"I have suggested that scientific progress requires a favorable environment." Ernest Lawrence

All progress of our species, civilization, and culture is the result of science.   The rest of mankind's endeavors is to provide an infrastructure so that scientists can do their work.  A better political structure (democracy?) means that scientists can be more efficient.  A better economic structure (capitalism?) means more resources for scientists in their endeavors.  Great art and music means that scientists can be inspired to further the cause of homo sapiens.  An efficient garbage collection system means scientists don't have to worry about such trivialities.  Better roads means we can get to our labs quicker.  A fair election system means that civil unrest won't disrupt the course of scientific research.  Science and scientists are the real reason for life.  All the rest is an appreciated supportive role.  Thanks.  (Disclaimer:  I'm a physicist.)

© 2014 Lester C. Welch 

"Without consciousness, space and time are nothing." Robert Lanza

The cruelest joke of consciousness is life.  If consciousness could extent through eternity without the vicissitudes of having to feed our bodies, worrying about the collapse of the economy and the insaneness of politics (all metaphors for the mundaneness of day-to-day living) would it be enjoyable?  Does "enjoyment" have a meaning outside of life?  A tenet of many religions is that "consciousness" exists beyond life - label it as "soul" if you wish. But, I submit, that the components of life that we cherish may not be an integral of consciousness. Even if we have a soul, we may lose the essence of life upon death.  If something exists - which I doubt - beyond our last breath, it is unfathomable.  

The biggest and unanswerable question is "Why is there something rather than nothing?"  My answer to that question - without specifying any further details, because of ignorance,  (and rejecting all popular characterizations) - is "God."

© 2014 Lester C. Welch

"Love is life. And if you miss love, you miss life." Leo Buscaglia

A semantic problem we have is the definition of "love."  Assuming you're old enough to have grandchildren, can you say that the love you have for your spouse is the same as the love you have for your grandchildren?

I propose that one definition of "love" (purely for the sake of discussion) is that you love someone  (xxx)  if you're willing to step in front of a speeding bus to push xxx out of the way, knowing that it will certainly result in your death.  In other words, would you be willing to give up your life so that xxx may live?  If so, you love them.

I think there are other definitions of "love" that are cogent and worthy of discussion, but for the sake of the current blog, let's focus on this one.

Speakly for myself - using the agreed upon definition - I clearly love my grandchildren.  And, of course, my children.  Why?  Evolutionary biologists may profer that my children and grandchildren carry my genes and more physically fit (younger) than myself, and thus my impact on the universe is enhanced if they survive.  I agree.  I would readily give up my life for any of my descendents.  (Need a kidney?)

What about your spouse?  That argument falls apart.  Using the agreed upon definition, is one willing to give up one's own life for your spouse's?  In this case I think the bargain is different,  The consideration is not the persistence of your genes but the process it takes to replicate those genes.  One can't reproduce by oneself.  You need a partner.  So,...(enter biologically engineered lust)...you help me propagate my genes and I'll "love" you.  I'll offer you my life, if necessary, so that my genes can be in the next generation.  Oh, and by the way, so will yours.

I think this meme is so ingrained in us by evolution that the consideration of whether or not our spouse is actually capable of reproduction is irrelevant.

So we're willing to step in front of the bus for our child, spouse, and grandchild.  What about our sibling?  Our parent?  We may have deep affection for them but - using this definition of "love" - do we love them?  There must be another definition of "love."

© 2014 Lester C. Welch

"I believe all men, all women, regardless of race, gender, socioeconomic background, you deserve the same rights." Sophia Bush

Among the many characteristics that we are born with that we have no control over, are three prominent ones: race, sexual orientation, and gender.  All three have been the basis of venomous discrimination.

It is common to have clubs or gatherings where discrimination is still practiced - and, in my experience, most commonly in churches.  Groups form which call themselves the "Sisterhood" or some such thing denoting that it's for women only and if a man dare ask if he may join he is abruptly told "No."  Would we sanction a "Whites (or Blacks) Only" group?  What about "For Straights (or Gays) Only?"

When questioned, women proclaim that there are subjects that women don't feel comfortable discussing in the presense of men.  I'm sure that there are subjects that "blacks" don't feel comfortable discussing when "whites" are around (and vice versa).  "Gays" must feel muffled if "straights" are present (and vice versa).  So if a group feels that some topics of interest are out of bounds if their group is enlargened is that license enough to discriminate?

As a practical matter, I doubt that many men would attend a meeting of the "Sisterhood" but if they did it would probably be mutually beneficial. I think that the motivators for the creation of such discriminatory groups reveal an unhealthiness and/or a lack of healing of an injury caused by some past psychological trauma.  A therapy group run by a professional is probably a better venue to vent their problems and seek a cure than a church group. 

Is it not ironic that a major and legitimate complaint of the feminist movement was the existence of "Old Boy's Clubs" where decisions and friendships excluding women were made that women had no chance to participate in?  Yet many of these same feminists flock to the "Sisterhood."

I cannot say it any better than Dorothy Allison, "Class, race, sexuality, gender and all other categories by which we categorize and dismiss each other need to be excavated from the inside."

I must check to see if the local quilting group allows men to join.

© 2014 Lester C. Welch

"I believe in American exceptionalism, just as I suspect that the Brits believe in British exceptionalism and the Greeks believe in Greek exceptionalism." Barack Obama

I kept very close track, this past week, of the landing of Philae on the comet 67P by the European Space Agency (ESA).  It was a huge engineering and scientific achievement - done by Europeans.  Even though at some level I know that America shouldn't and can't do it all, my thoughts wandered to recent examples of scientific prowess.  The major particle accelerator in the world is CERN in Geneva where the Higgs boson - a major piece of the puzzle in our understanding of the physics of the universe - was discovered.

These tasks - landing on a comet, discovering the Higgs, the Space Station - are done in the name of humanity and offer no direct immediate financial gain but furthers man's understanding and appreciation of the cosmos we live in.  The nation - or consortium - that accomplishes them is exceptional.

America at one time - when we landed men on the moon, when we built the world's largest (at that time) particle accelerator, FermiLab, - was exceptional.  Not only did we have a democracy that enabled all of us - to the extent of our abilities - to participate but we recognized the importance of adding to knowledge whose only benefit was an increase in understanding.

