The Bartonian Theory: Sound is not created, but released

I shall now propose a theory that is hybridly composed of physics and philosophy. This theory may or may not have already been proposed by someone else, with its recording in academic textbooks worldwide. I don't recall ever reading about this particular theory elsewhere, so I'll consider this an original idea. If I'm wrong in my consideration, oh well. That's ok. It was a fun thing to think about anyway, and I look forward to sharing my thoughts in the following few paragraphs.

Simply put, my theory is this: sound is not *created*, but merely *released* when all necessary physical factors come into play.

Read on.

Imagine you're about to raise a toast at your brother's wedding rehearsal dinner. You clink your fine silver in a location on the shiny glass goblet that's full of whatever drink you've consented to ingest. Did you actually create that musical note which was the effect of the clink, or did you merely release a sound that was already waiting to be listened to?

(Whaaa? you say...)

Let's attempt relating the goblet clink to an 8-second ride on a bronc at the rodeo. Picture yourself with a vintage Stetson atop your skull. You're about to open the gate to let the horse-and-rider have their go in the arena. The end of the brief countdown is your cue; gate opens according to your muscular power, the cowboy and his animal burst out, the bronc commences jerking the cowboy to-and-fro, and the crowd goes wild. For kicks and giggles, let's imagine the cowboy achieved his 8-second-ride and scored big points.

Did you, as the gatekeeper, create that 8-second-ride, or did you merely release from the bullpen the ride that was already waiting to occur?

A number of factors always lies behind the concoction of a sound, and a sound happens only if the final factor shows up to the scene. Often, that final factor is a person's voluntary or involuntary momentum that engages with all its fellow factors in order to produce the sound. For example: applause is queued-up noise that's awaiting its release into the atmosphere, which can only occur if the "gatekeeper" wills their palms to rhythmically collide.

Another example: if you're blessed with a healthy enough phonation system----larynx, vocal cords, teeth, tongue, lips, palate, and diaphragm----any word of any language is ready to be spoken by you. All the physical factors are there in your body. But all those phonation system components of yours can't do diddly if the one final factor isn't engaging, and that final factor is your will to utilize your phonation system to release the word of whatever language.

Now, many of you may heartily argue that, No, the sound is still being created. And that's fine; theories are meant to be debated, mine included. But consider this:

Several months ago I taught a special music theory workshop, and I focused the lesson on aural skill development. I concluded class by spouting out my passions about music in general, and said something that I didn't expect myself to say----in fact, I had no idea I even had this opinion in my mind... Paraphrasing what I said: "You know how there's major and minor scales and chords, and all these different harmonies? One thing that is so cool about music is that mankind didn't create those configurations that naturally sound so great together. It seems to have been something that was already there, waiting for mankind to discover and do and enjoy."

I believe this example from my teaching life also illustrates and supports my theory that sound isn't created, but simply released.

There. That's my theory. Got any thoughts about it? Your comments are welcome!

Love letter to my celebrity crush: James Maitland Stewart

Dear Jimmy,

You’re dead now, but why should that stop me from writing to you on this lovely Valentine’s Day 2013? Perhaps somehow you’ll be able to find out that this letter of mine exists, and you’ll know how I feel about you.

Indeed you are my celebrity crush. But I’m not going to tell you that I’m desperately in love with you, because, like I said before, you’re dead, I’m not, you’ve got Gloria, I’ve got mortal male eligible prospects, and if I were to be in love with you, I’d be a silly ninny living in a fantasy land and missing out on opportunities here in my own generation.

So, I’m not going to tell you I’m in love with you, though I do think you’re very handsome and charming. But I am going to tell you, right here and right now, that I admire you, and I sincerely thank you for the quality example of living you set here on Earth. Why do I think you’re awesome? Let me count the ways:

1) You honored your parents, and stayed constantly true to the values they taught you when you were young

2) You fostered a lifelong love for learning and discovering new talents to develop, which led you to become not just a remarkable actor, but also a great poet and accordionist

3) You loved your country, the wonderful United States of America, and served it as a faithful soldier for several years

4) You loved your wife and were wedded to her for 45 years, till the day she passed away in 1994

5) You loved your children and undoubtedly taught them the same goodness your own parents taught you

6) You sought and were grateful for the simple joys in life, such as the delight that a family dog can provide 

