Why don’t we fly off the Earth into space?

Our Earth is a planet (one of eight in our Solar System) circulating our Sun (a star). We are standing on the densest of the eight planets, meaning the Earth has the greatest mass per unit volume of any planet. At its core, the Earth is about 89% iron. That much iron in this big a planet produces a bunch of gravitational force. It is that gravitational force attracting us to the Earth’s core that causes us to stick to the surface. So, the simple answer is: We don’t fly into space because the attractive force of gravity won’t let us?

What is gravity?

I thought you might ask that. To understand gravity, we have to go back to a fellow by the name of Isaac Newton who lived in England, was born on Christmas Day 1642 and liked to observe apples. One day, Isaac watched one fall from an apple tree in the garden. He wondered why that apple fell directly down, perpendicular to the ground, as if it were headed to the center of the Earth. Newton was a focused lad and that apple’s descent really got to him. On July 5, 1687, Isaac Newton published, in three volumes, his “Mathematical Principles of Natural Philosophy,” referred to as the “Principia” and considered by many to be one of the most important books ever written. Included in this revered tome is Newton’s Law of Universal Gravitation, “gravity” for short. According to Newton, gravity is the force that attracts a point mass (the Earth) to another point mass (me standing on the Earth), and it does this attracting by an amount of energy (or directional force) proportional to the product of the two masses and inversely proportional to the square of the distance between them. Isaac’s equation can be presented like this:

F=G(m1m2/rr)

In this formula, F is the measure of the gravitational and directional attractive force between the two objects (the bigger mass pulling the small mass toward itself), G is the gravitational constant (a fixed and experimentally verified fudge-factor number that makes the equation work), m1 is the first mass (the Earth), m2 is the second mass (me) and r is the distance between me and the center of the Earth. Put them all together, stir briskly and you find that there is a very strong gravitational force (F) pulling me toward the center of the Earth and holding me on the surface of our planet because I can’t move through dirt and rock.

How much gravitational force is holding you down?

Trick question – I like it. To do the exact calculation of gravitational force (F) for me where I am sitting typing right now, to the center of the Earth, would require me to know how far that is, plus my mass and the mass of the planet and the big G (gravitational constant), and then to do a bunch of number crunching, making sure I got the units right. That would be a lot of work. But, there’s a short cut – that’s the “trick” part of your question.

Okay, smartie, what’s the short cut?

Me. How much I weigh. My weight is what’s holding me down. Take away my weight, make me lighter that a feather, and I’d float away like Dorothy and Toto to “somewhere over the rainbow . . . where troubles melt like lemon drops.” So, for a small object (me) relative to a very large object (the Earth), the Newtonian equation can be simplified to calculate a gravitational field vector (g) pulling on me. This little “g” has been determined to be about 9.8 meters per second square, on average, for everywhere on the surface of the Earth. Now, the longer equation of Sir Isaac (they made him a Knight) can be tweaked and simplified to F=mg, where m is my mass and g is the 9.8 number. But wait, W=mg, where W is my weight. The equations are the same. So, for me right here, the gravity equation can be simplified to F=W. It’s true. My weight is a close approximation of the force of gravity on me right here, right now, today.

What if you wanted to lose weight?

I’d go to Mars.

Why?

Mars is a smaller and less dense planet. When you do the equations with the smaller mass of the planet Mars, I’d tip the bathroom scale at a much lower number. Drop me on Mars with my Earth muscles and I’d be able to jump higher and lift more than any old Martian. I’d be a Superman – assuming they had some air to breathe. There may be some downsides.

Maybe you should stay here, eat less and exercise more?

I guess you’re right, but it still sounds like fun, going to Mars. I can see myself now in the Martian Olympics, getting ready for the long jump. I get set, the gun fires, I sprint to the line, jump into the air, stretch my legs, arms flailing. It’s . . .

. . . time for lunch. Can you help in the kitchen? You only get a half sandwich.

I wonder if Sir Isaac was treated like this?

You’re not a Knight yet.

Details,

Grandpa Jim

What is the Earth?

The Earth is the planet on whose surface we are physically located.

What is a planet?

In our solar system, the International Astronomical Union (IAU) in 2006 defined a “planet” to be: 1) a body that orbits the Sun; 2) is massive enough for its own gravity to make it round; and 3) has “cleared its neighborhood” of smaller objects in its orbit. All three criteria must be met for a celestial object (a body) to qualify as an IAU planet in our solar system.

What is our solar system?

Our solar system is composed of our Sun and the eight planets and all the other celestial (or heavenly) bodies that orbit our Sun. The term “solar” derives from the Latin word “sol,” meaning “sun.” Sol was the ancient Roman god personifying the sun.

What is our Sun?

Our Sun is the star around which our planets revolve and from which they receive light and heat.

What is a star?

In astronomy, a star is a large self-luminous heavenly body consisting of a mass of gas. In common parlance (or talk), any celestial body visible at night from Earth as relatively stationery can be referred to as a star. Planets rotate around stars and are not generally self-luminous (on fire from within and shooting heat, energy and light outward). In our night sky, if the object is twinkling, it is probably a star (because it is generating its own light). If the body is not twinkling, it is probably a planet (because it is reflecting the light of its star).