Then the Superconducting Super Collider (SSC), a particle accelerator to be built in the vicinity of Waxahachie, Texas was canceled in 1993. When future historians study America they will signify that event as the end of American exceptionism. Our priorities shifted from the exceptional to the mundane.

It was fitting that NASA officials were on hand to congratulate ESA.
© 2014 Lester C. Welch

"The purpose of life is not to be happy. It is to be useful, to be honorable, to be compassionate, to have it make some difference that you have lived and lived well.” ― Ralph Waldo Emerson

I disagree.  The purpose of life is to be happy.  It may be that helping others - à la Mother Teresa - gives you happiness and, if so more power to you.  But are we to completely denigrate the poor soul who lives a productive life but gets his happiness from sitting in front of a fireplace and sips cognac?  Suppose that we all helped each other but all of us were unhappy.  Is that a satisfactory state of affairs?

 I think we can learn to associate happiness with a variety of activities.  The diversity of cultures and their activities offers proof.  We can learn to achieve happiness from working in a soup kitchen for the poor - or from wrestling alligators.  If you're happy you will do better at whatever activity you indulge in.

In religious terms, salvation doesn't come just because we're unhappy.

© 2014 Lester Welch

"One of the secrets of life is to keep our intellectual curiosity acute." G. M. Trevelyan

Those who know me realize two things about my personality:

1) I have a great intellectual curiosity.  This manifests itself in several ways (sometimes distructively) but most obviously in my "six-month" hobby excursions (e.g., mechanical clock mechanisms, plant identifications, artificial language constructions, genealogy, different cuisines)   Once my curiosity is satisfied, I move on.  I have the same intellectual curiosity about social movements/issues.

2) I love to argue/debate/discuss issues.  I can (and have) argue/d both sides of an issue.  Both I NEVER make it personal.  I really want to get to the "truth" - or the best representation thereof.  I do have my personal beliefs but often I want to put my personal beliefs to the test - are they consistent/logical? - and I seek out external competent counter-arguments.

These two traits have gotten me into trouble.

I frequently underestimate the extent that others take my "probing" questions to be personal.  I'm wanting to get to the "bottom" of the matter and others interpret my efforts as questioning their integrity or their values.  

I firmly believe that objectivity is required to get closer to the "truth."

"I love objectivity when mine.” Brian Spellman

© 2014 Lester Welch

"So the creation of empathy necessarily influences how you'll behave to other people." Barbara Kingsolver

When I write these posts I search for an 

appropriate quote to title what follows.  Often it 

is difficult to find the “one.” This post deals 

with empathy and – contrary to the norm – I 

found many suitable candidates.

I think “empathy” to be the most significant 

factor in our personality as manifested in our 

relationship with others.  It governs how we

behave and interact with others in many subtle 

ways.  Let me give you some examples.

I think public speakers – or mere social 

conversationists - must have empathy to be 

effective.  They must be able to put themselves 

in the position of the listener to be able to

 convey the speaker’s message.  A trap many 

speakers fall into is – without realizing it – 

assuming the listeners have the same context as

themselves.  Let me give a trivial and obvious 

example:  the speaker says, “Tom and Bill were

discussing the trip and he said…”  The speaker,

of course, knows to whom “he” refers to, but the 

listener doesn’t and is confused.  ALL indefinite 

pronouns have the potential of causing such 

confusion.  Avoid them if possible.  Their use

shows a lack of empathy. The biggest challenge 

in talking is to create in the listener’s mind the 

same context as the speaker has, so that what

follows makes sense.

Empathy can be a disadvantage.  I know people 

who deal with the poor and needy in non-profit 

organizations that dispense food and 

clothing. There is an interview process to

determine eligibility.  Needless to say, there are 

those who try to scam the system and if the 

interviewer is too empathic, every scam works.

Yet, it is often that very sensitive empathy which

puts the interviewer into that position.

It is believed by psychologists that a major 

benefit of reading fiction is the creation of 

empathy.  The reader feels what the characters 
in the book feel (if the author is doing their job).

The correlation between “lack-of-reading” and

“lack-of-empathy” among the prison population is high.

The proper balance between “selfishness” and 

“empathy” is critical.  When do you consider 

yourself and not the other?  Must one always

defer to a loved one?

“Empathy” is what enables the reading of “body-

language.”  How much do we trust our ability to 

do so?  What if we’re wrong?  Maybe the client

really does need the food and clothing and we’re 

just being overly cautious.

I suspect “empathy” is an essense of life.

© 2014 Lester C. Welch

"People like to trace their ancestry." Richard Dawkins

This post is mostly fiction – but informed fiction.  One of my hobbies is genealogy, a hobby I started long before the Internet when I moved to the vicinity of Washington DC and the resources of the National Archives and the Library of Congress.

In discovering your ancestors you find some that intrigue you.  You discover enough of their history so that you form an opinion about their personality, their character, the nature of their life and times.  It was so with me about my gr-gr-grandfather, Daniel B, Eldridge – my paternal grandfather’s maternal grandfather.  He lived through the Civil War and it must have been devastating for him.

He was born in 1835 in Halifax, Virginia, the youngest of a family of 11.  His father was very well off and owned a plantation of over 900 acres and fifty slaves.  So Daniel was born into a life of luxury and – no doubt – was waited on hand and foot and spoiled.  The1850 census shows him enrolled in the private Randolph-Macon College, which also operated a high school at that time, in Mecklinburg Co., Virginia.  In 1856 he marries Amanda Evans – who is also an interesting person but is a story for another time and the 1860 census shows Daniel and Amanda living in Forsyth Co., NC with their two daughters – the eldest of whom, Alice, is my ancestor.  The value of their personal property is very large compared with neighbors.

Then the Civil War came in 1861 and Daniel and Amanda lost everything.  They had to declare bankruptcy in 1868.  Some of Daniel’s older brothers had moved to Texas much earlier and Daniel, Amanda, and Daniel’s mother, Mildred, followed them.  Amanda dies of TB the following year and the 1870 census shows Daniel living with three daughters ages, 13, 12, 6 and a son 5.  In my fiction I see Daniel making life a living hell for his two older daughters demanding that they do all of the housework and wait on him - as he was accustomed to.  Alice, my ancestor leaves home and marries my Welch gr-grandfather the following year, 1871, at the age of 14.  My fiction says that her younger sister left as soon as possible as well. Daniel dies in 1885 deeply in debt.  How did he interact with the rest of his family after Amanda’s death?  Who helped him with the younger children after the older ones left?

