Then Ricky’s Robot carefully closed the rocket ship. With one mighty toss, the Robot sent the ship sailing safely back to Jupiter.
                           from Ricky Ricotta’s Mighty Robot vs.
                           the Jurassic Jackrabbits from Jupiter
                                                written by Dav Pilkey
                                             illustrated by Dan Santat
                                                  Scholastic, Inc., 2014
                                             (read on Libby 10/5/24)

    In the real world, mighty robots like Ricky Ricotta’s do not fly rockets to Jupiter (or anywhere else), although since 1958, NASA has “overseen more than 1,000 uncrewed missions into Earth’s orbit or beyond.”
    This Thursday’s lift off of NASA’s Europa Clipper has been postponed due to the expected landfall and massive cleanup Hurricane Milton will leave in his wake. Milton is expected to reach the Tampa area Wednesday night into Thursday morning.
    When the Europa Clipper launches for Jupiter in a couple of weeks, it will join the ranks of uncrewed NASA missions. Its task is to investigate whether Europa, one of Jupiter’s moons, is capable of supporting life. Scientists have discovered strong evidence of an ocean of liquid water under Europa’s icy surface. Here’s a link to the mission’s preview page. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ij1wOLJE_g8 
    Europa itself is about the size of our own moon. It was discovered by Galileo Galilei in 1610. The Europa Clipper is not NASA’s first trip to Jupiter. From 1995 to 2003, NASA’s spacecraft, Galileo, discovered strange pits and domes on Europa. Some of them have since formed into ridges over 300 feet high. Scientists point to this as evidence that Europa’s ice layer, up to 15 miles thick, may be slowly churning. The denser, colder ice sinks and the lighter, less dense ice rises as it warms from heat generated by Europa’s core.
    Even though Europa has a scant amount of oxygen in its atmosphere, scientists using data from the Hubble Space Telescope found evidence that Europa might be “actively venting water into space.”
    In November 2019, an international team headed by NASA researchers announced that water vapor had been detected above Europa’s surface. The Europa Clipper will fly through the plumes and analyze their contents. 
    The Clipper will travel for five years to reach Europa, 1.8 billion miles from Earth. Several more years will be spent doing over 50 flybys, getting within 16 miles of the icy surface. As stated on space.com, the Europa Clipper will gather critical information “to investigate whether the conditions on Europa can support life.”     
    It is widely thought in the scientific community that for life to exist, water, chemicals, and energy are necessary.
    Though the probability of water on Europa is extremely high, the Europa Clipper will verify that. Certain chemicals such as carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen, oxygen, phosphorus, and sulfur, must also be available. Astrobiologists, scientists who study the origin and future of life, believe the right chemicals are present on Europa, too. Europa Clipper will try to verify that, too.
    Every form of life, from single cells to cetaceans, requires energy to survive. On Earth, we use energy from the sun. But if there is life on Europa, it would live in its ocean where the liquid water is, but where the sun’s energy won’t reach. Scientists propose that chemical reactions will support any life that might exist. 
    That’s a fascinating thought.
    One important human trait is our ability to think. As soon as kids can form the word, they ask “Why?” 
    About everything. 
    We wonder what the Big Bang sounded like and why life slithered out of the muck.
    We wonder how water flows like magic from our kitchen taps and how music taps into our emotions.
    Poetry is memorable not only because of the words a poet uses. We remember a poet’s words because of how we feel when we read them.
    Since we humans are always trying to attach meaning to events, Ada Limon, America’s Poet Laureate, was asked to compose a poem for the Europa Clipper. NASA gave her three parameters:

• the poem needed to relate to the Europa Clipper mission
• it must be understandable to readers as young as nine years old
• she could use no more than 200 words

    Ms. Limon reminds us of the mysteries in nature, the beauty, perplexity, joy, grief, and purity of wonder, with the words in her poem “In Praise of Mystery: A Poem for Europa.”             
​    The poem is engraved on the side of the Europa Clipper. It is a tribute to Ada Limon, to poetry, and to the quest for knowledge that helps humans find the drops of water that unite us all. 
    You can hear her read her poem on NASA’s YouTube’s page. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EgWbeDNPD6o

I’m still reading The Goldfinch. Next up for me is Lula Dean’s Little Library of Banned Books by Kirsten Miller (William Morrow/HarperCollins, 2024). The Goldfinch is long, so … I’ll get to Lula Dean when I get there.    

I’m taking a week to continue processing my take on the world.
Here’s what’s rumbling around in my brain:
    Hurricane Helene 
        and the devastation to property and land
        and the lives lost
        and the clean-up
        and the various responses I’ve heard
    The beginning of post-season MLB 
        and why did the Athletics’ move from Oakland to Las Vegas
    Free speech 
        and why it is legal to lie in political ads
        how do political polls reflect (or not) reality
        should we pay attention to them
    President Carter’s 100th birthday
    Why doesn’t the mainstream media call Hamas and Hezbollah                        
                illegitimate terrorists?    
I’ll get my priorities in order by next week (I hope)!