7) You were always a kind, gentle, fun, and good friend to all who knew you

8) You decided to not let your “high-profile” job make you big-headed; rather, you used your job as a tool to bless the lives of others. I recently watched a 1980s documentary rerun on TV, and it was all about you, and most prominently I remember Gloria telling the interviewer the story of the fan who wrote you a certain letter. In the letter this person explained that they were about to commit suicide, but then they felt some urge to turn on It’s a Wonderful Life for a leisure watch. They got to the end of the flick’s tail (and “tale”! haha, yay for homophones!), to the part where George Bailey reads the book inscription, “Dear George, Remember no man is a failure who has friends. Thanks for the wings! Love Clarence.” And then their depressed life flipped upside-down, and they felt impressed to try telling you about it. I’m glad you and Gloria chose to open that envelope and read its insertion, as I’m sure you often didn’t have time nor strong desire to read all your fan mail. What a marvelous service you performed for that person! Did you have any idea you’d do such a great good by just doing your job? I’m sure the positive fruits of your labors numbered many more than this one instance

Last—and maybe not least—I think you’re awesome because you always thought the Mormon Tabernacle Choir was awesome. Did you know that I actually made it into the Mormon Tabernacle Choir this year? Did they call it “MoTab” when you were still around on the planet? I’m happy to know you’re such a big fan of the Choir. I’m a fan, too!

Again, thank you, Jimmy, for your quality example of living. You are my favorite movie star not only because you’re incredibly talented (and don’t you dare deny it; I don’t want your modesty J), but also because of your love of life, friends, family, country, and God. I hope I can continue forth being the best person I can be, as you always strived to be.

Hope you’re having a jolly Valentine’s Day in paradise! Be sure to give everyone my love!

Love Always, Alison

I am a Brewster babe, and I am a genealogizer

Confession: I knew not one singular fact, quote, or plotline about Frank Capra's "Arsenic and Old Lace" until last Friday, when a handsome date and I attended a local theatre's production of it. We both really liked the show. Periodically during the show, my date turned to me and serenely said, "I'm so glad this isn't a musical." :) And at one particular point I turned to him and said, "Oh wow hey! I'm related to the Brewsters!" because the characters on the stage had just dialogued about their being descendants of the great William Brewster, who was a Mayflower passenger in the 1600s. (Brewster is approximately my 12th great-grandfather.)

It's moments like these Arsenic-and-Old-Lace-in-the-theatre moments that I feel the Spirit of Elijah churning cheerfully in my soul (see final chapter of the final book in the Old Testament).

For half a decade I've been keenly interested in genealogy. I love touring my family lines on ancestry websites, and I LOVE snooping around friends' pedigrees to see what their heritages are.

Not only does genealogizing (hehe, new word) always feel like an exciting figurative time machine ride, but it also always feels uplifting. I sense the Holy Ghost with me every time I genealogize. I would even go as far as to say that figurative time machine rides are uplifting, reason being because of all my amazing ancestors whom I was pleasantly astounded to discover. People like:

1) Jesse Davis, military captain in the American Revolutionary War, commended for bravery by his dear friend George Washington

2) Princess Unami Ann Sachem, daughter of Chief Suncloud of the Algonquian tribe in the colonial era

3) Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey, whose original sonnet format served as great inspiration to William Shakespeare (Grandpa Henry, first cousin to Ann Boleyn, was actually killed by none other than King Henry VIII)

No way would I have known about Jesse, Unami, or Henry if distant relatives did not share [on new.familysearch.org] the family history facts they knew. I am endlessly thankful for these relatives and their efforts. I'm especially thankful for my own sweet grandparents whom I've been tremendously blessed to know in life, who have kept splendid journals to which I have access. Oh how I treasure all these writings! Even the writings that explain that my 17th century grandmothers and great-aunts were indicted witches in Salem, Massachusetts!

Also among my heritage's priceless records are the stories that I've found about my Mormon pioneer ancestors. They emigrated from Wales and Denmark---thousands of miles across the wide, shining, turbulent Atlantic---then handcarted thousands more in unimaginably trying times. Despite hardship, they beautifully exercised faith in God, because they believed that staying faithful was what God wanted them to do, and they wanted to please Him.

My lovely eldest sister and her three younglings pulling the handcart at our family reunion.

When I ponder my ancestors and their lives, what do I think about?

---I think about how I, too, can exercise faith in God in all things, times, and places
---I think about how I can continually seek learning in this exciting world, and develop and share my talents for good
---I think about how I can be brave, stand up for what's right, and serve my country, community, fellowmen, family, and Savior

Many of you may not ever be able to find much information on your ancestors, perhaps due to minimal or inadequate past recordkeeping that's completely out of your control. I've coached some of you in the work of genealogy, and I know your struggles and frustrations when you come to stone walls in your family lines. When you encounter such walls, try indexing; it's also a wonderful way to genealogize, and it's immensely helpful to others around the world who, too, have encountered walls.