How many planets do we have in our solar system?

In our solar system, there are currently eight planets. In order from our Sun, the planets are: Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Saturn, Jupiter, Uranus and Neptune.

Isn’t Pluto a planet?

When the IAU revised the definition of “planet’ for our solar system, Pluto was demoted to a dwarf planet because it was seen as not clearing its orbit of smaller objects. To learn more about Pluto and his adventures, check out the September 13, 2012 blog post, entitled “Pluto: Demoted As A Planet But Still Appreciated As A Friend And Companion.” Type Pluto into the search box above or go to https://www.unclejoestories.com/2012/09/13/pluto/

What is our planet, Earth, composed of?

Good question. The primary components of the Earth are: iron (32.1%), oxygen (30.1%), silicon (15.1%), magnesium (13.9%), sulfur (2.9%), nickel (1.8%), calcium (1.5%) and aluminum (1.4%). The remaining 1.2% is a mix of traces of the other elements. The Earth’s core is estimated to be 88.8% iron. One geochemist estimates that 47% of the Earth’s crust is composed of oxygen, much of that in the form of rock oxides.

The Earth sounds heavy. How heavy is it?

Another good question. The Earth is the densest of all the eight planets. Density is mass per unit volume. It is not weight, but rather how much matter (or substance) is contained in a unit measure of the material. (We’ll talk more about weight in a future post.) The Earth is a very solid place because it has a lot of matter (or stuff) to kick around, lift, push, pull, manufacture and make into who-knows-what – the TV commercials reflect the density of our planet and its denizens. In fact, the Earth’s average density is 5.51 grams per cubic centimeter. The other three rocky planets closest to the Sun follow the Earth in density, in this order of next most dense: Mercury, Venus and Mars. If you want a light planet, try the gas giant Saturn – at a density of 0.70 grams per cubic centimeter, a cotton candy stick of Saturn would float on water on our planet. It’s a big one, but not much substance.

Which planet throws the most weight around?

Best question yet. Maybe better: What’s holding us on this planet Earth and why don’t we fly off into space? What is keeping us down here? Check back tomorrow for some more thoughts on the pesky weight question that is on so many minds at this time of the year.

Keep your feet firmly planted on terra firma and you eyes fixed high on the night sky,

Grandpa Jim

Rain is on the way. Forecasts show a 70% chance tomorrow and 100% certainty the next day. Our farmers can use the moisture. From the drive yesterday, the winter wheat is a bit spotty in places and needs a drink. Dark and waiting, the other fields are plowed and the soil ready. Now is the best time for a soaking, slow-falling rain.

My problem is the Epiphany. That is my deadline to take down the outside Christmas lights. Failure to timely remove those lights will likely result in dunning notices from the Homeowner’s Association and long frowns from the neighboring families for truant twinkle trimatories, faulted frivolous festivatories and cordoned continued celebratories.

The timing is the thing and, I think, that takes us back 2,013 years to 2 AD.

Round and about January 6, 2 AD, Three Wise Men (the three are also called the Three Kings or the Three Magi) are reported to have arrived in Bethlehem for a visit. The day was twelve (12) days after the Nativity or birth of Jesus on December 25, 1 AD. That day, twelve days after Christmas, is referred to as the “Epiphany.”

For Joseph and Mary, the arrival of the Three Kings was a surprising and appreciated event. The couple needed cash to finance a hasty trip to Egypt to hide the newborn child from the jealous-of-another-king King Herod of Judea. Gold, frankincense and myrhh, the costly gifts of the Magi, were readily convertible to cash for the journey. So, royalty with gifts on the doorstep was startling, unexpected and very welcome. It was a cause for thought, its own Epiphany for Mom and Dad.

For the Wise Men, seeing the baby there in that manger in that way flashed into their crowned and turbaned heads the sudden and striking realization that kingships and kingdoms could transcend traditional boundaries and offer benefits even to folks who were not of Jewish lineage. This was a breakthrough in cranial squeezing and ocular squinting. Thinking hard and scribbling parchment notes atop their camels on the journey back (luckily the eye-rolling dromedaries knew the way home for their absent-minded drivers), the light bulbs went off in their over-sized heads. At dinner around the campfire, the Kings decided that day was an Epiphany, because that is what happened to them – an experience of sudden and striking realization. It is hard to argue with truly Wise Men and the name “Epiphany” stuck for the day and the occurrence.

Over time, Twelfth Night (before the day of Epiphany) became a night of parties with bright lights, good food and fun times. Twelfth Day (the day of Epiphany itself) was a happy remembering and a waving away to those friends and dignitaries who had to speed down the road after their visit and the end of the Christmas Holiday. “Don’t forget to turn the lights off!” folks would laugh and shout at each other. “See you next year. Maybe they’ll invent electricity by then and we’ll have real Christmas lights.”

As you can see and hear and to make a long story somewhat shorter, yesterday was the last official day for the many-colored Holiday lights strung around the windows overlooking the back walking trail and the two little bushes by the garage draped in their Christmas color.