I’m reading (re-reading) Pulitzer Prize-winner The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt (Little, Brown and Company, 2013). It’s the story of a young man who tragically and unexpectedly finds himself an orphan after an explosion in an art museum. He’s thrust from poverty into luxury when wealthy friends take him in and from a childhood of petty theft with a “friend” into the midst of a dangerous underworld when he discovers the little painting he kept as a memento of his mother is regarded as a stolen masterpiece in the art world. Recommended

           -—Be curious! (and try not to become overwhelmed by world        
                            events)

    Cody loved all animals, big and small. but she had a special, tender place in her heart for ants. They were so serious! They worked so hard!
                       from Cody and the Fountain of Happiness
                                      written by Tricia Springstubb
                                         illustrated by Eliza Wheeler
                                             Candlewick Press, 2015
   
    When my brother was very young, he caught a caterpillar. I suppose he wondered how it moved and so he separated all of its eighteen segments. He was a smart and curious child who grew into a smart and curious adult. 
    Mom found most of the segments in his pants pocket before they went through the washer and dryer. I learned a couple of things just by watching and listening.
        1. Empty all pockets before putting clothes in the wash.
        2. Be respectful of all life.
    While Mom did not scream (she was not a screamer) or punish my brother for harming nature (she knew he was curious and sensitive), she did talk to all three of us about how important it is to protect those beings more vulnerable than us. We took the lesson to heart.
    I still take insects and spiders, and one time I shooed a baby squirrel, outside. Just this past Sunday morning, we were visiting my daughter and her family when she went into the kitchen to refill our coffee cups. She did not scream either, but I detected a note of urgency when she called me to “come see something.”
    My husband used a paper cup and an index card to escort a large Charlotte to her more suitable living space, outside. All of us lived to tell the tale.
    It might make one feel powerful to squash a bug, but what good can that accomplish?
    Turns out, plenty. Especially if the bug is a spotted lanternfly. When I learned that my very own Mahoning County, Ohio, is under quarantine, I wanted to know more.
    Despite their name, they aren’t good fliers. Lanternflies are plant hoppers indigenous to Asia but are now found in Japan, South Korea, and the United States. While they’re not dangerous to humans in an overt way, they don’t sting, bite, or burrow under our skin, they are a threat. Spotted lanternflies infest crops including soybeans, grapes, apples, and stone fruits.
    Besides feeding on the crops, the ODNA (Ohio Department of Natural Resources) warns that both nymphs and adults “produce copious amounts of sticky, sugary liquid known as honeydew.” The honeydew is attractive to ants, flies, and wasps. It can also be colonized by “sooty mold,” a fungus that can ruin grape and hops harvests and decrease photosynthesis.
    While they suck up the sap from over 70 kinds of trees, spotted lanternflies love the invasive Tree-of-Heaven best, themselves an Asian import. The trees are extreme pollen producers with extensive root systems so are difficult to eradicate. Penn State Extension Service has lots of information here. The trees were brought to the Philadelphia area in the late 1700s as a valued, unique, fast-growing ornamental shade tree. They can grow to 80 feet and up to six feet in diameter.
    As of this week, at least 17 states are infested with the spotted lanternfly. People in quarantined areas should look for evidence of the bugs before traveling to another area. Here's information with pictures from the USDA to help us identify their various stages.
    If you see one (or many) report the sighting to your Animal and Plant Health Inspection Service (APHIS).
    Find contacts from the USDA APHIS and click here to find your state’s form.
    Click here to find information from the National Plant Board for each state.
    According to an article from CBS News last year, authorities from the USDA encourage people to “do whatever they can to stop the pests from spreading.” 
    Spotted lanternflies do have a few natural predators. Praying mantises eat them. Chickens and cardinals have been seen eating them in Pennsylvania. Two species of wasps are being studied to see if they will eat the pests, but so far, the spotted lanternflies reproduce faster than any of their predators can keep them in check. Hence the government urges us all to stomp. 
    Beware, though, warns the authors of an article from Axios.com. Some native insects look similar, to even some moths and beetles.
    Beginning in August 2020, the Audubon Society asked its community to “post photos of birds, other insects, and spiders eating the spotted lanternfly.” Thirty-three different species have been seen “chowing down.” The Society is currently researching whether “there may be a way to encourage native wildlife to eat more bad bugs.”
    You might remember my brother’s caterpillar adventure. I used it to introduce the cicada invasion of last May (Truly Buggy May 14). I related the story very differently, though, and decided to keep both versions. Memory is a tricky thing. 
    It appears the lesson, All Life is Precious, is more important than my brother’s adventure. 
    But bopping dangerous bugs, even if they are beautiful, may not be such a bad idea.

