.

A year later, in 1903, in the new story “The Adventure of the Empty House,” the knighted investigator revealed, to the King, the Nation and the World, that Sherlock Holmes had, in fact, survived the fall at Reichenbach Falls.

The slippery sleuth was back in business with the trusty doctor at his side.

True to his words, Conan Doyle followed with three more collections of stories and another novel, “The Valley of Fear,” all featuring Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson. Unfortunately, a rift had developed between the writer and his leading character. The new post-fall works had lost something. Perhaps, the reclusive Holmes was not as willing to share with his watcher, the writer. Attempted murder is a serious matter, and it may cool even a close relationship. Miffed by his death and literary exile, the more entertaining episodes of unraveled fact in subsequent stories may have been kept by the detective for a more worthy observer. Such is the reader’s loss when a writer and his protagonist part ways.

We can be thankful that before the rift became severe, “The Hound of the Baskervilles” was resurrected and published intact. The work has been called “the most famous mystery novel in literary history” — a tribute that echoes true and far in both sound and sight. The story on the moors of Dartmoor has been filmed twenty times and more. It loses nothing in the retelling and gains much in the rereading. If you haven’t, please consider a read. You will not be disappointed with your new acquaintances. And, if you have, consider another. Old friends are the best and can be even more surprising when revisited.

Some would say that a good story never really ends, despite the odds.

I wonder how Professor Moriarty feels after his fall?

Stay tuned for more,

Grandpa Jim

“Things just don’t seem to be getting better.” The parent slumps down in the chair, head lowered. “Every time I pick up the room, it gets messy again. Even when I think no one has been there, I walk in and clutter is everywhere. Stuff seems to just throw itself on the floor.” The other parent nods in agreement and asks to the air, “Why is it always more disordered than before?”

Because that’s apparently what the Second Law of Thermodynamics demands.

Simply said, the Second Law states: The entropy of an isolated system increases to a state of such disordered lack of energy that no work can be done.

“Entropy” is the degree of disorder in a system, in a room, in the universe. The Second Law enunciates a universal rule that disorder is on the rise, and it cannot be reversed. Things will and are becoming more disordered, and there is very little in the short term, and nothing in the long run, we can do about it.

The parents stop – their hands touching on the open door to their teenager’s room as they both gaze sadly at the disordered interior. They know empirically (from experience) and analytically (from reason and logic) that, for that room, the trend simply cannot be reversed. They’re stuck. There will come a time, sooner rather than later, when they will have to close the door and buy a new house. No energy will be left, in them or in that room, to work to order the disordered maze. Entropy will have prevailed. Together, they will wait for the moving van and pray for college.

You can do that for a room and a child, but what about the universe? If the universe is all there is, then there’s no place to move to. . . . We’re all stuck in a downward spiral to greater disorder, right?

If the second law is correct, the matter and energy in the universe will degrade to an ultimate state of inert uniformity — which is another way of saying “Boring!” We will all be sitting around on a log floating aimlessly in place on a sea of tepid unmoving water waiting for someone to do, to say, anything; and no one will, because no one has the energy to lift a finger, to make a point. At this point, I think we can say, while we still can, “What is the point of such a law? I’m getting off this log while I can.”

And, you would not be alone. The Second Law of Thermodynamics has been called “the most pessimistic and amoral formulation in all human thought.”

“Let’s change it,” you say, “and formulate something more positive and optimistic and fun.”

I certainly agree, but Sir Arthur Stanley Eddington thought about doing just that and was forced to the position that: “If your theory is found to be against the second law of thermodynamics, I can give you no hope; there is nothing for it but to collapse in deepest humiliation.”

Now, that reminds me of the most wonderful statement of Gimli, son of Gloin, the indefatigable dwarf warrior, near the end of “The Return of the King.” Aragorn (also known as Strider) has just proposed a truly outlandish plan to defeat the evil nemesis Sauron. Strider’s plan is that we, the greatly outnumbered forces of the West, attack the big bad black statue guy with the huge glowing all-seeing red eye and all his orcs, mountain trolls and nazgul flying in the sky. We attack them all, straight on and demand Sauron and the whole mob surrender to us. Gimli gulps, then smiles and says – and you got to love him for this – “Certainty of death . . . small chance of success . . . what are we waiting for?”

It sounds to me like the perfect time for a new approach.

What have we got to lose? That teenager’s room is hopeless. We’re collapsed in deepest humiliation. Our log is going nowhere. Certainty of disorder . . . no hope . . . what are we waiting for?

Let’s give it shot. .  . advance on our own, in close rank and sound theoretical formation. Yes, our order is diminished. Yes, we are greatly outnumbered by the sluggish masses of disorder. But . . . we shall demand change! We shall demand order from disorder! Entropy shall not prevail!

I like the ring of that.

Remember the First Law of Thermodynamics: The total amount of mass and energy in the Universe remains constant (it is conserved), merely changing from one form to another. There are different types of energy (mechanical, chemical, electrical, nuclear and others). Energy can change from one type to another. No one is really sure what mass (matter, substance) is, and no one really knows all about how mass relates to energy (activity, work).

Start thinking and don’t worry . . . there’s only a small chance of success.

See you next week,

Grandpa Jim

Joy

What’s in a word? Or, in a name?