So I see Daniel a tragic character, a product of his birth and times, who could never adjust to the reality of the world after the Civil War.  There must’ve been many others like him.

Seeing the richness possible in telling his story I tried once to write a book about his life but failed.  I did too much research about the times and felt as if I had to include everything I had learned, e.g., ether was first used in 1846.  I wish I was a better author because there is a great story about Daniel.

© 2014 Lester C. Welch

"We are all of us resigned to death: it's life we aren't resigned to." - Graham Greene

I suspect most of us have had near death experiences – probably more than we are aware of.  In this post I don’t want to talk about the near death experiences that we anticipate, e.g. a major operation, -  but rather some event that life throws at us unanticipated.

My first near death experience I don’t remember but have been told about it.  I was born in the home of my mother’s aunt, Eunice.  A doctor was in attendance and Eunice acted as a practical nurse, but my birth was difficult.  I was born with my umbilical cord around my throat and was unresponsive at delivery.  My mother had post delivery hemorrhaging and the doctor couldn’t care for us both so laid me aside.  However my great-aunt Eunice picked me up, massaged me, and did something magical.  I coughed, spit, and started crying  (I’ve been crying ever since – perhaps silently).  The doctor was quite surprised and I survived.

The second time I survived a near death experience – that I know of - was in college.  I had to work my way through college and had a job as a co-op.  I helped with various research projects that the college was involved in.  One of these projects was the testing of missile warheads.  In order to provide some credibility to the purported effectiveness of a warhead, the test often used parts of obsolete aircraft mounted close to the warhead when it was detonated on the test stand so the resulting damage could be evaluated.

So one day, I was helping remove a wing from an old bomber.  The fuel tanks in the wing had supposedly been emptied and flushed.  I crawled into the wing with my supervisor who had the necessary torches, etc, to cut the spar caps. As I crawled, I saw beneath the plane’s wing, lying on the ground, a screwdriver.  We had been catching hell for losing tools, so I climbed back out of the wing, picked up the screwdriver and carried it to the truck.  When I reached the truck, the whole wing exploded.  My boss was blown 45 feet against a crane holding up the wing and was unconscious.  His welding helmet had collapsed against his face and he was drowning in his own blood.  He had used the torch to cut into a fuel tank that still had fuel.  My co-worker and I did what we could and he survived.  But what if I had not seen that screwdriver?  What cosmic force caused me to worry about the loss of a screwdriver?

My last event was when I was driving and approached a major 4 lane highway from a small side street during rush hour.  I stepped on the brake only to have it go all the way to the floor with no resistance at all.  I should’ve grabbed the hand brake, but I didn’t.  I steered the car to an embankment, which only resulted in flipping the car onto its roof and I went across the highway on my roof.  There were a lot of 18 wheelers on that road.  But I went all of the way across unmolested, hit the ditch on the other side which flipped the car back onto its wheels.  It wasn’t until I thought about the incident that I realized how lucky I was.

I’m convinced I’ve lived so I could write this blog.

© 2014 Lester C. Welch

"I don't want my grandchildren to go through what I went through." Art Modell

I’ve asked myself the question “Why am I writing this blog?”  After some thought I know the answer is:  I’m writing it for two reasons – Kalina and Zora, my granddaughters. 

I can’t remember a conversation I had with either of my grandfathers.  I can’t remember a word either of them ever said to me.  They were nice guys, I’m sure, and I have positive recollections and memories of them. I was their oldest grandchild but the times were different and men interacted with family members differently then, than now.  I have no idea of how they felt about me or the world or themselves.

So Kalina and Zora, when you are adults and I’m dead and if you wonder what I was like – read this blog.

You, each, were a beacon of joy and enlightenment to me assuredly – and other ancestors presumably.  You just reacted to the world and learned about and enjoyed life, - aided competently by your beautiful parents.  I was an enthusiastic on-looker. 

I try to picture you at 40 years old reading these words and wish I was there.  The saddest part of growing old is knowing that I won’t see you grow old.

You are special.

© 2014 Lester C. Welch

"The nature of music is mysterious and so much so that it generates strong emotions within us. It moves along passages that reach the most intimate areas of our psyche without being tried by prejudices or influences of any kind." Andrea Bocelli

One of the favorite songs of my formative years was “Sugar Sugar” by the Archies.  I give a YouTube link (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0MiQzAo6Cp8and) and I’ll give a couple others to illustrate my post.  I confess that – perhaps – one of the reasons this was a favorite was because – at that time in my life in California - the bars had live entertainment involving beautiful young women walking and dancing, usually nude or at least scantily clad, on a stage to music.  This song was a popular choice of theirs.   This type of entertainment may be illegal now.  After a couple of beers accompanied by music and eye candy, all the senses seem to merge, but the music remains a spark and key to those memories.

So I searched on YouTube for renditions – a purely academic exercise to connect with my past, I hope you recognize.  My first reaction to the above rendition was how incredibly young the Archies were.  Geez, were they past puberty?  But their song swelled my link to the past.

Another rendition I found was https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vWxZWF80hs0 This rendition – while filled with young women dancing – I found to be very surrealist.  None of the girls are dressed similarly.  A couple have slinky nightgowns – others run the gambit of attire.  No uniformity.  Plus notice the near lack of facial expression.  It’s almost like an excerpt from a Zombie movie.  I found it eerie enough I watched it several times.

The last rendition I offer is https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tS3U2MoQU54

I like this for purely esthetic (as opposed to erotic) reasons.  Seeing the older women move in unison accentuates the beat of the music. 

The ties of music to our psyche is very strong.

© 2014 Lester C. Welch

"Men love to wonder, and that is the seed of science." Ralph Waldo Emerson

(Reader Warning: Thoughts about science by a scientist contained.)

The relationship between mathematics and science is remarkable.  Deep thinkers (Wigner) have wondered why mathematics is such an effective tool in science – and consequently technology.  When the mathematics in a successful theory (meaning it explains and can predict experimental results) makes a bizarre prediction – something that has not been subject to a laboratory test – that prediction is given great credence.