    My eleven-year-old grandson recommended Freewater by Amina Luqman-Dawson (Jimmy Patterson/Little, Brown and Company, 2022). Winner of the 2023 Newbery Award and the Coretta Scott King Author Award, it is an historic fictional account of two children who ran away from their plantation into the Great Dismal Swamp in Virginia and became part of a Maroon community. Although Freewater is not a real community, it is “[l]oosly based on a little-mined but important piece of history… [A]n inspiring and deeply empowering story of survival, love, and courage.” from the publisher. Recommended by me, too!
                                      -—be curious! (and observant)​

   Albert picked up a blue ball and headed for the blue pile. Then he stopped. Should it go in the round, roll-y pile instead? Or maybe the big pie?
                                                from A Mousy Mess
                                           written by Laura Driscoll
                                      illustrated by Deborah Melmon
                                                     Kane Press, 2014
    
    I fell asleep Thursday night wondering what my Tuesday Blog topic would be. I dreamed I was lost in a fictional place that included a library. I entered easily and saw some people I knew. Getting out again was causing a problem, though. I was lost and only a particular Dewey Decimal number could show me the way out.
    Who dreams of Dewey numbers?! Who even thinks of them during the daytime?
    My dreambrain kept chanting 796.57. Over and over and over. When I woke up, much relieved to find myself in my warm bed next to my husband (who also was not lost in my dream anymore), I reached for my phone (which is so much more than a phone) and clicked open my library app. The number I typed in was sure to be a forehead slapper. But it wasn’t. Not only were no books listed in 796.57, the closest match was Gary Paulsen’s Woodsong at 796.5 and 796.5092. 
    Without getting overly deep in the weeds, 092 is the Dewey mark for biography, so those libraries that added the suffix call attention to the autobiographical nature of the work. 
    Also, listed in 796.52 is John Krakauer’s famous true account of the tragedy on Mount Everest. 
    I was left with a phantom catalog number for a subject (something like Winter Survival Mountain Hiking?) I know nothing about.    
    Weird.
    First off, let me make it clear that while I like to keep my life uncluttered, tidy, and in good order, I’m not always successful. I’m no Melvil Dewey. I bet he had no idea that his idea to organize library materials would morph into the DDC (Dewey Decimal Classification) that is used all over the world to organize all the world’s knowledge.
    Melvil Dewey graduated from Amherst College in 1874 and was immediately hired by the college to reclassify its materials collections. Until his tenure, books were sorted by size or color or when they were acquired, not necessarily by content. Each library had its own system.
    I started thinking about categories of knowledge and how to sort, in a general way, and remembered “Twenty Questions,” a game I played when I was young. I played with my kids and grandkids, too. Animal/Vegetable/Mineral are the usual categories. When my younger granddaughter tried to get people to guess her answer Unicorn, her mom added “Imaginary,” to their category list. 
    Dewey went deeper than Animal, Vegetable, and Mineral though. Using ten well-defined categories, he divided each into well-developed hierarchies and a rich network of relationships among their various topics.
    But Melvil Dewey is not the only classifier. 
    We all categorize. I organize my spice cupboard alphabetically. I know some people who group the spices they use often away from the ones they don’t use as much. Still other people might choose the size and shape of the container. The object of sorting things, no matter what they are, is to make it easy to find them again.
    When young students came to my library on a field trip, I told them the call number on the spine of a book is its address. Use it to find out where a book lives on the shelves. 
    And maybe more importantly, if you don’t know a book’s address, don’t put it back willy-nilly on a shelf. Librarians and other staff spend countless hours finding lost materials.
    “Like goes with like” is a phrase you might hear in the library world. It’s all about being able to find stuff.
    And how about Carl Linnaeus? His General Taxonomy is also systematic. Moving from the most general to the most specific, all living beings can be described in microscopic detail.          
    I do like order.
    But when Kamala Harris tells us our similarities as humans are more important than our differences, it doesn’t have anything to do with sorting or organizing spices on a shelf or describing the difference between an enormous blue whale or the teeny krill it eats by the ton every day. It won’t help anyone tell the difference between butter and a butterfly or an elephant and an elephant ear. 
    Our similarities are what make us human. We all need clean food, sturdy shelter, and adequate clothing. We need to nurture and be nurtured. We need the common languages of love and music and emotion. We need shared memories and a way to communicate them with each other. We need contentment with what we have while maintaining hope for something better. We need to dream and believe that we can make our own and each other’s dreams come true.
    Some people, like my younger daughter, are natural catalogers. They see similarities and group them easily. Finding similarities leads to acceptance, growth, and understanding.
    Like with like, as they say.    
I’m reading The Life We Bury by Allen Eskens (Seventh Street Books, 2014). I don’t usually choose murder mysteries, but this one is on my daughter’s book club’s reading list. A college student, assigned to write a biography, chooses an elderly resident in a nursing home. He learns about a murder, a cover-up, and the past he and his subject try to keep secret from themselves. Recommended.