As Juliet cries to the stars, not knowing that her Romeo is waiting and listening in the bushes beneath her balcony, at the foot of the trellis he would soon climb to her surprise and side:

“What’s in a name? That which we call a rose

By any other name would smell as sweet.”

I mean what is the big hang up with names, with words? A rose is a rose is a rose, whatever the word that named it so. She saw, hidden though he was, that Romeo was Romeo Montague and she was Juliet Capulet. Their families, the Montague’s and Capulet’s, were sworn enemies. They were divided by their family names and by their own, Romeo and Juliet. It was no play on words. It was tragedy at its heart, and she would change it by changing his name, if she could.

So would he. For her love, he would that name be changed:

“I take thee at thy word:

Call me but love, and I’ll be new baptized;

Henceforth, I will never be Romeo.”

But, it doesn’t work that way, as they soon found. Life is words and words are life, as the Bard taught us so well. She could call him not Romeo but love, but Romeo he would still be. In their fated match, the words held true as loved enemies they left this land for another. In that paired leaving, love in its word held the two in its own embrace. Those so wrongly worded if rightly named, our Romeo and Juliet, will always be, to us, the love they so long to be renamed. The joy they lost for their wronged names lasts forever in the words, Romeo and Juliet.

It is a curious custom, our fondness for words.

Why do we find joy in tragedy, happiness in sadness?

If joy is happiness, how is it found in tragedy and unhappiness?

Why is there in great sadness, this feeling of great joy?

Can it be the antonym is also the synonym?

Happy sad and in the sad also joy?

Apparently, so. . . .

In their curious construction, words seem to be more than they say.

And that is, I think, the sad joy of Juliet and her Romeo.

“What’s in a name? That which we call a rose”

In its own name another word would be.

Sweet joy, in its own name, can be where sweet sadness can be found.

See the word and the word it holds and know joy and sadness both can there be found.

“O Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou Romeo?”

Not far in words from his sweet Juliet,

Grandpa Jim

Been fighting a bit of the flu. Had the shot, but this season’s flu seems to strike even those who have been stuck, though less severely – I hope. FLU stands for “Forlorn, Lost and Under the weather” – think of wet puppy and be kind to those so sadly afflicted.

So, it seems a good time to address the First Law of Thermodynamics. I am saying that in a big voice so that it echoes through the house: TTTThe FFFFirst LLLLaw of TTTThermodyamicS!S!S!S! . . . There, I feel better for having said it. Now, what does it mean? And, who cares?

The concept of “thermodynamics” resides in the perception that things run around, expend energy, are corralled and restore energy for another run. We see the sweat on the horses in the corral and see a relationship between heat and energy in how those horses behave – running, eating, resting and running some more. “Thermo” is the heat part of the word, and “dynamics” is the energy part. “Thermodynamics” is a way to say: “I see you heat and energy, but how do you relate?” What is the relationship between energy and those who use and lose it?

Giddyup – enter the First Law.

The First Law of Thermodynamics, for all its consonants and vowels, is a simple saying: The amount of energy in the universe, or an isolated system (say our corral), is a constant. In the corral, you can add energy by feeding and watering the horses hay. In the universe, you can’t add more energy, because the total amount is fixed – you got what ya got and you has to live with that.

But, how does anything get done?

Again, a simple saying: Energy changes. In our corral, we start with horses, water and hay; as the horses tire from running, we give them more hay and water, which they convert to running energy; but our isolated corral system has limited hay and water and is constantly losing energy in the form of heat and sweat to the outside environment, so the horses will stop running unless we add more energy in the form of more hay and water from outside the system. In the universe, there is no outside, there is no place to go to, no more to add. That’s it folks. That’s all there is.

So, what happens?

Einstein, Newton and those guys — those Big Heads stated in fancy equations of general applicability what we all see in the specific energies of daily life. We all see two kinds of energy: 1) active energy, activity or work (think Olympic gymnast); and 2) resting energy, mass or matter (think couch potato). Activity and mass are what make the universe go round, and round and round again. When you need some activity, you convert some mass to energy (throw another log on the fire); when you need some mass, you sit down, have a big meal and rest (the mass settles right in, along with the fliers from Weight Watchers). It’s a constant process of change that occurs continually in the entire universe: mass changing to energy and energy to mass and back again. The smaller isolated systems, like our corral, may run down from lack of hay, but the universe is big enough to just keep borrowing back and forth to keep the whole she-bang going on and on and on.

Recognizing this constant and continuing give-and-take, the First Law of Thermodynamics can also be stated as the Law of Conservation of Mass and Energy: The total amount of mass and energy in the Universe remains constant (it is conserved), merely changing from one form to another.

But, isn’t that perpetual motion?

Precisely, it appears to be so. You just keep moving back and forth from mass to energy and energy to mass. So, theoretically, the whole thing, the universe, should go on forever. The universe should never run down. Individual systems (our corral) may run down, but not the universe. It should be perpetual.

Are you sure?

I’m tired and need some rest. Perhaps, a little hot tea with honey, for energy.

But, will the universe, the big system, really never run down?

I’m running down. There are more laws of thermodynamics. Let me acquire some lost mass and we’ll talk more later.

Keep your energies up,

Grandpa Jim