My heart is sad, for I love the bright strings of color, but I dare not raise the ire of my neighbors by partying too long and turning those lights back on. With the rain arriving, I cannot take the bulbs down just yet, but I will – right now, in the midst of this writing – go and unplug those outside strings. I will then patiently await the raindrops and their end so that I might retrieve the ladder and begin the work of formal removal.

Until then, as I wait warm inside from the drizzle and damp of the dripping moisture that impedes my necessary labors . . . until then – don’t tell anyone, please — I will quietly pull the blinds, sneakily lower the shades, stealthily plug in the plug to the Christmas tree, bask in a few bright stolen post-Epiphanaic colored rays for a few more days, and think of Three Kings making their way home under a bright guiding new star.

It’s a long way by camel but a short way by thought.

Enjoy an epiphany,

Grandpa Jim

Mimsy Twinsy of the Furrulous Fimsy Clan of pottery mice lived in the China Cabinet Land with her five mice children, Cal-Pepper, Dorothy, Prospero, Fred and Ahh-choo. Porcelain by day, when the sun set and the night arrived, she and kids scampered and darted about the shelves of their cabinet confines and conversed with their friends. Still and unmoving when the Bigs picked and placed them during the bright sun hours, the quick black eyes of Mimsy Twinsy never shut. She did not miss a thing. She knew their place and she was teaching her children what it meant to be a Fimsy of the Furrulous Fimsy Clan.

“Mommy, what was that sound?” Cal-Pepper asked. That boy, like Mom, did not miss a thing.

“Hold down the squeak, young un and don’t twitch n ear. See the Big Little Girl there. She just dropped an angel.”

“I see, Momski,” Cal-Pepper, the eldest of the mice children, confirmed. “That angel is Blondies-Smilies. Her head isn’t no more top her wings. No morski, by scratchy.”

Mother mouse and son watched the Big Little Girl as she held the headless angel statue, a sad frown pulling the Girl’s head down.

“Clomp, Clomp, Clomp,” sounded from the upstairs stairs. A Big Man turned the corner and stopped. Seeing the broken statue in the Little Girl’s hands, the Man walked quietly forward, knelt and talked in a low tone to the Girl.

“Wasser doers herers, Kaoleekapopers?” he said softly. “Not skittle gotta corner gummier bears not a bitsy. Youse got the okies for suries. Looksie seeie hereie. Findie windie surie certalookaboutcow. Nop worry ka now til when.”

Ahh-choo sneezed and wiped her nose with a paw. “Mawwy, what are dem words he bee saying?” Sniffle.

Few of the creatures in China Cabinet Land could understand Big People speech. Fimsy was taught how to hear the words by her Dad, King Gateway Got-A-Nose. King Gateway had been known by one and all as “Nosey,” before a recent accident had taken his quite prominent proboscis. Now, the King was home for repair with a plastered cast on his face and a tube of special oint-gluey beside him as he rested. King Gateway’s favorite nickname was in jeopardy. Until the bandages could be removed and the King’s nominative evaluated, Mimsy Twimsy Fimsy was in charge.

“That be one good Big Guy, you can betya yur paint jobs on it,” Mimsy the Fimsy explained. “He nev made the big screechers at the Little Girl. He told her it was okay the dookey. They be just needen to fix that head.”

“But, Mommy, they can’t find that head,” Dorothy, the oldest girl, said between sobs.

The family watched as the Big Man and Little Girl searched the floor on their hands and knees for the missing top. Finally, the Man stood, picked up the Girl and moved to the downstairs stairs.

Some minutes later the Man returned. Stopping by the up stairs, the Big Man glanced over at the china cabinet and smiled at the motionless porcelain figures. Turning, he clicked the light off and clomped up the stairs.

A strange smile lit Mimsy’s face and she nodded her head.

“Prospero, my reliable little mousey, summon the great Puddleduck to our counsel.”

“Yes, Ma’am the Mom.” Prospero, the middle son, saluted, about-faced in brisk military fashion and returned quickly with the quacksome and bonneted large duck who had, it seems, already been on the way to join them.

“Quack. Time for tea, Mimsy?” The great Puddleduck always wished for tea and she was dressed for her favorite sport, which was consuming the cakes and cookies of a famous Fimsy tea time.

“A mission first, my fine winged flying friend. I promise ya a spread of treats replete on yur return.”

Mimsy fixed her gaze on Fred, her youngest and most agile son. “Frederick, quick of hands, can you pick the lock on this cabinet?”

Fred double saluted, to Prospero’s chagrin — Fred was always doing the one-upper. “In a second halved in halve again, my captain in the charge Mom.”

“Excellent,” Mimsy smiled. “You, Fred, will go on the flight, find and fix with Ms. Puddleduck. Before you fly, grab that tube of glue next to dear old Grand-dad in his bed.”

Mimsy addressed her oldest son, whose nose was stuck to the glass.

“Cal-Pepper, my long-sighted micey, have you spied the missing topendage?”

“Yes, Mommy. I see the curls of that angel girl’s head. Over yonder behind the leg of the big slider chair. It went far. That’s why they couldn’t find her topper.”

“Good lad, Callie.”

