Author: AKMA

First, two and half years ago my dad died; he would have been seventy-five today. Prayers were offered for him at the cathedral. May his soul, and the souls of all the faithful, by the mercies of God rest in peace.
 
Second, this is the weekend of the Society of Biblical Literature conference back in the USA. It’s the first one I’ve missed since (I think) 1985. A few days ago, Jim Davila noted that I was the first biblical-studies scholar to begin a weblog (there having been, of course, many active in listserves, bulletin boards, usenet groups, and so on before weblogs took shape); so far as we know, I was the only one who blogged about SBL 2002 (here, and here). Thanks for the hat tip, Jim, even though I am but a liminal member of the guild of “bibliobloggers” (since I write about whatever I care to, rather than principally about the Bible).
 
Third, those who have heard me enthuse about the Mountain Goats, but who know not the music, may be interested to note “Seven Little Dolls — A Mountain Goat Introductory Mix,” a website with a selection of tracks from the Mountain Goats’ history. The selection is not by any means a greatest-hits album; it includes some popular favourites, but tends to emphasise older material and includes a few rarities. My article on tMG mentions three of the songs: “Love Love Love,” “1 Corinthians 13:1-8,” and “No Children.”
 
Time for bed — see you later. Don’t stay up too late, SBL-goers. Bless you, Dad.
 

While taking wild shots around St Mary‘s this morning, the problem of the following window once again provoked discussion:
 

 
The church inventory identifies it as The Flight Into Egypt, presumably because it shows a couple carrying a baby, though the man’s breadbasket seems incongruous, there’s no beast supporting Mary (not decisive, though it’s a common element), no sign of Egypt or even “flight.” Moreover, the other panels in the group show (upper left) the centurion imploring Jesus’ aid; (upper right) Jesus in a garden (perhaps answering the centurion’s prayer?); (lower left) the angel calling Cornelius to prpare a place for Peter (saying, “Thy prayers and thine alms are come up”, Acts 10:4); and this one.
 
No prize for solving the mystery, but all credit and glory will be unto you.
 

Kelvin’s blog reminds me that, come Saturday, I’ll be welcoming to St Mary’s any and all who would like to come look around the church, perhaps ask questions, and take as many photos as time and lighting permit. I expect that, rather than talking about the sacraments, I’ll concentrate on church architecture and the semiotics of ecclesiastical space; the main point, though, is to encourage people to come look around whether they believe anything or not, take some photos (which we hope they might share on Flickr or other public sites), thus documenting our church in greater fullness and calling attention to the wonderfulness of the cathedral.
 
If anyone comes to church Sunday morning who might otherwise not have, that’s a bonus.
 
But if you have a few hours free Sunday morning, do come by and take some snaps of a very handsome, visually interesting nineteenth-century Episcopal church. (And at the very least, I myself will have some new photos to upload.)
 

The University of Glasgow is conducting a warm-up rehearsal for the UK’s Research Excellence Framework exercise; this particular administrative nightmare is rolling down upon us in 2014, so far as we can anticipate (the ConDem coalition may decide not to fund it at all, or delay it, or change course in some other unpredictable way). As part of this rehearsal exercise (and ultimately as part of the REF itself), we’re supposed to tell our evaluators about our “impact” — “any identifiable benefit to or positive influence on the economy, society, public policy or services, culture, the environment or quality of life. Please note that this definition does not include impact through intellectual influence on scientific knowledge and academia.”
 
You may note that this definition is so slanted toward particular fields of endeavour that it might as well be called “Bonus points for STEM + Policy-Oriented Fields, Kick in the Teeth for Arts.” So be it.
 
Anyway, I’m racking my brain trying to think of something I’ve done since 2008 that might fit that definition. With a looser time frame, I could point to the Lessig Read-a-Thon and the genesis of LibriVox (I’m not taking credit for the work that Hugh did on LibriVox, far from it!, but this is the closest I can come to the kind of “impact” for which I’m being asked). Remembering that the people who will be evaluating me have no sentimental attachment to me such as might be swayed by avowals of how important I’ve been as a teacher or intellectual influence, can anybody think of an “impact” I’ve had on “the economy, society, public policy or services, culture, the environment or quality of life” in 2008 or later? I’m flat stumped, myself.
 