                              Be curious! (and embrace similarities
                                   when and where you find them)

     “Maybe one day you’ll break out of that shell, grow wings, and fly away,” says the monarch.
     “I doubt it,” says Hurry.
     “It happened to me,” replies the monarch, thinking about the extraordinary morning when she opened her wings. 
                                        from Hurry and the Monarch
                                       written by Antoine Ó Flatharta
                                                 illustrated by Meilo So
                                          Knopf/Random House, 2005

    My youngest grandson’s favorite color is orange. It’s been his favorite color since he was a baby and he’s in a select group of people who share that favorite color. After climbing out of a deep! Google rabbit hole to verify that, I fell back to my own observations of 3- and 4-year-olds at storytime. When they had a choice during our “craft time,” most kids picked blue or red whatevers. Orange was least-picked every time.
    Orange is full of energy. From the waning green that exposes Autumn’s vibrancy to brightly colored pumpkins and cantaloupe-colored sunsets, orange is everywhere right about now.
    Because it is highly visible, orange is the color hunters wear. Wear Orange Day is set aside at the beginning of June each year to highlight the need to stop gun violence. You can find information about it here. Roadside barrels and pylons are orange, too. Their high visibility helps keep drivers and pedestrians safe.
    Mother Nature loves orange. You can probably list dozens of her favorites. Everything from kumquats to clownfish are orange. For fun, take a peek at these examples. 
    But maybe the most-loved are monarch butterflies. According to SaveOurMonarch.org, legend has it we call them monarchs after Prince William of Orange, later King William III of England because he was so loved by Dutch settlers in the New World.
    Starting in early October, millions of monarchs begin their over 2,500-mile migration from southern Canada to central and southwestern Mexico. A recent article in National Geographic says “[t]hey carpet the trees and paint the sky black and orange.”
    The monarch season in Mexico lasts four months, until March when they begin their return north. “It’s an eight-month migration traversing the continent and back, during which five consecutive generations are born and die.”
    They are one of the few insects known to migrate to warmer climates. After recovering from their southern migration by hibernating in the warm Mexican sunshine, monarchs get busy finding a mate. By March or April, they’re back home! They look for a milkweed plant where they will lay their eggs. About four days later, baby caterpillars emerge and begin eating. They are fussy eaters. Milkweed is their only food source. Each caterpillar can eat the leaves off an entire milkweed plant in about two weeks. Now fully grown, it attaches itself to a fresh milkweed plant and envelops itself in its chrysalis. Another 10 days and it’s ready to emerge, dry its beautiful orange and black and white wings, find a mate, and lay its eggs.
    According to the Forest Service of the United States Department of Agriculture, “[m]onarch butterflies typically live from 2 to 6 weeks except for the last generation of the year, which can live up to 8 to 9 months.” You’ll find lots more info on the FAQ sheet at that link.
    Although some organizations and individuals clamber for monarchs to be listed as endangered, MonarchWatch has reassuring statistics on its blog from September 4, 2024. Tap the link to see the post.
    In short, monarchs are not to be taken for granted. Their numbers, like numbers of birds, insects, and plants have plummetted to larger or smaller degrees. Programs from the Symbolic Monarch Migration which connects students from Canada, the US, and Mexico to teach them about the monarch’s magnificent migration to local milkweed planting promotions to direction and support for home breeding, MonarchWatch.org says “[t]here is ample data showing that monarch are resilient, redundant, and adaptive.” As such, no data has emerged to justify listing the monarch as endangered or threatened.
    That said, habitat destruction is the monarch’s greatest threat. We are losing about a million acres of grassland every year. Along with the habitat goes the milkweed.
    Monarchs thrive on milkweed. One of the best ways to help ensure they are able to reproduce is to help make their food available. Milkweed is easy to plant and grow, but so many varieties make a little research necessary to find out which kind will grow best in your area. The National Wildlife Federation’s blog on native milkweeds is a great resource. 
    In Mesoamerican culture, monarchs are said to personify the souls of departed loved ones. The monarchs arrive in Mexico at the beginning of November which coincides with Día de los Muertos (Day of the Dead) celebrations.

I’m reading The Sewing Girl’s Tale by John Wood Sweet (Henry Holt and Company, 2022). From the publisher: “Based on rigorous historical detective work, this book takes us from a chance encounter in the street into the sanctuaries of the city’s elite, the shadows of its brothels, and the despair of its debtors’ prison. The Sewing Girl’s Tale shows that if our laws and our culture were changed by a persistent young woman and the power of words two hundred years ago they can be changed again.”
                                                         Be curious! (and fly high)

...a bit of sympathy and compassion stirs inside me...I know what it is like to be disappointed... 
                                   from Me and the Pumpkin Queen
                                         written by Marlane Kennedy
​                                                    Greenwillow, 2007            
                                                                                                 
