The Blaisdell Blog

Several years ago I came within a whisker of being thrown out of a kilt shop in Nova Scotia .   Asking the clerk for help, I referred to her many lovely, “plaids.” She jerked to attention. “They aren’t plaids.   They are tartans.”                I caught both the warning edge in her voice and the cold glint in her eye. Unfortunately, habits are hard to break.    A few moments later I commented that I had found, “…a lovely plaid.”             The temperature dropped.   Ice formed on the floor below my feet.   The clerk’s eyes bored through me and she pulled herself up to superhuman height.   I heard a deadly whisper, “…and there’s that word, ‘plaid’ again.”   She turned on her heel and left me to find my own stinking scarf.               At the register she made a point of asking me what clan I claimed.   Happy to turn to light banner, I explained that I wasn’t Scottish.   “I’m Norwegian,” I said, “…my people were the ones who raped, pillaged and plundered along the Scot

Have you ever wondered what it would be like to have a small stake in immortality?   On January 21, 2014, a man died who has that toe-hold on life after death.   John Lowry Dobson made a difference in this world.   If you are a star-gazer you know his name.   Dobson wanted astronomy to be available to all.   Then he made it so . John Dobson was born on September 14, 1915 in Beijing , China .   He was the son of Methodist ministers.   His family soon left the unrest in China and settled in San Francisco .   Eventually three things happened: Dobson graduated from the University of California at Berkley with a degree in chemistry; he became a hippy ahead of his time; he revolutionized the study of astronomy. Despite being the son of missionaries Dobson described himself as a, “belligerent atheist.”   Then he attended a service at the Vedanta (Hindu) center in San Francisco , decided they had a message he liked, and spent the next 23 years as a Ramakrishna monk.   In the m

When it comes to education, I am a lifer.   There are four generations of teachers in my family.   I taught from age 21 to—well—a really long time.   I have a Master’s in Economics and taught both micro and macro at the local community college at night while putting my girls through college.   I was also the principal of an elementary school, and taught aspiring teachers at the University of Missouri-St. Louis.   Like I said, a lifer.               As you might guess, I have been watching the development of the Common Core Curriculum (CCC) with tremendous interest.   Unlike a great many people with an opinion, I have actually read the standards—all of them.   I specifically looked at the sixth grade curriculum simply because I taught sixth graders for years.   I know the curriculum by heart and still have a soft spot in my heart for those tall, gawky, boisterous, challenging and ever curious kids, poised on the brink of hormonal overload.   What I found was both good news and ba

I don’t know who the snotty, effete little twerp was who invented the term, “RINO” but I need the rest of you to stop using it.   NOW!   It took me forever to figure out why these belligerents kept misspelling, “rhino.”   Then the caps tuned me in to a possible acronym—Republican In Name Only.   I was instantly offended.   Between a Democratic president, senate and husband, I’ve got my hands full fighting the worthy opposition.   I don’t need to be fighting people who have attached themselves to my party and now think they define it for me.    I’ve been a Republican since birth, and a moderate.   I tolerated the Tea Party because I am smart enough not to be threatened by their nonsense.   Evidently they don’t feel the same about me.   Eventually, that’s going to be tough on them.   I am still going to be a Republican long after they have moved on to another victim.   Personally, I can’t wait. Despite dozens of snarky remarks that I have made about Democrats (every one of them de

If you go to NASA’s, “Hand of God” Pulsar Wind Nebula ( www.nasa.gov/jpl/nustar/B1509 ) you will see a beautiful photograph of the ejecta from a supernova that looks—well—like the hand of God.   Of course, God is a spirit, without form, but the photo is an example of pareidolia, the psychological phenomenon of seeing familiar objects in random shapes.   Pareidolia is why we see animals in clouds and a face on the moon.   This nebula is also a lesson in the difference between science and faith, a dynamic duo producing rancor and debate where none really exists.   This amazing X-ray photo shows a star, busily engaged in both death and rebirth.   Deep in space, a star destroyed itself in a supernova.   The remnants of that star formed a Pulsar, a neutron star, with an electromagnetic beam emanating from its magnetic poles.   This small, dense mass rotates at amazing speed.   The, “Hand of God” pulsar (PSR B1509-58) rotates at better than 7 times per second, sending atomic particles

George P. Bush is running for the Land Commissioner in Texas , and he has my vote.   George P. also carries a name that is both an advantage and a disadvantage.   That was probably never more obvious than when he served an eight month tour in Operation Enduring Freedom in Afghanistan .   During that entire time he worked under an assumed name.   No one in his outfit knew he was the nephew of President George W. Bush—to do so would have magnified the danger for both him and every man in his unit.    George Prescott Bush is the son of Florida Governor, Jeb Bush; nephew of President George W. Bush; grandson of President George H. W. Bush. The 38 year old Bush speaks fluent Spanish.   That is no surprise.   His mother, Columba Garnica Gallo, was born in Mexico .   Yet Bush is the first person to tell you that Latinos are not a homogenous bloc.   They are individuals, and while you can apply some broad commentary on Texas ’ Mexican-Americans as a culture, you are wrong to think they do

What do Phil Robertson and Rodney King have in common?   Rodney King, of course, is the drug addicted, alcoholic, convicted felon who’s beating by Los Angeles Police officers was caught on video and turned into a watershed event in civil rights.   Ultimately, in a civil trial, King won a judgment of $3.8 million.   Instead of using that money to turn his life around the money only enabled his drug and alcohol addiction.   The rest of King’s life was a series of arrests, substance abuse, rehab, failed marriages and unprotected sex.   He died at the bottom of a swimming pool on June 17, 2012, his body full of alcohol, cocaine, marijuana and PCP.   He was 47 years old.   He was broke.   Phil Robertson is probably not going to die broke.   He has a master’s degree in education, and has enough smarts to start, grow and maintain a profitable company.   Unfortunately, every time Robertson opens his mouth he decreases his face value.   Personally, I think this is a marketing ploy, bu