The White Potato - Friend or Foe?

Everyone knows diabetics shouldn't eat white potatoes. Everyone knows that because everyone says so.

The glycemic index is the worst thing to happen to potatoes since the potato blight (Phytophthora infestans) of 1845. Because potatoes are said to be very high on the GI, they are considered as healthy for diabetics as strycknine, arsenic, and white bread.

My blood glucose being under good control these days, I decided to test the white potato for myself, to determine what that food might do to my glucose scores. I incorporated a sizeable white potato, baked, into my dinner last evening. The other foods were all old friends, unlikely to cause me ill.

Here are the results of my meter's tests.
Before dinner: 80
Two hours after dinner: 100
Three hours after dinner: 88
This morning's fasting level: 77

I have that potato's twin, so I'll repeat the test in a couple days. If I get the same or similar results, I'll be happy to welcome Mr. Potato back into my regular diet.

What's in a large baked white potato?
http://www.nal.usda.gov/fnic/foodcomp/cgi-bin/list_nut_edit.pl

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Titanic and Other Fables

TITANIC AND OTHER FABLES



We can say with certainty two things about the ship. ONE: the Titanic sank in 1912 with about 1500 lives lost. TWO: the tragedy has entertained and amused a great many people and afforded others fame, wealth, successful careers. That enterprising people will find a way to turn anything to their financial advantage comes as no surprise. The accumulation of wealth is still admirable to many, no matter how it is achieved. But how can we account for the enjoyment of it, the sheer fun of it all?

I think two things have to happen. First, it is necessary to suppress any thought of the real suffering that took place during those hours for the victims, and for others, victims as well, for many years thereafter. Terror, pain, death, grief, loss. Those were some of the experiences. There were others, such as remorse, shame, anger, ostracism. There really is such a thing as survivors' guilt, and if the people didn't suffer that, they were made to feel as if they should. It doesn't take very much imagination to realize that misery was part of the Titanic experience - the biggest part for the more than 2000 passengers and crew. There were moments of joy, too. Many could rejoice that they survived, that their loved ones were saved. I suspect that pleasure came with a price attached, a nagging doubt, a question irritating and bedeviling one. Could I have helped someone else? Am I more worthy than those lost 1500?

If we could turn away from the human side of the disaster, it would still be interesting as a puzzle - how did it happen? How could it have been prevented? What can be learned from it? There would be a few books written, certainly some official investigations, a footnote or two in the history books. That seems to have been the fate of some other tragedies where many lives were lost. They are news for many at the time they happen, and of interest to a few long afterwards.

That isn't the story of the Titanic. The great, unsinkable, floating palace of 1912 is many stories. It is books, and movies, and documentary films, and games, jigsaw puzzles, pillow cases... Would you sleep well at night with your head resting on that image? It is merchandise galore. Do you know you can purchase a piece of coal that was loaded onto the ship? A load of it was retrieved by the scavengers in one of their treasure-hunting expeditions.

Many people have devoted their lives to celebrating the sinking of the Titanic. Others are more in the category of "buff," not really giving the tragedy their full attention, but letting it occupy a good share of their leisure. Why is that? What is the fascination? How did this romantic aura develop from such an ugly event?

I believe it is a result of the myths and legends, the sweet, sweet stories that became part of the folklore right from the beginning. Survivors told these tales, of course. There was no other source of information. Something was said by one, elaborated by another, inflated by the media types of the day, swallowed whole by the public. These yarns found their way into the early articles in newspapers and magazines, were further encapsulated in books, and passed down from one generation of "historians" to the next.

Syrup literally drips from the saga of Mrs. Strauss choosing death by her husband's side over saving herself in a lifeboat. The fable of Captain Smith handing an infant into a lifeboat just before he went down for the last time is another. And the band playing, as the ship sank, the hymn Nearer My God To Thee may take the prize as a cloying image. What Mrs. Strauss said and why she decided as she did can have more than one interpretation. The story of Captain Smith and the infant has been debunked, as has that particular piece of music being selected by the ship's orchestra.