    Every year since 1846 (except 2020 when it was closed for COVID-19) our county holds its Fair and our little city is host.
    Like all county fairs, ours shows all kinds of farm animals. I could stand in the rooster building all day (if I didn’t have anything else to do) and just listen. A crowing rooster has such a unique sound and a unique message. Wake up! Literally and figuratively is a command I need to hear daily.
    Equipment large and small, is on display. Tractors whose tires stand taller than me do all kinds of work from tilling a field to harvesting it. And produce. A whole building is filled with apples. Corn, hay, local honey, and pumpkins and gourds are arranged like art. 
    Flowers, photography, and fine art are yours for the viewing.
    But the Fair is interactive, too. You can milk a cow and judge a rooster crowing contest. You can enter anything from brownies and jam to handknit afghans and sweaters and freshly carded wool. From ceramics and pottery to quilts, photographs, and fine art. All are judged for ribbons and recognition.
    Dress a gourd in the year’s theme. You could walk away with a ribbon there, too.
    You can play games on the midway and come home with a giant stuffie or a goldfish (or not). You can eat your way from one end of its 353 acres to the other. Anything that can be fried and/or stuck on a stick will probably be for sale.
    Entertainment included The Lennon Sisters in 1956, and each year since 1968, the Fair has been host to a diversity of acts including Bob Hope, The Monkees, Wierd Al, and the Pentatonics.
    Many years ago, I entered pumpkin muffins. It was my first time entering anything and my excitement overran my need to read the entry rules and regs booklet. I frosted my muffins with cream cheese frosting, yum, but for obvious reasons (now I get it) cream cheese frosting does not hold up very well in 80+ degree weather in a hot building for six days. I’m sure they were chucked right away!
    Many years later, but still many years ago, I entered my challah recipe. It’s an egg-based yeast bread that’s braided and served each Sabbath in traditional Jewish homes. 
    I have a competitive streak. And a desire to prove that I can bake, even though some people say I’m not a very good cook. After the pumpkin muffin fiasco, I was determined to do everything correctly and bring home a beautiful blue ribbon.
    I got out my kitchen timer. I timed how long it took from proofing the yeast to the final second of the 10-minute kneading session. I got out my kitchen scale and weighed each of the three lumps that would become the braided strands. I timed each of the risings, added in the baking time and cooling time and travel time. It’s a seven minute walk from my house to the Arts & Crafts Building in the fairgrounds. 
    Everything took a loooonnng time. I got up at 4:00 am. 
With one more practice week to go, the braid needed more practice than the bread! and ribbon or not, I would end up with a freezer full of delicious challah. That could count as a win.
     My recipe book says it’s a prize-winning challah. On the first day of the Fair, I went by myself to look for that blue ribbon sitting on my golden challah that reminds me of my gram’s silver old-lady-braid and my own chestnut young-girl-braid. I did not find that big, blue ribbon, but was pretty ecstatic to find a shimmery, white honorable mention ribbon adorning my loaf.
    And that’s not the end of the Fair story. 
    Yesterday was Labor Day. 
    Since we live so close to the Fairgrounds, we use our lawn for private parking. Each year I hire several kids to help. For most of them, it’s their first job.
    My first job was babysitting for my neighbor’s three kids, two and a half, four, and five years old. I was eleven.
    It wasn’t really babysitting. I played with the kids while their mom was “keeping house.” You know, laundry, dusting, mopping the kitchen floor and such. She was a housewife in a day before we had a name for stay-at-home moms. The moms mostly all stayed home. It was summer so we played outside. I’d give the kids lunch and my job was finished. My neighbor paid me 50 cents an hour for a couple of hours of work.
    I learned responsibility, time management, and how to have fun.
The kids looked up to me. I learned to respect myself and trust my decisions.
    I just spent a week working closely with twelve smart, creative, and high-energy teenagers. They mostly reported for work on time, stayed focused, and worked well together. I hope they also learned responsibility, time management, and self-respect.
    I know they had fun. I did, too!
    The world will be in good hands when these kids are in charge.

No book this week. Too much Fair!
                                        Be curious! (and productive)    

[New Rooster] crowed just as he had every morning back home…
OCK CAY AWAY! OODLE Day OODAY.
and waited for the day to begin.
But it didn’t.
He took a deep breath and yelled at the top of his lungs.
OCK CAY AWAY! OODLE Day OODAY.
                  .    .    .
And so, even after he learned how to say COCK A DOODLE DOO!
and KIKERIKI, WŌ WŌ WŌ, QUI QUI RIQUI, and KO KE KO KOO,
the rooster started every day with breakfast.
It was something everybody understood.
                                          from The New Rooster
                        written and illustrated by Rilla Alexander
          Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers, 2022

