"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