Mimsy patted the hungry duck’s wing. “Do you see the lil pumpkin head, Ms. Puddle?” The large duck dipped her beak “Yes” in the direction of the displaced top part.

“Good.” Mimsy spun round to her oldest daughter. “Now, Dorothy, the one who knows where things are hidden, run and find some heavy thread for Fred.”

Mimsy stepped in front of her youngest son. “You have a big job, Fred, my lightest and quickest. Take the gluey and thread. Fly with Ma’amsy Puddleduck. Load up the topper and hold on to Puddley tight until you land in manger land. Help Blondie. She’ll hold her head while you squirts da gluey. Don’t get it on her prettsie white dress. Tell er not to move fer 10 seconds. You knows. One little mousie, two little mousie. . . . Counts em out, all the way to 10.”

Mimsy lifted her head to her middle son. “Prospero, you have the door. Make sure it’s open for the return flight. I know we can count on you.”

Prospero triple saluted.

Mimsy Twinsy Fimsy touched the shoulder of her girls, the older Dorothy and the baby Ahh-choo, and looked into their faces. “We have a very important job,” she said to the girls. “We will fix the tea and it will be the grandest of grandiest evers and a yet, with triple cakes and cookies for our dear friend, the Puddleduck, when she returns with Fred from their mission.”

Mimsy threw her arms wide.

“Now, off with all of you to your jobs and tasks and adventures of many and merry.”

With a scurry, flurry and fly, they all to their tasks did take.

* * *

Raising her head from testing a hot scone, Mimsy spied a wave and smile from an angelic blond head across the room and watched the swoosh and tilt of a happy duck on her way home with Flying Fred, of the new name, beaming atop the feathered back as Prospero with Cal-Pepper’s help propped open the door and Dorothy and Little Ahh-choo set out the tea things.

* * *

And . . . what do you think happened the next morning when the Little Girl and the Big Man found that pretty blond angel with her head attached?

You know, I’m looking at that angel right now and I can’t see a crack.

The End

Grandpa Jim

Two days ago, I asked:  When do you think the next 0-1-2-3 year will be?

What is a 0-1-2-3 year?

The simple answer is a 0-1-2-3 year, in our Western calendar, is a year that has the four digits 0, 1, 2 and 3 present, individually, without a repeat. Our current year, 2013, is such a year because it contains each of those four digits. The last such year was 1320, and the next 0-1-2-3 year will be . . . 2031 — eighteen (18) years from this year.

Why is this significant?

For starters, in all of time, if you use our Western calendar, there are only eighteen (count them – 18) years that are 0-1-2-3 years: none in the First Millennium; 1023, 1032, 1203, 1230, 1302 and 1320, for six (6) in the Second Millennium; 2013, 2031, 2103, 2130, 2301 and 2310, for six (6) in our present Third Millennium; and 3012, 3021, 3102, 3120, 3201 and 3210, for six (6) in the Fourth Millennium; and then no more 0-1-2-3 days for the rest of time.

From 1 AD to the year 10,000 AD, there are only eighteen (18) 0-1-2-3 years. In fact, in all of the Arabic-Indian counting system, used in the Western Culture nations, there are only eighteen (18) 0-1-2-3 numbers.

Check me on this. I don’t think you can use a formula to reach the result. You have to work out all the possible four-digit numbers using the rule that a 0-1-2-3 year has to contain the glyphs 0, 1, 2 and 3 without a repeat of any digit. In other words, you have to use an algorithm or procedure, not a formula. To learn more about algorithms, see the July 12, 2012 blog post entitled in part, “Delorean Hoaxes & Eratosthenes Persistence” – it’s all about algorithms and the Sieve of Eratosthenes to sort out the prime numbers. Type the words in the search box at the top of the page and the post should pop up.

The first four digits in the Arabic-Indian numbering system are 0, 1, 2 and 3.

What does each of the 0-1-2-3 digits represent?

“0” is the number glyph to represent a digit that isn’t there. Can you see your “0” finger? Of course not, it isn’t there, but the concept is. You believe in that absence even if you can’t see its presence. It appears the absence of something can be believed to be something, if placed appropriately. This may be the secret of the success of the Arabic-Indian numbering system. One other thing about “0,” look at the shape of the glyph – a circle. A circle has no discernible beginning and no end, no recognizable start or finish. You know it has both, both a start and a finish, but you can’t see or find either. “0” is the perfect shape for that which can’t be found but is known by faith and believed to be present. You can’t start without “0” and you can’t continue without “0.” It starts everything out and keeps it all going.  In short, “0” is the “Creator” number, the beginning of it all and the necessary concomitant of any effective system of counting.

“1” is the representation of the individual, of you and me separately. For its place, let’s call “1” the “Me” number.

“2” is the pair number. It is the joining of two “1” individual “Me” numbers into the first numerical couple, which is “2.” It is the first prime number, the first combination, the first divisor and the first number with progeny. In the land of numbers, it is the Adam and Eve. We shall refer to it as the “Parents” number for its fundamental procreative role in the order of numbers.