There are other stories told just as gripping. The search for villains turned up many, and that is also part of the fascination. We Americans love a scapegoat; perhaps all people do. Ismay's escape and survival is wonderful to contrast with the babies in third class who drowned. Captain Lord of the Californian is another. He slept while the Titanic took two-thirds of its occupants to their deaths. He slept and ignored the jeopardy of that other ship, knowing full well it was in deadly peril. Does anyone believe that? Sadly, yes, many do.

---

Some of the fictions within the story of the Titanic are harmless. Surely, the families of the Strausses and of Captain Smith took comfort in a saga of heroism told of their loved ones. It makes no difference what the orchestra played. It may have made no difference that they played at all. One could argue that, but it would be an exercise only. It's irrelevant now.

There are other fables that weren't so benign. People were cruel to Ismay, cruel to Lord, cruel to their innocent families. We have some very wise sayings from a variety of sources, proverbs that concern making judgments. One I believe is Biblical and cautions people not to judge lest they be judged, and another about withholding judgment until one has walked in the other man's shoes...

The legend that I find most obnoxious of all is the hideous lie told about Alice Catherine Cleaver.


It may be that interest in the Titanic is waning now. It seemed to be pretty steady for decades, enjoying a resurgence when Dr. Ballard's expedition located the wreck, reviving again when the souvenir collectors visited the site, and peaking in a phenomenal manner with the publicity surrounding the most recent movie. The last mentioned event sent Titanic mania sky-rocketing. Every book ever published was reissued; new books were churned out with amazing speed; videos were patched together. As it turned out, the movie was more about young love than the tragedy of 1912, but interest in the ship ran its course. Perhaps.

If enthusiasm for all things Titanic is flagging, one does not see it on the internet. There are hundreds of websites devoted to the disaster. A few appear to have something to offer; others just repeat a little of this, a little of that. Some make no pretense at honoring copyright laws and publish the work of others' word for word. That's an issue for the copyright holders; but there is another issue for all of us. People's work is being copied, and so are people's errors.

And that brings me to the story of Alice Catherine Cleaver.

The Story As Told In Books and Videos, Repeated On Websites

Alice Cleaver was hired in haste by the Allison family, consisting of Hudson J. C. Allison, his wife Bess, their three-year-old daughter Loraine, and their 11-month-old son, Trevor. Mr. Allison was a wealthy investment broker from Montreal, and the family was returning from a horse-buying trip to England. Alice was employed as a nurse for the children, the previous servant having abruptly quit. She shared a room in first class with baby Trevor and a maid to Mrs. Allison named Sarah Daniels. This stateroom adjoined the one occupied by the Allison parents and Loraine. There were two other servants for the family traveling in second class. The entourage was, therefore, a family of four and four servants.

Unknown to the Allisons was the fact that Alice Cleaver had murdered her infant son three years previously. She was unmarried and distraught over the fact that the baby's father abandoned her, so she threw the child off a train. She was convicted, but a lenient jury felt sorry for her as did the judge. She was released early. The Allisons knew nothing of her past and hired her to care for their children on the voyage, particularly their infant son, Trevor.

When the ship was foundering, Mr. Allison left the staterooms to see what he could learn on deck. Alice grabbed Trevor and ran off, jumping into a lifeboat to safety. The Allisons searched and searched, unable to find their son. This next comment is repeated almost word for word in more than a dozen places. The Allisons never would have left the ship not knowing that their baby was safe; therefore, Alice Cleaver's abandoning Mrs. Allison and little Loraine clearly contributed to their deaths. Loraine was the only child in first class who was not saved.

Years later, a woman claiming to be Loraine Allison approached the Allison heirs and told a story of having been rescued and adopted by the man who got her to safety. There was more to this part of the story, but relevant here is the allegation that this imposter knew things about the family and had to have been coached by Alice Cleaver.

Closer To The Truth

Alice Catherine Cleaver was just what she purported to be when she was hired in England as nurse to baby Trevor. She had never killed a child. There had been a woman named Alice Mary Cleaver who threw her baby off a train. That woman died in prison.

Mistaken identity? Mistake? That's some mistake, a slander that has gone on for decades.