Despite both parents’ rich immersion in the world of poetry, I have long had only a halting appreciation for poetic expression. Some poems grab me right away and hold me; others may be artful, or clever, or subtle, or deeply-felt, or whatever — but I just never catch them. I don’t like not being a good general-poetry appreciator; it makes me too grumpy about good people’s good work. I’ve never developed, though, the capacity to admire good-but-not-outstanding poetry.
 
That’s by way of preface, though, to saying that I happened across the three sonnets Roz Kaveney wrote for her friend Neil Gaiman. I’m impressed with them all, but the first of the three — which touches on new friendship in general, not Neil himself in particular — touches me especially, especially as Margaret and I share the delight of new friendships in Scotland (and the echoes and resonances that they make with long, deep, old friendships).
 
    There is an ache when something’s not yet come
    just like the one when something’s gone away.
    A rotten tooth perhaps. You may well say
    it’s better gone, keep sucking at the gum.

    It took infection with it, you can taste
    no foulness. And when something’s not arrived
    then does, you wonder just how you survived
    without it. All the time before’s a waste

    you could have been enjoying it. And when
    the new thing is a person, is a friend,
    you wonder how you ever got to spend
    so many years without them. Then, again,

    the bliss of knowing something new can start
    is bubbles like champagne that jump your heart.
        Roz Kaveny
 
So, cheers to Neil Gaiman on his recent fiftieth birthday, and a sweeping tip of my hat to Roz Kaveny, and a wink and a smile to my cherished friends, who jump my heart.
 

Starting on the train on Friday, Margaret and I saw four rainbows (or portions thereof) within twenty-four hours.
 

 
On the train, east of Linlithgow.
 

 
A little closer to Edinburgh.
 

 
From in front of the National Gallery, about 3:00 that afternoon.
 

 
From our west window on Partickhill, Saturday morning.
 

On the train back from Edinburgh yesterday afternoon, Margaret was pressing me to publish my “Magritte and Krazy Kat” presentation and the “Sensing Hermeneutics” presentation. I demurred, arguing that they depend heavily on graphics and audio that would be hard to reproduce (affordably) in print, and that I don’t have the fastidiousness and stubbornness to fight for permission to reproduce all the images from rights-holders clearly enough to satisfy most publishers.
 
Margaret riposted that I should then put the presentations online, with the full rhetorical force of foisting my own ideas on me. It seems like a great idea, so I took her up on her offer to edit the presentation I gave yesterday, and I’ll hand over the “Sensing Hermeneutics” ms after “Magritte and Krazy Kat” is ready. Then I’ll whip up PDFs, and Kindle and iPad editions. As always, Thanks, Margaret!
 

Margaret had to stop by the Post Office™ (not the same as the US Postal Service) to pick up a package this evening, which turns out to have been a learning moment. I did not even know that Postal Pat had a theme song, but now I can’t get “Postal Pat, Postal Pat, Postal Pat and his black-and-white hat” out of my mind. So I thought I’d share.
 

I had wanted to affirm Madhavi’s and Margaret’s sense that I should cook up something new for today’s seminar, but this was not the fortnight in which I had time to refine my presentation. They’ll get my “Magritte, Krazy Kat, and Biblical Interpretation” talk, and some other time I’ll pound “Code Talking” into shape.
 
Not the greatest weather, but Margaret and I will wrap up in our overcoats and hop on ScotRail in a few minutes.
 

It’s been a very full week or so. My medical tests showed nothing of particular interest (an uninterestingness with which I’m very comfortable); I’ve been interviewing colleagues from around the University for my .2-time responsibilities to the Learning and Teaching Centre, celebrating All Hallows Eve at the Palais Faucher-King, going to meetings about our taught Masters degree curriculum and about the archives of Trinity College, and oh, hey, teaching a few classes, preparing for Margaret’s birthday (it was a wonderful day with gentle surprises and dear friends — thanks everyone!), and thinking ahead to tomorrow’s sermon at Keble College. We’re packed and about to leave for the airport.
 
All is well. Life is full.
 

No particular health news; I’m as irascible and voluble as ever (and I’ll iras and vol anyone who challenges me on these points). Plenty to do at the office today, so I’m off to battle my inbox and take one step closer to some grant applications. Technically, I’m not allowed to operate heavy machinery, sign contracts, or drink alcohol for another few hours, but I’ll take my chances by booting up my work computer and operating the espresso machine. And if someone wants to take me for a lunch and a pint, I’ll be there.