“3” return us to the land of the numerical unknown. Trinitarian concepts insist on children, and off-spring ensure continuance of the creation. If we want the count to continue, the count would end at “2” if there was never a “3”. “3” launches us into the great uncertain, because it requires us to trust in the future. We can see the beginning, but we cannot know the ending. We depend on faith for that. Once “0” acts to create “1” and “2”, “2” act together to engender “3,” which leads all the numbers forward in prime combinations and assorted continuances. Frightening as it may be, “3” is the start of the “Children.”

If “0” is the “Creator,” “1” is “Me,” “2” is the two of us as “Parents,” and “3” is the start of the “Children,” then 2013 AD can be seen as us as Parents, acting with the fundamental Creator principle upon which all things are based, to overcome the “Me” that wants my way, to give the gift of continuance in our “Children” to all the human race.

Now, that’s one New Year’s Resolution we can add our numbers to.

I think I like this year New Year 2013 AD.

I hope you do, too,

Grandpa Jim

As we discussed yesterday, 2013 is the first 0-1-2-3 year in 693 years.

Now, let’s address a different question.

In what century and millennium does our current year 2013 reside, and in what century and millennium was the Baby Jesus born?

To begin, let’s start with what “Western Culture” means. In America, we trace some of our first immigrant roots to Columbus and the European explorers who followed his daring sail-across-the-Atlantic voyage. Of course, today, we are a land of many immigrants from many continents, but back in 1492 AD, when Columbus sailed the ocean blue, the migration to the Americas was largely from Europe. In turn, much of Europe traces its roots back to the Roman Empire, which lasted over 500 years, from Julius Caesar becoming dictator-for-life in 44 BC, to the fall of Rome to Germanic invaders in 476 BC, a total of 520 years. As a result, Western Culture refers to countries that have a European heritage heavily influenced by the old and very long lasting Roman Empire.

In Western Culture nations, such as the United States, the convention used to date the current year can be traced back a 6^th Century monk by the name of Dionysius Exiguus living in Rome. It is reported that Dionysius was thought to be the most learned abbot of the city of Rome. Well, Dionysius was upset with the way folks dated the current year. Some went back to the beginning of the world, which was calculated to be over 5,000 years before then, a large and cumbersome number of debated origins. Others dated the current time from the beginning of the reign of some politician or emperor or tyrant, and Dionysius didn’t think much of memorializing such people. So, Dionysius Exiguus did some research and some calculating and proposed to his learned colleagues a new base date to begin the count of years. “Why don’t we start from the year that baby was born in the stable in Bethlehem?” he asked at the Thinkers Club one day. “Most folks like that story,” he explained, “and that babe sure has a lot of followers, at least around here.” His colleagues scratched their heads and wondered aloud when that birth had occurred. Back then, birth records weren’t what they are today. It turns out Mr. Exiguus was also a mathematician and a historian. “I ran some numbers and did some checking,” he said to his on-lookers, “this year is 525 years since the year of our Lord.” “You mean Anno Domini,” a colleague asked. “Exactly,” Dionysius answered, “today is 525 AD, for short.”

It took a few more years for everyone to get on board, but by the year 731 AD, people were using AD and BC (for “Before Christ”) to date everything from birthday parties to Easter egg hunts. Our friend Dionysius had invented the Anno Domini (AD) era, and we, in the West, have been keeping track of things his way ever since.

Here’s how it work.

There is no “0” year. Jesus was born in the year 1 AD, and the year before he was born is 1 BC. This is a bit odd, because on January 1, 1 AD, Jesus was not yet born (not until the end of the year on December 25), but we still call the whole year the 1 AD year. Also, the baby Jesus’ 1^st birthday was on December 25, 2 AD. That’s just the way the Anno Domini system was set up by the good monk back in 525 AD.

The first century goes from 1 AD to 100 AD. So, the year 100 AD is in the first century, not the second century. The second century starts January 1, 101 AD and goes to December 31, 200 AD. This way to identify each 100-year interval (a century is 100 years) also applies to when each millennium, each 1,000-year interval, starts and finishes. In their words, the experts tell us a new century begins in a year with the last digits being “01” (for example 1801, 1901, and 2001). In like manner, a new millennium begins in the “01” year (for example 1001 and 2001). The media and the public do not care much for this technical convention. Many of you may recall that the ball dropped at Times Square in New York City to celebrate the most recent new millennium on January 1, 2000. The experts say we should have waited a year to drop that ball, because the new millennium really started on January 1, 2001.

Whether you and your family use the “00” year or the “01” year to move to the next century and millennium, when we cross that time line, we add “1” to name the new century and millennium. For example, 104 AD is in the 2^nd Century, 1947 AD is in the 20^th Century and 2013 AD is in the 21^st Century. For millennium, 1776 is in the 2^nd Millennium and 2013 is in the Third Millennium. Again, according to the experts, the Third Millennium commenced on January 1, 2001 and will end on December 31, 3000.

Now, back to the question above stated that started us on this journey through time: In what century and millennium does our current year 2013 reside, and in what century and millennium was the Baby Jesus born?

And . . . the answer is: Our current and most fantastic New Year 2013 is in the 21^st Century of the Third Millennium – according to the experts; and the Baby Jesus was born on December 25, 1 AD in the First Century of the First Millennium – according to the expert computations of the monk Dionysius Exiguus.