As for Alice rushing off with Trevor and abandoning Mrs. Allison and little Loraine, letting this family search in vain for their infant son until it was too late to save themselves... Apparently that wasn't quite accurate, either. The only surviving witnesses to events in the Allison's stateroom were Alice Cleaver and Sarah Daniels. That is not the way they told the story. Mrs. Allison was hysterical and couldn't even dress herself. Both children were sleeping. Alice dressed their mother but still could not get her to act rationally. Alice picked up Trevor, told her employer she was seeking safety, and left the room. What transpired afterwards is based only on speculation. Judging from what was widely reported later, it was the family of the Allisons who surmised they stayed on the ship searching for Trevor. It was with them that the statement, "They never would have left the ship without knowing their baby was safe," originated.

Even if we believed that Alice just grabbed Trevor and ran, does it make sense that Loraine - the little girl not quite three - was kept with her searching parents? Would they not have put her in a lifeboat? Would they have sacrificed her as well as themselves when they couldn't locate the son?

Alice entered lifeboat #11 with Trevor. This particular lifeboat, equipped for 65 people, actually carried 70. It was launched at 1:25 a.m. Sunday morning, one hour and forty-five minutes after the Titanic collided with the iceberg. The ship sank at 2:20 a.m.

Trevor was reunited with family, who raised him. He died at the age of eighteen. Alice returned to England where she married and raised a family. As far as I could determine, she received no thanks from the Allisons or anyone else; no sweet stories have been told about Alice Catherine Cleaver.

The Labor Day Storm Of 1998 (My Story)

The Labor Day Storm of 1998

1:30 in the morning, and something jolted me out of sound sleep. For moments I was confused by the barrage of sensations - noise assaulted my ears; blinding flashes of light seemed everywhere; I was drenched. When the crash of thunder was punctuated by a horrendous cracking sound, I came fully awake. "The tree!" I thought. "The oak tree has come down!" I was only partly right.

My bed was shoved up against an east window to catch what little breeze there might be that hot night, September 7, 1998. It never rained in that window. It never rained in except for that night, when the wind and rain came from every direction. I was fully soaked just a minute or so after the infamous "Labor Day Storm" began across central New York State.

Some typical quotes:

"I've lived through hurricanes on Long Island, but this was worse." "I've never been so scared in my life." "There's so much debris everywhere it's like driving down tunnels to get through our streets." [said more than two weeks after the storm]

The local newspaper of the next day reported:
A fierce storm ripped through Central New York early this morning, killing two people at the State Fair, injuring at least seven others, blowing roofs off buildings and knocking out power to thousands of residents.

On the State Thruway, a tractor-trailer blown over by high winds lay on its side beside the eastbound lanes.

In Onondaga County, the storm swept through at about 1:35 a.m. Onondaga County Executive Nicholas Pirro declared a state of emergency at 2 a.m., restricting traffic to emergencies and essential services.

Pirro, who toured parts of the city at about 2 a.m. and surveyed the county by helicopter at about 7:30 a.m., said the storm was unprecedented in his memory. "As a lifelong resident of Syracuse, I've never, never seen a storm like this," he said.

In Syracuse, the city fire department reported that at least 20 buildings sustained serious damage, including walls and floors collapsing, roofs blown off and windows blown out.

Streets throughout the county were clogged with downed trees and power lines, and officials warned residents not to leave home except for emergencies. Centro canceled all its routes at about 6 a.m.

Niagara Mohawk Power Corp. officials estimated that at least 150,000 of its customers were without power this morning, including more than 80,000 in Central New York. Power outages darkened much of Onondaga County, and parts of Oswego, Cayuga, Madison and Oneida counties, Niagara Mohawk spokesman Dan Dupee said.

The utility said it may take a week or more to restore power for all customers, including those in Onondaga County. Downed trees and lightning strikes knocked out power in a path across the state from Niagara Falls to Glens Falls.

I don't know how many people got to read the paper that day - most neighborhoods across the region were surrounded by roads that were impassable.