For me the best of many examples of this potency of mathematics was the result of a theory created by Paul Dirac in explaining the behavior of the electron (which had a characteristic not seen before).  He was successful in explaining a property  – for which no word existed but had some similarity to classical “spin” and thus that word was co-opted.   But Dirac’s theory made a bizarre prediction – something that had never been seen before.  It predicted an electron with the opposite electrical charge.  Needless to say that particle, the positron, was searched for and found and resulted in a Nobel prize for Carl Anderson.

Thus when mathematics speaks only a fool is deaf.

Mathematics predicts multiverses.  

Multiverses come in many flavors and those who are interested should “google” the subject.  But the relevant point about an alternative universe is that by definition they are separate from our own.  They are distinct.  Some universe flavors have different physical laws and some flavors are mere copies of our own.

But they are SEPARATE.  There is no way that we can interact with them by definition.  Hence there is no way we can experimentally test them to prove their existence or absence.  Yet mathematics states they are there.  Many scientists have faith and believe that they exist.  Many claim that since you can’t experimentally verify it, it’s not science but closer to religion.

Religion is based on faith and belief – not mathematical proof.

Science is based on mathematics and experimental verification.

I claim we need a third noun.  A field of scientific study based on and consistent with mathematics and makes predictions which can never be proven or disproven.

I modestly propose the word Stience

© 2014 Lester C. Welch

"Put down humor is fine and fun in an atmosphere of strong camaraderie and familiarity. Fraternity brothers engage in it, good friends can get away with it and coworkers who toil side by side every day can find some levity with it. The problems take place in a situation where someone is sensitive or unfamiliar with the dynamic of how others, either in a group or singly, relate. At that point everyone is alerted to how this form of humor can hurt feelings and chip away at self-esteem." Jean Sidden

My Dad’s family – with which I interacted a great deal as I matured – were masters at put down humor and my Dad was the guru.  When my Dad and his brothers congregated it was a battle of zingers and one-liners.  I watched from the side lines, admired my Dad’s skill, and was enthralled.  He clearly loved his brothers.   

My wife’s family did not use this form of interaction.  Early in our relationship, this difference in interaction led to some misunderstandings to say the least.  I learned as a child that put down humor was only used with your loved ones and closest friends.  It was not to be taken literally, but was used to show quick wit, love and caring.  You never used it with strangers.  So at the appropriate point (in my opinion) in our relationship I started using my astronomical wit to make a zinger to show my wife-to-be that we were no longer strangers and there was an emotional attachment (on my side, at least).  She didn’t have the same interpretation as I did at times – and, in fact, was often offended by my overtures.  Plus she never zinged me back.

When she and her family got together the interaction was almost sickenly polite and deferential.  Didn’t they like each other?  

If you can’t insult your sibling who can you insult?

© 2014 Lester C. Welch

“Strength lies in differences, not in similarities” Stephen R. Covey

In one’s older years one can look back at some incidents of your younger days and wonder about your role – your reaction.  After college I was a naïve young man.  I’ve written about this characteristic before in my post of July 7^th.  This post reinforces that evaluation.  I went to college in New Mexico and had grown up in New Mexico (except for a year or so in the 2^nd grade spent in California).  I thought that the world was like New Mexico.

I wanted to go to graduate school – to learn more and see more of the world.  Via circumstances best told in a different post I got a research fellowship in nuclear engineering at The University of Virginia.  Off I went in my 1956 Ford driving across the country in the fall of 1962.

When I got to Charlottesville, it was if I had landed on Mars.  Everything was alien.  The first – and biggest negative factor – was due to my own ignorance.  In the southwest we don’t have gender segregated public schools.  New Mexico Tech was integrated – but just very few women found the curriculum attractive so, consequently the men out numbered the women – say – 20 to 1.  I wanted a school with lots of women!  Virginia, at that time, had colleges for women and colleges for men.  The University at Charlottesville was for men (except for the graduate school).  I hadn’t bothered to check out this significant cultural facet.  Strike one.

This period was also a transition time in the history of racial integration.  Blacks still faced enormous obstacles.  I had encountered racial - Hispanic/Anglo - prejudice before but it paled (no pun intended) in the face of what I found in Virginia at that time.  UVa did admit Blacks into the graduate school at that time and I formed a friendship with a Black math major with whom I was housed.  When we went to a theatre we had to sit in the balcony.  There were restaurants we couldn’t eat at.  Strike two.

I found that – as a physics major – I didn’t like engineering.  In physics courses we never worried about arithmetic on tests or in homework.  Derive the formula, circle it, and get full credit.  In engineering they expected me to put in the values and calculate the answer – say, 4.135 ergs/sec.  What kind of nonsense was this?  Strike three.

There were other cultural annoyances.  I couldn’t get decent Mexican food.  (See my posting of July 29^th) I couldn’t go rabbit hunting on the prairie.   The sunsets weren’t as pretty.  The mountains weren’t as high.  Strike four.

I left after one semester.

Since my youth, I’ve been back to Charlottesville and Virginia many times and fail to understand why I thought it was so alien.

© 2014 Lester C. Welch

"Retire from work, but not from life." M.K. Soni

Retirement is that period in life where you kill time waiting for time to kill you.

© 2014 Lester C. Welch

"God gives the nuts but he does not crack them." German proverb.

The piñon tree is a native to New Mexico and I have many fond memories of my extended family going into the woods to gather the nuts. The piñon tree is a pine tree (Pinus edulis) that only grows in the southwestern region of the US. It never gets very big and is the state tree of New Mexico.

To gather the nuts – which don’t appear in abundance every year – my family would take a couple of bed sheets and spread them underneath the target tree. My youngest uncle was usually chosen to climb the tree and shake the branches. The cones or the nuts from therein would fall onto the sheets. When a sufficient harvest was accumulated, the crop would be taken home to be roasted (after extracting the nuts from the cones, of course). There is a learned technique of putting the roasted nut in your mouth, splitting the shell with your teeth and extracting the edible morsel with your tongue that is impossible to describe. It can be efficient enough that you actually gain more energy than you expend.