After traveling that far and that fast, I think we all need a break and a Slurpee.

In what century and millennium, was the Slurpee invented?

Enjoy your drink and think 7-Eleven,

Grandpa Jim

2013.

What does it mean, how does it stack up and how unique is it?

For numerologists, such as ourselves, this is a most fascinating year for the numbers.

0, 1, 2, 3 are the first four digits of the Western or Arabic pattern of tracking the march of things and the passing of time. Actually, this system of counting and recording was developed by Indian mathematicians in the 5^th Century, but was first counted out in change to European traders in the 10^th Century by Arab merchants from Africa and the Middle East – hence the name “Arabic.” The Arabic-Indian system is a revolutionary system of count because it includes zero (0) and positional notation (1,000 rather than a symbol, like “M” in Roman Numerals). As a way of tracking the numbers, it is highly efficient, neater than beans and an important way to start our New Year with just the right assortment of glyphs. For many years now, the glyphs used in the decimal Arabic-Indian numbering system have them 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9 and 0. You can see them there at the top of your keyboard.

That’s the overview. Now, on to the year itself.

2013

I think it has been over six hundred years since the first four digits of our numbering system have all appeared individually, without a repeat, in the representation of the current year.

Let’s test this proposition.

We can’t count the first thousand years since the birth of Christ.

By way of background, our year notations are most often referred to as A.D., for “Anno Domini.” Anno Domini is Latin and is used to indicate the number of years since the “year of our Lord,” the literal meaning of A.D. Another representation you see these days is Common Era, or C.E, for the number of years since the birth of the Baby Jesus. A.D. and C.E. both have the same starting point

To restate, we can’t count the first 1,000 years to the year 1,000 A.D., because, for example, the year 123 is not represented in the Arabic system with a “0” in front, say as 0123. So, in the first three centuries, you had 123, 213, 312 and those types of 1-2-3 years, but only 3 digits and no leading “0”. After the start of the 4^th Century (400 A.D.), you couldn’t even get a 1-2-3 year, because of having to use the 4-5-6-7-8-9 digits in every year, until the year 1000 A.D. So the baby year 0 to the year 1000 A.D. or C.E. are out of the race.

In the second thousand years, starting in the year 1000 A.D., in the 10^th, 12^th and 13^th centuries, you had the possibility of a number of 0-1-2-3 years, starting with 1 and then combinations of 0-2-3 without repeats, for example 1032, 1203 and 1302. There could be no 0-1-2-3 years in the 11^th century, the 1100’s A.D., because every year in that century had double 1’s, for example 1123.

So, the last 0-1-2-3 year, that I see in the past, was the year 1320. Check me on this, but I think that’s how the numbers shake out for me.

Since the year 1320, I don’t think there has been the possibility of another 0-1-2-3 year — until yesterday, January 1, 2013, the start of the year 2013 A.D. The 1400’s, 1500’s, 1600’s, 1700’s, 1800’s and 1900’s are all out because they all had digits other than 0-1-2-3. It wasn’t until the 2000’s that the possibility existed for another 0-1-2-3 year, and that possibility has just been realized. Pass the biscuits and honey, and hold the cheers applause.

From 1320 A.D. to 2013 A.D. is a grand total of 693 years.

So, we have waited 693 years for a 0-1-2-3 year.

This year, the year 2013, is that year.

Count them again: 0, 1, 2, 3.

Line them up: 2013.

This year,

Our New Year,

Is here for a whole year!!!!

The first time snce 693 years ago.

I cannot wait until the next 0-1-2-3 year.

When do you think that will be?

Keep on counting,

Grandpa Jim

Dale Patrick Chihuly paints with glass. He is called a glass artist and entrepreneur. Visionary may be closer. Piratical in appearance, he is a most amazing silica-based colorist and a constructor of glass art not seen before.

Last night in freezing cold, we wandered the grounds of the Dallas Arboretum in the dark, little for our guide but the spot-lighted and glowing glass constructions of Chihuly Nights brightening the way.

In 1976, at the age of 35, Chihuly lost an eye in an automobile accident. Three years later, he hurt his shoulder so badly that he was no longer able to blow glass, and he’s a glass artist. Give up? Not Dale Patrick. He went into the glass-coloring-constructing-making-it-bigger-and-brighter-and-weirder-than-every-before-and-I-really-like-this business, and business is good.

The sculptures are amazing at night and, I’m sure, in the day. If you want one for your own, be prepared to pay dearly. Don’t be concerned. There is little need to purchase your own – though I am sure the artistic troupe led by Dale would welcome your care, and please do, if you can. Until then, the wonders of glass and color are widely spaced and accessible around our globe in museums, gardens and other public venues.

Dale Patrick Chihuly is a marketing phenomenon. In his ways, he reflects on the human fascination with color and light. Like Thomas Kinkade, he discovered that if you light the faces of folks and their settings, those same people will lighten their wallets and shower you and your works with dollars and acclaim. Suggested beneath this tongue-in-cheek reflection is the need for incredible energy, boundless talent, a ready laugh and some large amount of humility. I suspect Mr. Chihuly possesses all these in abundance.

