June 2011
bcc
27 06 11 22:51 Filed in: My Life
In spite of the fact that the world has changed, the term has stuck. And for better or worse, I’m old enough to actually understand the logic behind the words blind carbon copy. The original of a letter went to the addressee. The cc (carbon copy) went to whomever else you wanted to receive the contents of the letter. And a bcc was sent if you didn’t want to reveal to the addressee who else was getting a copy.
Carbon paper was like magic. Slipped between two pieces of paper, it would duplicate on the bottom sheet whatever was written on the top. I haven’t seen a piece of carbon paper for a long time. Copying machines, computers, and faxes have made it all but obsolete. The abbreviation, however, lives on, and now you can send email to a host of people at once, none of them knowing who else might be getting the message, and you can do it without carbon paper - provided that you can get the thing past assorted spam filters. (There was time when Spam was reputed to be canned meat that was more or less edible, but that’s another story.)
The world changes, and the language lags behind. Last week bcc took on a new meaning for me: Basal cell carcinoma - bcc in the doctor’s notes; he was writing about my forehead. I’ve known for a while that being a fair-complexioned Englishman who grew up in sun-worshipping California put me at high risk for skin cancer, but this was my first. (“He’s a virgin!” was how the smiling nurse put it, a comment that started the kind of conversation that only medical people can fully appreciate.)
I’m happy to report that the bcc is gone, removed last week by a plastic surgeon who is pleased with his handiwork; no doubt when the healing is complete, I will be at least equally pleased. I will, however, be getting my barnacles checked every few months to make sure that the bcc hasn’t sent a bcc. I knew there was something about Seattle’s cloudy and rainy days that I liked!
Carbon paper was like magic. Slipped between two pieces of paper, it would duplicate on the bottom sheet whatever was written on the top. I haven’t seen a piece of carbon paper for a long time. Copying machines, computers, and faxes have made it all but obsolete. The abbreviation, however, lives on, and now you can send email to a host of people at once, none of them knowing who else might be getting the message, and you can do it without carbon paper - provided that you can get the thing past assorted spam filters. (There was time when Spam was reputed to be canned meat that was more or less edible, but that’s another story.)
The world changes, and the language lags behind. Last week bcc took on a new meaning for me: Basal cell carcinoma - bcc in the doctor’s notes; he was writing about my forehead. I’ve known for a while that being a fair-complexioned Englishman who grew up in sun-worshipping California put me at high risk for skin cancer, but this was my first. (“He’s a virgin!” was how the smiling nurse put it, a comment that started the kind of conversation that only medical people can fully appreciate.)
I’m happy to report that the bcc is gone, removed last week by a plastic surgeon who is pleased with his handiwork; no doubt when the healing is complete, I will be at least equally pleased. I will, however, be getting my barnacles checked every few months to make sure that the bcc hasn’t sent a bcc. I knew there was something about Seattle’s cloudy and rainy days that I liked!
Comments
Father's Day
19 06 11 17:32 Filed in: My Life
Memories are good things. This Father’s Day the memories come in layers like an onion, and my mind stretches to wrap itself around all of the layers.
My father was a godly man. For 43 years I enjoyed the blessings of his love, his counsel, his friendship, his wisdom. He was a gentle man, but he was fiercely courageous as well, courageous enough to move his family half way around the world - for their benefit rather than for his. It’s been 23 years since he suffered a heart attack and died in Scotland at the tail end of a 50th wedding anniversary trip. I’m sifting through 43 years of memories today, and they are good.
Along the way 38 years ago, I was blessed to become a father, first to Matt and then to Suzanne. As every parent knows, it is a life-changing adventure. It was on Father’s Day last year that we received the shocking news of Matt’s passing. He never became a biological father, but he filled that role spiritually in the lives of dozens of young people to whom he ministered. I’m sifting through 37 years of memories today, and they are good.
I am still blessed to be a dad. My wise, thoughtful, and tender-hearted daughter still lets me fill that role. We’d planned to celebrate Father’s Day today, but a nasty head cold (hers, not mine) has delayed the celebration, so we’ll make some memories later this week. Part of the blessing of being dad is that I still get to create memories with Suzanne (see, for example, the travel blog). Not only am I sifting through 33 years of memories today, I’m looking forward to adding to them, and they are good.
Memories - all of the layers - are good things.
My father was a godly man. For 43 years I enjoyed the blessings of his love, his counsel, his friendship, his wisdom. He was a gentle man, but he was fiercely courageous as well, courageous enough to move his family half way around the world - for their benefit rather than for his. It’s been 23 years since he suffered a heart attack and died in Scotland at the tail end of a 50th wedding anniversary trip. I’m sifting through 43 years of memories today, and they are good.
Along the way 38 years ago, I was blessed to become a father, first to Matt and then to Suzanne. As every parent knows, it is a life-changing adventure. It was on Father’s Day last year that we received the shocking news of Matt’s passing. He never became a biological father, but he filled that role spiritually in the lives of dozens of young people to whom he ministered. I’m sifting through 37 years of memories today, and they are good.
I am still blessed to be a dad. My wise, thoughtful, and tender-hearted daughter still lets me fill that role. We’d planned to celebrate Father’s Day today, but a nasty head cold (hers, not mine) has delayed the celebration, so we’ll make some memories later this week. Part of the blessing of being dad is that I still get to create memories with Suzanne (see, for example, the travel blog). Not only am I sifting through 33 years of memories today, I’m looking forward to adding to them, and they are good.
Memories - all of the layers - are good things.
Heresy Loses
13 06 11 22:54 Filed in: Reflections | Hmmm...
It’s only a book; how bad could it be? Rob Bell’s book Love Wins is nothing if not a conversation starter. I figured it was time for me to check it out for myself, so I got hold of a copy from the King County Library determined to read it with an open mind. I think it is the first library book I have ever wanted to burn instead of return. (And I’m the guy who objected to banning Harry Potter from the Christian School classroom!)
The problems are many and pervasive. Perhaps none are more significant than the diminishing of the character of God. I will leave it to other reviewers to flesh out the details of Bell’s errant convictions that heaven, hell, and God are somehow less than you thought. (Kevin DeYoung’s review is as good a place to start as any.) I’ll be reluctantly taking the book back to the library. I’m afraid if I burned it, Bell would claim that it would somehow emerge from the flames redeemed and ready for heaven. I wish some of my Christian brothers didn’t have so much trouble with the truth.
The problems are many and pervasive. Perhaps none are more significant than the diminishing of the character of God. I will leave it to other reviewers to flesh out the details of Bell’s errant convictions that heaven, hell, and God are somehow less than you thought. (Kevin DeYoung’s review is as good a place to start as any.) I’ll be reluctantly taking the book back to the library. I’m afraid if I burned it, Bell would claim that it would somehow emerge from the flames redeemed and ready for heaven. I wish some of my Christian brothers didn’t have so much trouble with the truth.
Picking Your Pace
05 06 11 21:39 Filed in: Reflections
I am not immune to valuing speed or imagining that I can somehow stretch a given block of time to include more than it was ever intended to hold. But in my saner moments I sometimes wonder why fast has become so important and instant so valued. After all, getting there, frustrating though it may sometimes be, ought to be enjoyed. And I wonder how difficult it will be for us western Christians to adjust to heaven where time will not matter. Perhaps it’s a good thing that we will be changed.