Several different species of pine trees produce eatable nuts, but – among the cognoscenti - the piñon is the best. If you look at the label on “pine nuts” that you can buy in the grocery store, you’ll find that they come from China – which is OK. They’re tasty and will suffice – but they are not piñons. In fact, there are federal laws which only allow a label of “piñon nuts” to be used only if the fruit is from Pinus edulis. Not surprising, this law was promoted by legislators from the southwest.

Each year I order a few pounds from New Mexico to be nibbled on through the winter months while sitting in from of a wood fire. I find a “Chenin Blanc” goes very well with them.

© 2014 Lester C. Welch

“A certain man once lost a diamond cuff-link in the wide blue sea, and twenty years later, on the exact day, a Friday apparently, he was eating a large fish - but there was no diamond inside. That’s what I like about coincidence.” Vladimir Nabokov

Coincidences can be mistaken as miracles.  The universe of highly improbable events occurring together is so huge that it is no wonder that it happens sometime.  When it doesn’t happen we don’t notice, so we miss the millions of non-coincidences for each coincidence that we do see.  Pick two important people in your life – spouse, parent, etc.  Had you noted that they (probably) don’t have the same birthday?  But if they did have the same birthday, you would have noticed.

I once was driving in Chicago with my two teenage sons.  We were discussing whether we wanted hamburgers or pizza for lunch.  None of the three of us had strong feelings on the matter.  I stopped at a red light and the license plate of the car in the adjacent lane was “PIZZA-3.”  That settled the issue.  However if the license had been "JYT-648” I would not have noticed nor remembered and it wouldn't have affected my life.

When I was 12 (or so) I was riddled by questions and doubts concerning religion.  “Was there a God?”  “Why did evil exist?”  “Why weren’t my prayers answered?”  One day I was a passenger in a car as my Dad drove along a dirt road well known to us.  An electrical line paralleled the road.  As we neared the top of a hill, I decided to put the existence of God to the test.  “If there is a God, a hawk will be perched on an electrical pole beyond the hill."  One could see for miles from the top of the hill.  We got to the top of the hill and about a half mile away, a hawk was sitting atop a pole.

However, my own test didn’t satisfy me.  I knew there were lots of hawks and poles.  Future trips along the same path showed that 4 times out of 5 there was a visible perched hawk.  I convinced myself that you can’t test for God.  That would be too easy.

But if I have to give an accounting at the “pearly gates,” I’ll be in deep trouble.

© 2014 Lester C. Welch

"The decision is not whether or not we will ration care. The decision will be whether we ration care with our eyes open." Donald Berwick

A looming global social crisis is that of health care.  Medical science will advance enough to be able to provide a “cure” for most ailments – but at a cost.  An essential question will be, “Is it worth $x to extent the life of an (say) 85 year old person?”  Granted that 85 is arbitrary.  Maybe the question could be framed about a 65 year old alcoholic or drug user.  If we don’t talk about life extension – how about speaking about a knee replacement? – or a hip?  - or a heart?  Is the replacement of a knee of a 70 year old worth the expense to society?

Evolution has endowed us all with a reverence for life.  If we didn’t think life was important, our species, with limited physical abilities, would not have lasted long in the face of (say) saber tooth tigers.  If the tiger had grabbed grandma/pa and we didn’t think her/his life was important, the rest of us would’ve ran.  But we rallied, used our superior intellect, and saved grandma/pa by a concerted effort.  (Grandma/pa was a big help in caring for our offspring while we gathered berries and venison.)  And we are still caring for grandma/pa even though we don’t really need them anymore. 

At some point the quality and enjoyment of life for an ill elder diminishes to the point where continuing their life offers no benefit either to themselves or to society as a whole.  But evolution offers us no alternative than to sustain them.

Hepatitis C now has a cure costing at least $80,000 and a similar cost may be attached to the to-be-found cure for other maladies.  Should everyone who has hepatitis C be eligible – via medicare/medicaid/ObamaCare- for this treatment?  If not, how do we decide who gets it and who does not?

We as a society do not have a mechanism for dealing with this type of question.  Let me offer one (immodestly, of course).  We are used to making legally significant, i.e., life/death decisions.  Juries do it routinely.  Would not a panel of ordinary citizens chosen randomly from the population, when presented with the medical (other ailments, past history, mental acuity) and societal evidence (age, family, financial stability) not be the best resource to determine, - “Yes, spend the $80,000 or not”?

I suspect the Doctors do a lot of this decision making now and we don’t know about it.  That may be OK, but I see a conflict of interest.  They want to keep working and don't have the fullest breadth of view.

For me, I’m quite willing to cede my oxygen allotment to my granddaughters and really hope not to have a lingering death.  If tomorrow was my last day…I’ve had a good life.  I just wish I had a pill to make sure I didn’t lie for weeks on end being miserable.

© 2014 Lester C. Welch

“Think of how many religions attempt to validate themselves with prophecy. Think of how many people rely on these prophecies, however vague, however unfulfilled, to support or prop up their beliefs. Yet has there ever been a religion with the prophetic accuracy and reliability of science? ... No other human institution comes close.” Carl Sagan

I think no other venue reveals one’s deepest beliefs than a medical crisis.  About two years ago I had a heart valve replaced with a valve from a cow (thanks, Bessie, but I still eat steak).  I spend a week in the ICU wing of the hospital.  While residing there I overheard reactions from several families of patients in neighboring rooms to developing crises.  When things went well, the family often praised God and thanked Jesus.  When things ended tragically, the family often cursed the Doctor and blamed the hospital.  This dichotomy didn’t seem rational to me.

There has been a dramatic decrease in mortality due to appendicitis in the last hundred years.  To my knowledge there has not been a surge of God’s power in that time but there has been a tremendous increase in medical science.

If faced with a life or death situation with a loved one, would you rely on prayer and your faith alone or on medical science?  If you opt for medical science what does that say about your religion?  Can God alone affect a cure?  If not, is he/she not omnipotent?  If God works through the Doctor’s efforts, why was appendicitis a hundred years ago – even though good Doctors were trying their best – so much more lethal than now?

How will a cure for the Ebola virus be found?  Will it be medical scientists in the laboratory or 10,000 people praying at the National Cathedral that find a cure?  If it were your child with Ebola which team - one or the other - would you root for?

I recovered fine from my valve replacement and never uttered a prayer, never asked anyone to pray for me, and give the Doctors – not God – the credit.