It is comforting that such talent can be rewarded and, because it is appreciated, so many can share in the success.

In all things, we see elements of luck, chance or, at least, unintended consequence that benefit the party most directly involved and those derivative on-lookers and participants that are ourselves. We see a Chihuly or Kinkade and know we are lucky that we can view its light and color. We see the end of the year and know that we are lucky to watch its passing.

Reaching for the can of black-eyed peas at the grocery, we know that luck is something we want in the New Year. Wondering why all the pre-cut and packaged cabbage is gone from the shelves already, we buy a head of cabbage to make our own cabbage slaw for more luck on the 1^st of the year and beyond.

No one really knows why the eating of black-eyed peas and cabbage is a lucky New Year’s tradition. No one really knows why Thomas Kinkade and Dale Patrick Chihuly are as wildly successful as they are, but all who view their works know they are themselves lucky in that viewing.

With the wish for not a little luck, we all wait to welcome the New Year. With the wish that we will be as lucky as Thomas and Dale Patrick, not a few watch to see the New Year approach. When the ball drops, the hour arrives and the clock strikes twelve midnight, we forget those thoughts, raise a cheer, kiss those we love and know that we are all so very lucky to be here just the way we are today.

Don’t forget the black-eyed peas and, if you can, stop by — we’ll have extra coleslaw.

Happy New Year,

Grandpa Jim

In the U.S., our major holidays often have something or someone associated with them.

For St. Patrick’s Day, the wearing of the Green and a friendly Leprechaun guarding his pot of gold.

For Easter, the Easter Bunny and colored egg hunts.

For the 4^th of July, the Flag, our Star Spangled Banner, and the fireworks that saw it first wave.

For Halloween, the Jack-O-Lantern and costumed candy-seekers.

For Thanksgiving, the Turkey and the Great Feast.

For Christmas, the crib of the Nativity and the lighted Tree with its tinsel and ornaments.

And, for New Year’s Eve and Day approaching, a Baby in top-hat and diapers, the tiny shoulders draped in the New Year’s banner.

But wait, what’s that I hear? Yes, there is something else playing in the background this last night and first day of the year, a sadly happy melody to bid farewell to the old and welcome in the new. “Auld Lang Syne” may make New Year’s in its notes the only Holiday remembered by a special song and its very special lyrics.

Robert Burns lived only 37 years. His roots humble, his days may have been shortened by early farmland labors. With little formal schooling but with the bard’s way with words, he is regarded as the national poet of Scotland. Robert wrote in the Scottish language and in a pick-a-pen Scots dialect the English and even some Americans can understand. The lyrical whimsy of his lines are memorable in their song-like character and catchy titles, to try a few: “A Red, Red Rose,” “Address to a Haggis,” “Coming Thro’ the Rye” and “To a Mouse.” Sometimes called the Peasant Poet, he had the gift of remembering his roots in words that were more than was there in what they recalled.

An old man sat on the bench outside the pub smoking.

“And what would it be you’re humming there, my good fellow?”

“A tune to fetch away the cold and remember yesterdays’ settings in tomorrow day’s rising.” The wrinkled face smiled as the grandfather blew a smoke ring to the evening still. “Have you the coin for a pint, young lad? It is the night of the New Year.”

Robert fetched the pint and sat and listened.

Afterword, he ran to his room and penned the lyrics to that old man’s song, but bless his true Scottish heart, Robert Burns could not restrain his enthusiasm or his natural poetic energies. The final product is as much Robert’s as that of the kindly old gentleman, a work that hadn’t existed before our Peasant Poet sat and listened and heard in what was there something that had not been heard before and graced the world and New Year’s Day with its new tune.

The first stanza raises a question:

Should old acquaintance be forgot,
and never brought to mind ?
Should old acquaintance be forgot,
and old lang syne ?

The chorus that follows, and is the most remembered of the song and our New Year’s cheer, reveals that Robert is likely recollecting with a lady friend:

For auld lang syne, my dear,
for auld lang syne,
we’ll take a cup of kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.

The next stanza is an offer to make a toast, to “take a cup o’ kindness yet,” even if Robert isn’t buying,

And surely you’ll buy your pint cup !
and surely I’ll buy mine !
And we’ll take a cup o’ kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.

In the following stanzas, their cups in the air, the young Robert remembers the good times with his good friend, the “run about the slopes,” “the daisies fine” there “picked,” having “wandered many a weary foot” together, and the two paddling “in the stream, from morning sun till dine.” Ahhh, those were the good times. “But seas between us broad have roared since auld lang syne.” The two have been separated and now our together again – or is this his wish that they were too? The final stanza takes us back to the beginning of the tune with the cups lifted as Robert reaches with his other hand to ask politely, “And give us a hand o’ thine!” With his parting words, the young poet echoes his chorus,

For auld lang syne, my dear,
for auld lang syne,
we’ll take a cup of kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.

They drink with their hands and hearts entwined to auld lang syne, to the “old long since” in its literal saying, to good friends and good times that were with us in their persons in the old year and will be with us in our memories in the new.

For auld lang syne.