    Most of my grandparents and their friends learned English as a second language. They spoke with Russian and Eastern European accents. Russian, Ukrainian, Polish, Czech, and other Slovic languages were the languages they learned at their parents’ knees.
    When considering language, an accent refers to a person’s particular pronunciation. It does not include grammar, word order, or vocabulary. One interesting phenomenon is the cot/caught dichotomy. When my family and I moved from Cleveland to Youngstown, I was much slower to lose my Cleveland twang than my daughters were. 
    We’d sing rhyming songs on the way back and forth to visit their grandparents, and when my daughter rhymed “ball” with “doll,” I knew her language had transitioned to match Youngstown’s. My pronunciation of “doll” has no equivalent sound in the Youngstown area. And it does not rhyme with ball. Hot, father, box all have that same sound. Indeed, many people around here do not even hear the difference. 
    But dialects are a whole different ball game. Dialects are variations of a language. Although some expressions, word patterns, and even the tone or rhythm differ, people speaking a dialect of the same language can generally understand each other. American English and British English are dialects of English. African American Vernacular English
(AAVE) is its own dialect. So is ValSpeak. 
    Dialects serve a purpose. Since they are usually associated with a particular region of the country, “fitting in” can be important when a person relocates. The opposite is also true. Holding on to one’s identity by holding on to one’s own dialect makes a statement of its own.
    My mom used to tell us that what you say is not as important as how you say it. She was onto something. Language is full of nonverbal cues, including facial expressions, volume, pacing, and inflection. 
    Katherine Kinzler, a researcher and psychology professor at the University of Chicago, agrees with my mom. She goes further, though, to describe how that works. Before we can speak, we listen. Even very young babies can distinguish between their native language and foreign languages. They prefer what they know, at least in the “language department” of their developing brains.
    It’s human nature to want to be around people who are like us. And because children absorb so much information from their environment, it’s easy for them to learn assumptions from those around them. They can learn that some styles of talk are “better” than other styles. Then they might move to the next assumption, identifying “others” as less than. Less intelligent, less informed, less capable, less successful… 
    Dr. Kinzler studied children in the North (her own Chicago) and children living in the South. She and her team played voices from both regions and discovered (after factoring in TV’s and social media’s influence) that the kids preferred voices that were familiar to them. Kindergartners made no judgment distinction, but by fourth grade, both groups of children (Northern and Southern) said speakers from the North sounded smarter and those from the South sounded nicer. 
    Dialects can define a culture and reinforce stereotypes. ValSpeak (Vally Girls and Guys) users are usually young, white, and upper-middle-class. Their sentences tend to end with an uptick, so it sounds like they’re always asking a question. ValSpeak implies a ditzy consumerism.
    The very definitions that intended to explain the origination of AAVE (African American Vernacular English) unintentionally reinforced a negative stereotype. AAVE is a recognized dialect of English with its own grammar rules, vocabulary, and distinct pronunciations. Because its speakers are descendants of Africans kidnapped to serve the slave trade, a racial element became part of the definition. In the 1960s, Dr. Robert Williams, a Black social psychologist, combined “ebony” with “phonics” to coin the term Ebonics. Because its speakers were all Black, racial stereotypes overlaid the spoken language. Speakers of Ebonics, later named AAVE, were imagined to be less intelligent, lazy, sloppy…
    On the other hand, people whose dialect is Standard American English are presumed to be intelligent, thoughtful, altruistic…
    Language is not only about communication. It’s about social connection. The term code-switching refers to a person changing language or dialect within a single conversation. People use it to “fit in” with the dominant social group. Or hope to rise in social status. Immigrants, especially those who are new to a language, might speak Standard English when in public, but switch to their native language within their own speech community. Here's an article from NPR that discusses several reasons code-switching is used.
    Lots of the time it’s unconscious. When I return from a trip to Cleveland, it takes a little while to drop my twang. 
    When Michelle Obama said, at the beginning of her speech last week, “You know what I’m talkin’ about,” with a casual inflection, she reached her audience of young and not-so-young people of every color and every background. Her speech was a perfect blend of eloquence, sophistication, and “down-home.”
    Language is alive. It is always changing, sometimes quickly and sometimes not so quick. New dialects are being created or merged or redefined as our diverse population physically moves from place to place, participates in social media, and meets face-to-face in schools, at the gym, and at work.

​On a recommendation, I just started reading The Sewing Girl’s Tale by John Wood Sweet (Henry Holt and Co., 2022). From the publisher, it’s “a riveting Revolutionary Era drama of the first published rape trial in American history and its long, shattering aftermath, revealing how much has changed over two centuries—and how much has not.” Sweet’s meticulous research and engaging writing style have won him multiple awards and prizes for this piece of nonfiction.
  