All I knew that early morning was that something horrendous had happened. There was no electricity, and there'd be none at my house for the next five days. In the dark, and with the constant crashing of thunder and just as continuous flash of lightning, I checked first on my mother, reassured her, and then went looking for our cats. The door onto the screened porch had been left open for them to catch the air. I figured they'd be scared to death, but looking at the porch, I was nearly scared to death myself. Both outer walls were gone. I feared they'd gotten out and were injured or terrified in that storm. Closing the door, I grabbed a flashlight and toured the house. Found them all! That was the first time I had breathed, or so it seemed, since coming awake.

From another newspaper report:

This was no thunderstorm. That word does not describe it. Ron Babbitt knew that right away, inside his apartment on South Geddes Street. The wind and rain, through the window, swept pictures off his wall. The roar of the storm was almost deafening. He awoke Monday to learn the wind had destroyed the storage room next to his bedroom, blowing one whole wall at least three houses away.

"This was a twister," Babbitt said, as he picked through the debris. "It had to be."

Yet the National Weather Service is calling the storm "a derecho," a fast-moving assault line of potent thunderstorms. The winds were tornado-level, from 70 mph to as high as 110. "A derecho can actually be worse than a tornado, because it cuts a much larger swath," said Bill Hibbert, a National Weather Service meteorologist.

And there is a power to the word that says something we all know - Syracuse has never seen another storm like this.

It started with bursts of color, which masqueraded as heat lightning. Then you heard the rumble of thunder, and the breeze turned into a strong wind, which built into a monster that shook the whole house. Lightning flashed like mortar fire. The rain was so intense it turned windowsills into waterfalls.

It was a long, long night.

Daylight was hours away, so with no power, we sat in the dark waiting for dawn and the ability to really assess the damage. I took my flashlight outside, saw that the car had been spared - tree limbs had fallen all around it. The neighbors' houses seemed intact and they appeared okay. The huge tree across the road was down, uprooted, but the house's occupant was unhurt. I took a quick look at my back yard. A large tree on the next property also had been uprooted (an oak) and had wiped out a large section of our new wooden fence. Our own gigantic old oak tree was unscathed.

Daylight arrived in due course and with it came realization. That had been one hell of a storm, and the damage as far as we could see from our own property was very extensive. Some buildings throughout the area were destroyed, many damaged, but mostly it was the trees. They lay on the ground everywhere and every road was buried in tree branches and whole trees, with power lines down on nearly every street.

I took the car and headed for the nearest hardware store to buy batteries, but the route was like a maze. I must have driven 15 miles to get to a store just 2 miles from my house. One block might be passable but the next one wasn't, and entire streets had no access. Trees had flattened dozens of cars, trapping many others in their driveways.

The hardware store was an adventure. People lined up and were escorted inside one at a time by the employees. A manager, a salesman, a stockboy walked with each customer, showing the way with flashlights. We were allowed to buy whatever we needed, had to pay cash, which was calculated on paper. I haven't seen that done in years! I bought batteries and a couple flashlights. Both items would become very scarce in Syracuse that week.

The rest of it for most of us was just surviving the tedium imposed by having no electricity. No radio, no TV, no reading after dusk, no music, no way to pass the hours 'til bedtime. I loaded 6 batteries into a radio, hating to use so many, not knowing how long we'd be without power. That radio was worth it, though. We kept in touch with what was happening across the region, and heard estimates about when electricity might be restored.

Food rotted in the refrigerator. More rotted in the freezer. Some people bought ice, and so did I, but it wasn't sufficient to save the food. A good many people had no facilities for cooking. We had a gas stove, so our meals were normal, and we could make coffee every morning. Many folks could not. We could heat water for bathing and dish-washing. Many could not.

Work crews from all over the Northeast came to help restore power. After five days, our street was finally visited by a crew from Pennsylvania. It was like the Cavalry showing up, the Marines landing. We cheered and decided Pennsylvania was the greatest place on earth and all its people were heroes. We waited and waited.....

It was dark again, and we sat in the windows, watching as bit by bit, street lights came on the next street over, the next block down. Finally, OUR lights came on.