I buried a friend today. He died on Christmas Day. A Robert, he was a bit of a Scot and much of a poet in his ways. I found Robert Burns before the funeral and left to finish this later, after saying Goodbye to our Robert.

For Robert, dear friend, and for all the other good friends and good times in this year leaving, on the first second of the new day of the next year arriving, with others close by, our glasses raised and joined,

We’ll take a right good-will draught,

For auld lang syne,

And for Robert,

Grandpa Jim

1957 was almost the last Christmas.

The Grinch stood on Mount Crumpit and sneered down on all of us here below in Whoville.

“Why the incessant music, Max? What makes them so happy down there? What’s so special about Christmas? Decorations, colored lights, presents-under-the-tree, roast-beasties and who-hashies? Something must be done, Max. Something must be done right away to ruin, topple, pulverize, smash and stop this Christmas-thing once and for all.”

So said the Grinch to Max his loyal dog as the great green brain hatched a despicable plot in the head above the two-sizes-too-small heart. Grabbing and gluing, sawing and nailing, bending and blow-torch-attaching, that large green-furred Grinch assembled his Christmas-steal-away sled. Lifting Max by the tail, with a sneer and a glee, the large green-thinking Grinch screwed a red bulb to the small dog’s nose and tied a single lichen-coated-and-broken antler to the worried canine’s head.

“Ready and off, mush Max. Off we go and a wheeee. . . .”

Stealing into Whoville in the dark of Christmas Eve night – sliding, slipping, squirming and crawling – the deft-and-long-green-fingered Grinch took it all. On furry green toes, he left not a crumpet crumb in a fridge, a lighted lightsie on a roof, or a present-to-be-presentedie under a tree, and then he took the tree too boot, and kicked and pushed and crammed it all in the giganteous-largess-oversizedeous bag on his sled. He even stole the electricity and cut the cord.

“Mush up, my Max, the mountain is yours to mount. Go trusty steed-courser, more rapid than a mini eaglet with small brown legs. I whistle and shout and call you, my doggedy-dog-engine, by name. Now, Max! On, Max! To the top of Mount Crumpit! To the edge of the cliff! Now, dash away! Dash away! Dash away, Max!”

And, that honest and faithful little dog did just that, though he did not like it all, not one little bit. Max pulled the sled with all of Christmas to the top of the great hill. At that height in the cold and frosty air, the Green Grinch jumped down and gloated in great-sneer-and-wait for the wails to rise from far below. He waited in freezy-frozen cold and cold-coldiness to hear all us Who’s in Whoville wake and moan and cry and whimper and sit in the snow and shiver without hope at Christmas broke, stolen, gone, lost and ruined forever. That Grinch rubbed his icy hands and listened to hear. . . .

“Fah who for-aze!
Dah who dor-aze!
Welcome Christmas,
Come this way!

Fah who for-aze!
Dah who dor-aze!
Welcome Christmas,
Christmas Day.”

“Max, come over here and stick a brown-and-broken branch in my ears. My sound drums must be aligned to a wrong channel. I hear the notes of happy-in-the-wind winding and now I see down there smiles-on-the-faces smiling.”

It was then the great Grinch dropped that stick and his eyes grew wider-than-big-widest. A “Thump, Thump, Thump!!!” was heard by Max as the green chest expanded with a new heart grown three times its size.

“Max, the can’t-be-couldn’t-be-wouldn’t-be is there where it shouldn’t be. Christmas came just as-it-is-be, without the loot-and-toot and crinkly-open-and-shout and all the gifty-get-thees, the great roast beasties on plattery platteries and the hashed hashedies in cranberryeous saucedies.” A heave of laughter shook the tall green figure with its new-and-knowing heart of lead-turned-gold and shiny-throughtedy thoughtediness. “Max, my trusty stead, saddle up. We have some presents to deliver and amends to remend and commendedy.”

As fun thoughts before the wild Grinch sled fly, When they meet with Who’s, waving to the sky; So down to Whoville, Max the Red-Nosed Grinch Dog flew, With the sleigh full of toys, and the Great Green and Smiling Grinch, too.”

And, when they arrived, before a single gift was dissembled or plate of treats reassembled, a smallish-small Who child named Cindy grabbed the large furry hand and small brown paw and pulled the two new guests into the circle of now-and-ever-always-will-be Who friends, where the overly-large-and-growing-still, greeny-green-the-color-of-Christmas Grinch added his great-clear-and-mighty voice in harmonious-harmony to that-which-he-had-missed-so-long-and-now-shared-there-with-all-this-day, as the tiny dog at his side barked the what-he-always-knew-and-now-knew-with-new-new bark and wagged his tail and rubbed his Master’s leg, and received for the first-everyess-ever time a Christmas Grinch rub back in tune:

“Welcome Christmas
Fah who rah-moose!
Welcome Christmas
Dah who dah-moose!
Welcome Christmas
While we stand
Heart to heart
And hand in hand

Fah who for-aze
Dah who dor-aze
Welcome welcome
Christmas
Christmas
Day”

May your Christmas Day be every Day, as it is with the Large-Hearted Green Grinch of Happy Mount Crumpit and his trusty and loyal companion, Max the Red-Nosed Grinch Dog,

Grandpa Jim