                               Be curious! (and speak your mind) 

My block looks like the hip the hop
the birthplace of aerosol masterpieces
lyrical wordplay and
cardboard dance floors.
Our art soars across the world.
                                     from My Block Looks Like
                                     written by Janelle Harper
                                     illustrated by Frank Morrison
                                     Viking, 2024

    My oldest grandchild moved into his dorm this past weekend to begin his college career. He’s passionate about music and chose a conservatory to continue his education. His classes will include science, math, English, and the social sciences, but the heaviest concentration will be on music education. He elected to focus on instrumental music, but has a wonderful singing voice, too.
    His real music education began before he was born when my daughter sang nursery rhymes and her favorite songs to him. He was only days old when my husband and I visited. The baby was “fussy” and my daughter (and son-in-law) were exhausted, of course.
    “I’ll rock him for a little while,” I offered. Sitting next to a sunny window in a comfortable rocking chair, I started to sing “Hush, Little Baby.” Needless to say, given the materialism that’s flaunted in the lyrics and the assumption that it’s Papa who’s gonna buy all this stuff, I wouldn’t necessarily make that song my first choice anymore, but that was then…
    And, he quieted right down. When my daughter came back into the living room, she asked me how I did it. I told her which song I sang. Here’s her answer. “Huh, that’s what I sang to him before he was born.”
    Nursery rhymes, Laurie Berkner, Raffi, and my favorite polka music were followed by The Beatles, Bob Dylan, and other classic rock and contemporary music. Theirs was a house alive with song. Do all 18-year-olds go to the symphony with a couple of friends for fun?
    Piano lessons began soon after his sixth birthday. All the boys play exceedingly well and now my daughter is taking lessons in her oldest son’s empty time slot. 
    Their public school system provides challenging and engaging coursework and has a diverse and dynamic music program. 
    Current information from the National Endowment for the Arts (NEA), ArtsWorks states “arts education in schools is truly an investment in the artistic future of the nation.” But courses in the four major arts disciplines: visual art; dance; theater; and music are not universally available. ArtWorks estimates that only 82/% of all high schools in the nation offer at least one course in one or more disciplines.
    And while most states require schools to offer arts instruction in grades k-12, only 20 states accept arts courses as an option to fulfill graduation requirements. Only 16 states require testing students’ learning in the arts.
    Why is all this so important?
    Here are several reasons stated on the webpage for Americans for the Arts:

• Students who study arts and music all four years of high school score an average of over 150 points higher on the SAT than students who take only one-half year or less

 

• Low-income students who are highly engaged in the arts are twice as likely to graduate college (NOT a typo) as their peers with no arts education.

 

• More superintendents used the Title IV well-rounded education provision of the Every Child Succeeds Act (ESSA) to fund music and the arts than the percentages who used Title IV to fund physical education, foreign language, and civics combined.

 

• 91 percent of Americans believe that the arts are vital to providing a well-rounded education.

    And here’s a quote from Kenneth Clark, psychologist, researcher, and civil rights activist:
“To understand a work of art, we must understand the society that created it.” In other words, Art is a connection to and reflection of the society that created it.
    Practice makes perfect is especially true in the four major arts disciplines. Practicing a musical instrument, a dance routine, or literary technique enhances both physical and intellectual dexterity.
    Playing music together, dancing together, singing together, designing everything from fashion to sets for the spring play together encourages collaboration. 
    Children learn that there are many ways to solve a problem. 
    Creativity is probably the most important outcome of teaching and studying “the arts.” Where else can a child feel validated for exploring patterns, shapes, and color? Does completing a LEGO set by following detailed instructions qualify as art? Does engineering a bridge “from scratch?” Is studying Fibinocci patterns less artistic than examining a sunflower? And what about beauty? Sure it’s in the “eye of the beholder” but interesting visual art can be as beautiful as the simplicity of a chemical formula or a mathematical puzzle or a mental image produced by a poem.
    Skills that help develop creativity include both listening to each other to foster collaboration and communicating ideas clearly. Finding different ways to solve problems leads to resourcefulness, ingenuity, and imagination.
    In Florida, Governor Ron DeSantis cut $32 billion from the 2024/2025 State Budget for culture and museum grants. While no set dollar amount is ever guaranteed to grantees, this highly unusual move has sent arts organizations all over the state wondering how to survive. 
    It is ironic that this link advertises the University of Florida’s Master’s Program in Art Education. The posting date is November 30, 2023. At least someone in Florida thinks art is important enough to teach to our next generation. At least for now.
    My older daughter asked if the title of this week’s blog post could be “Earth without Art is EH”. Turns out that’s a real thing! Mugs and t-shirts are abundant on the Internet.
    
I finished reading James by Percival Everett (Doubleday, 2024). On the surface, it is a re-telling of Mark Twain’s Huckleberry Finn from Jim’s, rather James’s, point of view. On a closer look, readers “hear” James’s wisdom throughout the novel and discover the importance of James's and Huck's surprising relationship not only to each other but to the people around them, Black and white, and society’s expectations in mid-19th Century US. Thoughtful and thought-provoking. Recommended.

Good morning,
As summer winds down, I decided to take a week off. See you same time, same place next week.

