Learning patience

My son taught me patience last night. Now, if I were the reader instead of the writer, that would immediately bring to mind two questions.

Isn't that a little backwards? Usually we think of the parent teaching the child.

And aren't you stretching the truth a bit? One doesn't ordinarily learn patience in the space of a decade (for some, a lifetime) let alone an evening.

Well, in the words of either Horton or Dr. Seuss, I meant what I said, and I said what I meant.

We've had this tavern puzzle around for nearly 20 years. The particular puzzle is called Patience. My father brought it back for me after some trip, perhaps one of their visits to the Smokey Mountains. The information sheet that came with it says 1989 and there's no Web site listed, which isn't surprising for that era. I fiddled with it from time to time over the years, but mostly it just sat.

I sent it along on one of the boy's road trips this summer, figuring it might offer a good diversion for a few hours of interstate travel in the back seat while on the way to this or that roller coaster.

And he figured it out. But that's not the best part. Last night, which is just in time because we're taking him back to college tomorrow, he showed me - and then patiently taught me - how to do it.

My son was very proud of figuring it out, I could tell. It turns out the other guys on the trip tried it after he had worked the whole thing out, but they quickly became frustrated. I think he was proud, too, that I stuck with it.

We discovered after my tutorial that the company does now have a Web site, www.tavernpuzzle.com. Now, instead of having to write for a solution sheet, you can view it right online. The catch is that knowing and doing are two very separate things. Trust me: you won't spoil the challenge by looking at the directions.

So, now he says it's just a question of which other puzzle he wants to order. Seems like something has captured his fancy, and again, I'm proud of him.

What's in a name?

My need for definitions is less for absolute fastidiousness than it is for common usage. So I was delighted to discover a little trick in using Google. If you type in "define: " and then a word you're curious about, it comes up with a list of summary definitions and the links to their sources, in case you need or want to pursue them further.

If you want to give it a try, I might suggest the word "inference." (go to Google and type in define:inference) Don't be put off by the array of definitions. Some are quite droll. In this case, be sure to read the one from Cornell, which this afternoon is the sixth on the list.

A little surprise, though - the proper link to the Cornell Rice Genomics glossary has changed, which isn't that much of a surprise. But I was curious about whether there were other droll definitions offered there, so I tracked it down. It's properly linked above, and this one seems to be an anomaly on that score.

Oh, well ... have fun! (try Googling that definition - you just might discover the wonderful Keables Guide)

[cheat sheet version: www.iolani.honolulu.hi.us/Keables/KeablesGuide/PartThree/Letters/F.htm]
New URL for the Keables Guide, Oct. 30, 2015:
https://sites.google.com/a/iolani.org/kg2/a-introduction#TOC-The-New-Keables-Guide-2014-

Two sun things

First, the sun doesn't care if you're sitting down relaxing, cool as can be on that speedy moped with the wind whipping in your ears. It's still going to burn your knees.

And second, the best way to enjoy a sunset is sitting by the water for an hour or more. God is good.