We danced a jig, mom and I, one old lady and one getting there. We could stop trying to make conversation with each other, entertain each other, bore each other. She grabbed her book, I grabbed mine, and life was back to normal.

Confessions of an Adrenalin Junkie

I don't sky dive. I don't climb big mountains. I don't scale vertical cliffs. I don't stand in the way of hurricanes or chase tornadoes. I don't hunt serial killers, crash airplanes or sink ocean liners, but I do read about all those things, living vicariously with danger and disaster.

The ordinary life, such as mine, provides plenty of excitement and adventure.......dodging creditors, tolerating a disagreeable boss, finding new ways to cope with boredom, deciding among several dismal choices for dinner tonight, etc. The ordinary life, except for a fortunate few, needs to be spiced up with things outside of itself, such as surviving a storm on Everest or taking an unexpected swim in shark-infested waters. The safest way to perform such acts is to experience them vicariously, such as through books.

I read for hours every day. WHAT I read is something I don't always want to reveal. It can be said that I have a morbid curiosity, and that may be true. I prefer to think I am trying to kick-start my mind and attention out of their comfortable state, comfortable but completely ho-hum. How else would I meet the heroes and villains of real events, grow my compassion for victims of tragedy, gain admiration for those who survive against all odds? Wonder at those who knowingly sacrifice themselves to help someone else, often a stranger?

Morbid curiosity, adrenalin junkie, or just an ordinary person on an extraordinary quest? I may never figure it out and don't care if I don't.

The 800 - Pound Gorilla In The Room: Our Genealogies Are Bogus

This is an expanded version of an older blog.

With the proliferation of DNA research being used in genealogy, this particular "gorilla" (what everyone knows is there but ignores) is the confirmation (not just speculation) that many of our male ancestors are not our biological ancestors. Estimates of the numbers vary, but the best research puts that at about 5% in modern Western societies. One person in 20.

Do the math. We have 1 father, 2 grandfathers, 4 great grandfathers, 8 great great grandfathers, and 16 great great great grandfathers. That adds up to 31 male ancestors in just five generations. Chances are excellent that one or more of those men is biologically unrelated to us. Just that many generations take me back to only the year 1800. My family file, with excellent sources, goes back to the year 400 CE. That is with the best of the best in the way of sources - excellent, careful, reputable professional genealogists.

But the best of the best can tell us only who the fathers of record were, not who the biological fathers might have been. They are lost to history for all time.

This is what I am adding - the results of a little further thought and some simple calculations:

I picked at random just one 3rd great grandfather, to see what happens to my family history if I remove him as an ancestor.

I would lose 155 additional ancestors, as well as all the descendants of them that I have incorporated into my file. I couldn't even begin to calculate how many there are, without spending days in the process.

155 ancestors plus ??????? aunts, uncles, and cousins would make a hole in my data large enough to fly an Airbus A340 through it.

Unnerving? Most assuredly so, but it would be the result of only one incidence of false paternity in my carefully constructed family history. The finding of 5% of such occurrences virtually guarantees that there are many more imbedded in our genealogy.

Implication? I see that as implying our family history, for the most part, is bogus. And we'll never know where it goes wrong, how often, or how to "fix" it.

"Death Penalty"

I am opposed to my government venturing into the area of killing its own citizens. Killing is a brutal act. The body resists its own murder and it dies hard.

Extinguishing life can be done without physical pain; veterinarians do it all the time. Our pets don't understand what is happening, so psychic pain is less than it would be for a fully aware human being.

The government, sanctioned by the people, kill for reasons that seem sufficient to many. The victim has been convicted of doing something extraordinarily bad.

Conviction isn't proof that he did it, and mistakes are made. That is justice gone bad in the worst possible way.

Can we speak of the pain and suffering of his family, friends? Should we speak of that? Doesn't that open a door onto our own guilt - knowingly and willfully causing agony to people who have been convicted of nothing?

"Capital punishment" is cruel, can't be undone, and causes misery to many innocent individuals, often for their whole lives.

Can we extend our compassion even to the "unworthy"? We, not they, own our emotions, and compassion is the best of them.

Be kind whenever possible. It is always possible.
~Dalai Lama