© 2014 Lester C. Welch

“My lands are where my dead lie buried.” Crazy Horse

A favorite and healthy outdoor activity when I was growing up in central New Mexico was “arrowhead hunting.” It was a family (whoever happened to be there) activity lasting most of a day (after breakfast dishes were washed and other chores attended to). Most of my memories come from the farm/ranch of my Welch grandparents. But there were other fruitful sites. My grandmother would pack a lunch and off into the juniper/piñon forest we’d go. It involved a lot of walking – hence healthy. It'd make me feel old now.

I know that such activity is illegal now – but at that time it seemed harmless. Besides the relics of Native Americans we found lots of remnants of the early anglos/hispanics in the area. Old cartridges - .45-10’s seemed popular – bullets, broken spurs, etc. My brother once found an aluminum Catholic pendant, dated from the late 1800s, whose clasp had been worn through. Not overly remarkable except that aluminum was a rare metal in that time hence the pendant was very valuable to the owner. I wish I knew the story.

But the ancient Native American habitants provided most of the finds. We could scour anthills and find tiny turquoise beads. They were just the right size for the ants to clasp by the hole in the center and carry back to the hill. A half-day’s hunt generally yielded six or so arrowheads per person of which, perhaps, two would be unbroken. An obsidian perfect arrowhead was the crème de la crème. Three or four per year were found. Indian corn grinders – both parts – were also found. Stone hammer heads with tie guides were also found. Hundreds of pottery shards with such intricate painting on them that the whole pot must have been an artistic wonder.

The anthropologists from the University of New Mexico in Albuquerque were well aware of our activity. I’m sure we were one of a few hundred such collectors they knew of. They once came, visited us, looked at our collection and explained the significance of the “Clovis Point.” We didn’t have any.

After a rainstorm was a fertile time to search because the surface ground had been disturbed revealing, perhaps, what had lying underneath. At such a time, once in an arroyo, two human skeletons had been unearthed. The anthropologists were contacted and they investigated. Neither skeleton was Jimmy Hoffa but dated to about 800AD.

Living in South Carolina now, I realize that one advantage we had in New Mexico was the lack of ground covering vegetation. Gee, you walk in the forest here and you cannot see any ground – only vines, roots, dead leaves, old moonshine stills, etc. Apparently, though there are a lot of Native American relics here. Professionals have no problem with “digs” furnishing history. Locals tell me you can find some on banks or shoals in creeks and rivers.

My brother – through a set of circumstances that he took advantage of – came into possession of all of the relics that my immediate family had found. He did a wise thing, however and donated it all to the Maxwell Museum of Anthropology. 

© 2014 Lester C. Welch

" Life is either a great adventure or nothing." Helen Keller

In my elder years one thing that fills me with awe are the extraordinary adventures we can have as kids – which, at the time, don’t impress you at all.  It’s only after you’ve lived a few decades and look back that you realize how remarkable the experience was.

One such happening in my life was living in a railroad boxcar.  I wrote about it in my book, “Last Summer.”   At the time it seemed perfectly normal.  I suspect that is a common characteristic of kids growing up that, whatever the environment, – rain forests of Borneo, Auschwitz concentration camps , deserts of New Mexico – it is normalcy for them and they try to learn to cope.  Evolution demands it.

But I want to write about another spectacular happening in my life that I look back on in amazement.  During my High School years at Vaughn, the science teacher organized a Science Fair project.  Four of us students, with the teacher, were going to explore and map a cave on the ranch owned by one of the student’s family.  I’d give names and locations, etc., but some people are often sensitive about such matters – and it’s not really relevant to my story.

The cave – in the southeastern quadrant of New Mexico – had been explored somewhat but the tunnels went on forever.  This portion of New Mexico is where Carlsbad Caverns is located and I believe the whole area is riddled with undiscovered interconnecting caverns.

In terms of spelunking, what we set out to do was trivial.  After all we were teenage amateurs. 

The first phenomenon the teacher illustrated by having us turn off all of our flashlights.  We were far beyond the reach of any surface light so it was absolutely pitch black.  Then he asked us to take a few steps on the flat muddy floor of a huge “room” and look behind us.  As we stepped the mud clung to our shoes revealing small luminescent worms just beneath the surface.  In the total darkness they gave the eerie impression of a ghost walking.

In another room, – which until we found it, was unknown - a large body of water occupied most of the floor space.  Descending from the ceiling into the water was the bottom end of a working water well.  The kid on whose ranch we were on, said he knew exactly where, on the surface, the well was located.  I’ve since asked myself the question, “How many people in all of history have seen the bottom end of a working well?”  It’s not easily done.  We saw other attractions – a seemingly endless hollow 15-foot horizontal cylinder carved out of granite with wavy walls.  At the bottom of the cylinder was a three-inch stream of running water.  I suspect that at the end of the last ice age those tunnels were full of rushing water.

I wish I could say that from such depths my life has all been uphill.

© 2014 Lester C. Welch

“Workshops and seminars are basically financial speed dating for clueless people.” Douglas Coupland

Besides employer mandated retirement funds, I’ve managed all of my own investments in later years.  I distrust financial advisors.  Cruelly put, “If they’re so smart, why aren’t they rich and living on a Caribbean island?”

I got interested in the stock market early.  The idea of making lots of money and not working was appealing. I read a couple of books - popular then - about the “Dow Theory” – which, I think is largely ignored now.  (When was the last time you heard about a move in the Dow Transportation Index confirming the Industrial Index? – or, for that matter, even hear of the Transportation Index?)  The books introduced me to technical analysis – i.e., the mathematical side – of the stock market.  I had inherited a small amount (a couple thousand dollars) of money, opened an account with a well-known brokerage, and got assigned a stockbroker.  Following his advice I quickly lost half of it in the first year.  I questioned his motives.  Some of his recommendations just seemed to churn my account for the benefit of his much larger accounts - or at least for the commissions.  I started making my own decisions.  I didn’t get rich but didn’t go broke nearly as fast – and, more importantly – learned a lot.

I’m doing financial advisors a disservice.  I had an interest in the subject, especially the mathematical part and read a lot.  If you don’t have that inclination a financial advisor is needed – if, for nothing else, to understand the jargon.  “What is a callable preferred stock?”  “How is the price of a stock adjusted on the day it pays a dividend?”  “What is a covered call?”  “What’s the relationship between bond prices and interest rates?”  “How are ‘risk’ and ‘return’ balanced?”  But if you do have an inherent interest in learning this sort of stuff, a financial advisor is redundant.