…they finally found it. 
…the perfect amount of GO! and STOP! to get things done.
“GO!” shouted Little Green, and the cars raced across the bridge.
Then Little Yellow slid into town. He had something to say. 
    “Slow down.”
They were the perfect words for a busy bridge.
                                          from GO! GO! GO! STOP!
             written and illustrated by Charise Mericle Harper
                                             Alfred A. Knopf, 2014

    My 16th birthday flew past me without a driver’s license. I didn’t really need one. I rode the bus to school and walked to my after-school job at a department store. When I had a babysitting job, the parents would pick me up and take me home. The few dates I had worked the same way.
    A year or so went by. I studied traffic laws. My dad was the perfect coach for parallel parking. I practiced right-hand turns, left-hand turns, and coming to a full stop at stop signs and traffic signals. Soon after, I got my license and only needed one try to pass both parts of the test.
    Fast forward. I was driving home in my brand-new 2013 Prius when, in my rear-view mirror, I saw the dreaded cherry atop a police cruiser begin to rotate. Of course I pulled over and reached for my driver’s license. By that time, the officer was standing outside my open window.
    “Do you know you drove right through a stop sign?” he asked.
    I was aghast. I did not know.
    “I could have killed someone!” I answered. No cars were in sight. No pedestrians, no dogs, not even a scampering squirrel was in view, but no matter.
    “I just got this car and my husband called. I was talking to him on my new Bluetooth.” My explanation sounded desperate, even to me.   
    The officer must have seen how upset I was. He reminded me (as if I didn’t already know) that the phone is not connected to the brake pedal. Sheepishly, I answered, “I know.”
    I was lucky. The officer believed me, but who wouldn’t? I got a warning to always pay attention to my surroundings and always drive my car when I’m behind the wheel. 
    I thanked the officer and went on my way, wiser and thankful that no one was hurt.
    Now flashback to the early 1900s when street traffic was a jumble of pedestrians, bicycles, horse-drawn carriages and delivery vehicles, and new-fangled motor carriages. 
    The first automobiles were built by hand by The Winton Motor Carriage Company in Cleveland, Ohio. Alexander Winton transitioned from making bicycles to designing and building motor-powered vehicles in 1897. That year, he produced two fully operational prototypes. He began selling automobiles the next year for about $1,000.00 each. 
    In 1898, Cleveland, Ohio, was the automobile capital of the United States and Henry Ford was still working on his second Quadricycle in Detroit.
    Winton catered to an elite market, producing custom-made cars to order, one at a time. By 1922, his company could not keep up with the demand. He closed his factory in February of that year. 
    Meanwhile, we all know what Henry Ford was doing with his assembly line and mass-produced products. By the end of its first year (1903) the Ford Motor Company had turned out about 1,000 cars. 
    More and more cars meant more and more traffic. By 1910, over 130,000 cars, 35,000 trucks, and 150 motorcycles clogged US roads and byways.    
    Around this same time, in 1891, when he was just 14 years old, Garrett Morgan, son of two formerly enslaved people, moved from Kentucky to Ohio to look for work. By 1907, he had learned enough about sewing machines that he opened up his own repair shop. In Cleveland. 
    But he discovered a problem. Sewing machine needles moved through fabric so quickly that it was not unusual for a hot needle to scorch the fabric. Morgan looked to chemistry to solve this problem. He used a chemical solution to reduce the friction and discovered that it straightened the material’s fibers. He tried it on his neighbor’s dog. Straight hair. He tried it on his own kinky hair. Straight again! 
    The G. A. Morgan Hair Refining Company sold so much of his hair cream to his Black customers that Morgan achieved the financial security to follow his interests, wherever they led. 
    In his heart, Garrett Morgan was an inventor.
    In 1914, he patented a breathing device, the precursor to the gas mask used in WWI and later used by firefighters and rescue workers. He also invented belt fasteners and car parts.
    In Garrett Morgan’s day, traffic signals had just two lights, stop and go. Some lights were still operated manually and none had a warning interval to allow drivers to consider oncoming traffic: foot; bicycle; or automobile. 
    After witnessing a particularly horrible carriage accident at a busy intersection in Cleveland, Morgan realized drivers needed a warning to avoid a collision. He put his creative juices to work and invented his most widely used device: a three-position traffic signal. Run on batteries, it included an all-directional stop position. All vehicles (and people) in an intersection had the chance they needed to “take a breath” and wait for their turn.
    Morgan was granted his patent in November 1923. Later, it was also patented in Great Britain and Canada.
    While I’d love to say Morgan’s traffic light eliminated all vehicle crashes and fatalities, we all know that is not true. What is, though, according to the National Safety Council, in the hundred years since Morgan’s signal was first used, fatalities per 10,000 motor vehicles decreased significantly: from 12.8 in 1923 to 1.5 in 2022. 
    That’s quite a legacy!

I’m reading Jennifer Donnelly’s Beastly Beauty (Scholastic Press, 2024). If a girl is beastly because she is ambitious, proud, and loud, her “rescuer” must be a most handsome and gentle boy. When Arabella’s desperate attempt to suppress her emotions backfires into a curse that traps her in a castle, it takes Beau, who sees her for who she is and loves her despite her “faults,” to break the curse. Love wins in this gender-swapped re-telling of Beauty and the Beast. Recommended!  

                            Be curious! (and know when to stop)