I think there is one situation where a financial advisor is necessary – no matter what your interests.  If you were to win the lottery and have a huge amount of money, you can and should hire the best financial advisory people you can get.  The problem is too big for you alone.  They will earn their commission by making you better off and will have the incentive to do so.

The best two pieces of financial investment philosophy I learned are : diversify and there are no guarantees.  When I see an ad on TV where an investment is guaranteed, I cringe.  Oh, and the last thing, when someone promotes a stock for you to invest in for the “long-term” – “long-term” means until they are no longer around to be answerable.

© 2014 Lester C. Welch

“A pipe in the mouth makes it clear that there has been no mistake–you are undoubtedly a man.” A. A. Milne

The attitude about smoking has changed enormously in my lifetime.    When I was 24 or so, I started smoking cigarettes – it seemed to be the popular thing to do in my crowd.  But I stuck to menthols and didn’t inhale.  At first I would only smoke in a social situation – so just a few a week. 

But then I noticed an addiction forming and at that time the initial health warnings started to appear in the press.  So, after only a few months of cigarette smoking, I switched to pipe smoking.  I could get the nicotine to appease the addiction and present a more unique personal sophistication.  I fell in love with the art of pipe smoking.  It had many of the hobby-forming complexities and nuances that wine has – one can choose the type of pipe (briar, meerschaum, corncob,…) and mix your own tobacco from a dozen or so commonly available basic ingredients.  .  Then there were all of the accoutrements – pipe reamer, humidor, pipe stand - that reflected your personal taste (and bank account). 

There were a couple of “store bought” blends of tobacco I could smoke but they didn’t compare in taste with what I could blend myself.  I would experiment – ¼ Cavendish, ½ Virginia and ¼ Latakia, and so on.  I eventually settled on ¾ Cavendish and ¼ Latakia.  I also found an inverse relationship between the aroma of the smoke and the taste.  Some the nicest smelling commercially available pipe tobacco – often a “cherry blend” - had, for me, a horrid taste.

With a pipe I could – and often did – quit for a couple of weeks if I got a cold or the flu.  The addiction didn’t seem as strong.

Early in my professional career, one could smoke almost anywhere – including committee meetings.  If one got asked a hard question, cleaning out your pipe, reloading it, and lighting it could buy you 5 minutes of time to think about your answer.

I generally had about 6 pipes that I regularly used.  One had to “break in” a new pipe.  Honey was used on a briar pipe to form a layer of charcoal in the pipe bowl.  A meerschaum, properly used, would gain a light golden patina on the outside.   Pipe smoking could become a religion.  I miss pipe smoking.  I quit over 30 years ago, but if I were informed that I had 6 months to live, I’d head to the nearest pipe store.  I know where it is.   During a Dr.’s visit I plan the route.

© 2014 Lester C. Welch

"I could never give up Mexican food. Nachos are usually my go-to if I'm courtside at an NBA game. I always, always get my picture taken with my mouth wide open and a tortilla chip sticking out of it!" Eva Longoria

I didn’t realize it at the time but I grew up in a very specialized culinary environment.  When you think of New Mexico you think of Mexican food, but when I left New Mexico I was always disappointed in the quality of Mexican food offered elsewhere.  A friend from college, Joe Martinez, educated me.  The upper Rio Grande valley – which includes most of New Mexico and southern Colorado – was culturally isolated from other parts of the Hispanic new world for a century or so in colonial times.  During that time they developed their cuisine.  It’s not totally different – just different enough to be jarring at times. 

Joe’s ancestry includes a very long and distinguished presence in this area. Joe recommended a book to me – which I endorse – “La Comída, The Foods, Cooking and Traditions of the Upper Rio Grande” by Frederick R. Muller.

For me the two biggest differences in Mexican cooking between – say – Santa Fe and Los Angeles are first, enchiladas and second, chile rellenos.  The first time I was served an enchilada in California and the tortillas were rolled up instead of being stacked (like pancakes) I was shocked.  It turns out that stacked enchiladas are very endemic to the upper Rio Grande area.  My dad always had a fried egg on top.  In New Mexico, chile rellenos are made using roasted and peeled green Hatch chiles.  In the rest of the world poblano chiles are used.  The difference takes some getting used to.

Other minor differences include: tomatillos are not used in New Mexico cooking.  They didn’t grow in the area and thus were not available.  Also the ground beef that is used – say, in tacos – is seasoned differently.  I don’t know exactly what the difference is, but when I’m outside New Mexico I always order chicken or pork in my tacos.

I worry about the future of NM cuisine.  The last time I was in Albuquerque, the waiter asked if I wanted my enchiladas stacked or rolled.  Not a good sign.

2014 Lester C. Welch

"We aren't in an information age, we are in an entertainment age." Tony Robbins

My wife and I suffer from entertainment overload.  In the evening when we settled down in front of the big screen TV before retiring to our bed we have a plethora of choices of what to watch.  We “never” watch current shows.  Our schedule is chaotic enough that we are most likely to miss a future live episode and lose continuity. We almost never watch – with the exception of important sporting events – TV during the day.  That would interfere with online poker, online chess, etc.  We don’t record, via a DVR, current shows because we have an entertainment overload.  We will sometimes watch the politically biased news analysis programs.  I like to watch both the “left” and the “right” version, but my wife can’t tolerate the conservative view.  She – like me – is very liberal in her political view.  I like to watch the conservative view to see how the other side is spinning the same story. But my wife will exit the room if I leave Hannity on for very long.

But, I digress.  We usually don’t watch whatever happens to be on TV live.  We have DVDs and a subscription to NetFlix.  And because we don’t watch shows live, there are ample amount of material on NetFlix that we haven’t seen.  As an example, we had never watched “Breaking Bad’ when it was on.  We started watching it when it became available on our subscription and it a matter of a few weeks – on our schedule – watched all of the episodes in sequence.  So our problem is often, “We’ve finished watching what we were watching.  What do we watch next?”

We’re currently watching “House, M.D.”  We’ll watch three or four episodes in an evening.  We’re midway through season two.  If a particular evening is filled with a social engagement – no problem, we’ll watch episodes the next evening.

Sporting events – if one is interested – have to be live.  I want to watch SoCal beat ND – not catch the score haphazardly on some news feed.

An aside,… I think Dr. House and I have the same personality.  Those who know me will recognize how easy that conclusion is to reach.  Perhaps I flatter myself.

2014 Lester C. Welch

"Culture, with us, ends in headache." Ralph Waldo Emerson

With me, puberty brought migraine headaches.  I mean the full-blown variety – auras, nausea, pounding pain.  They lasted about a day.  The aura would start as a small shimmering circle in the middle of my vision.  It would gradually – over fifteen minutes – enlarge and open into a horseshoe shape.  When it expanded beyond my field of vision the pain would start.  So I knew when I first saw the aura I had fifteen minutes to escape to a bed.  In high school I got an excuse from the school nurse and walked home – about a mile.  I later learned that physical exercise at that stage exacerbated the symptoms, but I couldn’t stay at my desk.  As I aged the symptoms diminished greatly.  I still get the auras, but when they disappear, there is no pain that follows.  I think calluses have formed on my brain.

They were most debilitating during grad school.  I did seek medical help but very little was known at that time and what was known didn’t help.  I tried every over-the-counter pain killer hoping to find an elixir.  Never did. 

My typical method of studying for a test was to sit at a table surrounded by books, paper and pencil, and chocolate candy.  The next day, during the test, the aura would appear and my test results would suffer.  I would get a migraine during a test so often I wondered if it was psychosomatic.  My GPA would’ve been significantly higher if I had known then what I know now.

I now know – proven by trial and error – that my migraines are precipitated by allergies.  If I eat a chocolate bar, four times out of five, I will get a migraine the next day.  Some soft cheeses, peanuts, and some red wines can also be triggers but with less certainty.  I love chocolate so am, with my callused brain shielding me from gross pain, willing from time to time to indulge.

Because of the reputation migraines have as a painful affliction, I suspect that many claims are made, by those seeking sympathy, to have migraines when, in reality, they have a hangover.  But I never doubt those who have an aura – the signature of a migraine in my mind.

2014 Lester C. Welch

"We must therefore firmly insist that in the organic natural sciences, and thus also in botany, absolutely nothing has yet been explained and the entire field is still open to investigation as long as we have not succeeded in reducing the phenomena to physical and chemical laws." Jacob Mathias Schlelden

I want to warn the reader – but I’m not sure of what. The most probable reason is that this post is not likely to be of general interest. I’m going to rant against a branch of science and I may get a bit pedantic. So take heed of….something. This is my second back porch, container garden posting. (See last posting about radishes.)

Some plants grow in New Mexico that don’t grow in South Carolina and vice versa. Some plants grow in both places. Surprising to me, prickly pear cactus, the genus Opuntia, grows well in both places. I always pictured it as a desert plant. Same for yucca. I have a couple of yucca plants in my landscape that give beautiful blooms. In my walks in the woods I frequently see native examples.

A plant that grows readily in NM but not in SC is the piñon ( Pinus edulis) tree. I asked some botanist friends, why does it grow in one place and not the other? They offer all sorts of theories – different humidity, different altitude, different fungi in the soil. etc., etc. Then I ask, “Have you tested this theory?” The answer is always, “No.” Science is subject to experimental test. In botany one can use a “green house” to duplicate ‘any’ environmental condition. If humidity is the problem, prove it by planting some seeds in a green house with low humidity and see if they grow. It’s not rocket science. But they haven’t done that. I currently have a 7 inch piñon tree growing in a container on my back porch – so I don’t think humidity is the culprit and I’m only a physicist. I’ve tried planting the saplings in the ground and they die. Different fungi? I don’t know, but it’s easy to sterilize soil in a green house to find out. Botanists should know the answer to this question.

When one of the primary concerns of the world is surviving a global climate change, I would guess that any fundamental botanical research to investigate how plants behave in different environments would receive funding – or should.

Botanists, wake up! Get the money, - do the research, - save the world. Why does my piñon die in the ground in SC and not in NM?

2014 Lester C. Welch

"Crisp, peppery little summer radishes are indeed the perfect way to kick–start a meal, bold enough to set the gastric juices flowing, yet barely denting the appetite." Sophie Grigson

I have a south facing screened in back porch.  My retirement activities include half-hearted efforts at container gardening – on the back porch.  Not much exercise involved so it doesn’t make me feel old.  I don’t even have to get dressed, as there are no neighbors on that side of the house.  I won’t tell you now (perhaps later) all I have done there but I do want to tell you about my current effort with radishes.  I can’t tell you the ending because I don’t know it yet.

I like to try novel things, as you will discern when I tell you other back porch stories.  Wondering this spring what new challenges to present myself I remembered that radishes, in the family garden, when I was a kid, often were my responsibility and I enjoyed eating them.  They grew well in New Mexico.  So the die was cast, 

I bought the seeds and planted them helter-skelter in a tray filled with good soil.  I fertilized and watered them regularly.  They sprouted and had beautiful leaves.

With great anticipation I pulled the first one.  There was no bulb on the root!  Just a straw sized root all the way.  I waited a couple more weeks and tried others with the same result.  I had never seen a radish with no radish.

I searched on the Internet and discovered that there are two causes for this disaster.  One cause is planting them too close together.  Apparently they sense each other and quit expanding in an effort to be a good neighbor. (I know some people who could learn from a radish.) I admit that I – in an effort not to exercise myself too much - was a bit careless about planting,  I didn’t thin out the sprouts either.  The second cause is a chemical imbalance in the soil.  Radishes need more potassium than is usually available to form a bulb.  Who knew that?  Who knew that New Mexico soil had adequate potassium?  Well, upon reflection, there are potash mines near Carlsbad.

I pulled up all the sterile radish plants and I looked for a plant fertilizer with an abundance of potassium – and found none.  But I did find a potassium dietary supplement in the human vitamin aisle.  Hell, potassium in the same for humans and plants so I bought some, dissolved a few tablets and sprinkled the tray.  I was very careful about the spacing of the seeds.  Now all I have to do is wait.

My grandparents were all farmers.  I’m sure I’ll have a bumper crop.

2014 Lester C. Welch