I imagine that coming face-to-face with the stone walls, or simply not knowing who your ancestors are, could lead you to uncertainty of what benefits you can reap from generations who've come before you, or potentially lead you to believe that you have no special heritage at all.

Please don't choose to be led astray this way. If you're not sure what your familial legacy is, choose to follow the righteous examples of as many honorable men or women---dead or alive---as you can remember. Do that. Do righteously.

And, so you can end the unawesome tradition of minimal or inadequate recordkeeping: keep a journal, hardcopies of letters and emails you write, notes you jot, and anything of the like. Keep your writings in a safe and tangible place. For example, I plan to print off all my emails to and from my missionary brothers (who represented The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints), and insert them into chronologically-organized clear sheet protectors, which I will put in a special binder.

Break the unawesome tradition because......why? Well, if you don't break it and don't record some of your life, how in the blazes will the generations yet to come know who you are? They deserve, just as you and I do in present-day, to learn wonderful things about their predecessors. Why don't we give them that opportunity by writing at least a little bit of ourselves?

Let this be your joymaking pointer (relative to peacemaking pointer): do what you can now to bless the lives of your posterity later. I am fearless to guarantee that much of your posterity will appreciate you from the bottoms of their hearts. And may we all also be sure to turn our hearts to our loved ones from the past, for it wouldn't be surprising in the slightest sense that they smile upon us whenever we deliver them our honor.

Scriptural reference: Malachi 4:5-6

My neurological condition and how I think it might help you

I have the second most common blood type in the world.

Likewise, I am programmed with the second most common form of the semi-rare neurological condition called synesthesia.

A person blessed (not inflicted) with synesthesia is called a synesthete. Basically what synesthesia is is when a synesthete touches, tastes, hears, smells, or sees something, and immediately the color sensor in the brain is triggered. The color sensor and one of the "five basic senses" sensors cross each other, collide, merge, whatever.

I, Alison Barton, am "possessed" (if you will) with the two most common synesthesia forms: 1) grapheme --> color, and 2) sound --> color. See this image below? It's divided into three sections: alphabet, numerals, musical notes. See how everything is colored? Well, 1) that's what I see whenever I read anything, 2) that's what I see whenever I do math, and 3) that's what I hear whenever I hear music. I read and hear colors. Those are the colors with their corresponding characters and musical notes.

Synesthetes never get to choose the colors (synesthesia is utterly involuntary), the colors never change throughout a synesthete's lifetime (I guess you could say the colors are eternal), and the colors differ depending on the synesthete. My set of colors that you see above has always been the way it is, and whether 9 or 90 years down the road, "A" will always be red, etc.

Now, how can my neurological condition be of any help to you? I will begin explaining by taking you back in time to a flock of sheep in the southern Utah mountains. There I stood, in the midst of this quaint group of lambs, all going "baa baa baaaaaaaa," but somehow no individual animal's "baa" sounded exactly like another's "baa." Each "baa" was totally unique.

Next, let's travel the Washington DC subway system. One day I was riding the Blue line to my Foggy Bottom metro stop, and as I sat quietly and very much to-myself, I glanced around and noticed that all of the dozens of fellow riders were different-looking from each another. No one was even close to being identical to anyone else. That might not sound impressive at all, but step out of the subway train, and into the rest of the real world, and tell me that you can find someone who looks 100%, in every facet, like someone else. I really doubt you can do it. Not even identical twins are totally the same in structure.

Think of the sheep. Think of the people. Think of my synesthesia. Here's how it all ties together:

Not only is music inevitably colorful for me, but so is human phonation. I estimate that I've consciously paid very close attention to approximately 100 human voices, to define the color of each one. Yes, the sound of each human's voice is like unto a musical note, in the sense that it unfailingly projects a color.

There are four factors that determine a voice's color:

1) Warmness or coolness (e.g. whether it's more like a fiery color than a watery color, and vice versa)

2) Edge (i.e. whether it's a hybrid color, like green or purple)

3) Shade (e.g. lighter blue or darker blue)

4) Texture (e.g. bold, feathery, raspy, etc.)

Have I freaked you out yet with all this color weirdness? I probably have. Maybe you don't understand anything I'm talking about here, and you just think I'm a nut. But don't worry, you don't need to understand the technicalities of synesthesia.

What you do need to understand, however, if you want to get the point of this whole blog post, is the fact that *no one's* voice color has ever been the exact same as anyone else's in all my listenings. What that means is this: even if you perceive that there's absolutely nothing special about you, nothing that sets you apart from anyone else, you're wrong. You've got a voice, thoughts, opinions, and ways of saying things that are all unlike the rest of humanity's. If nothing else (which I highly doubt there's nothing else), you're unique that way, and to me personally, that is big.

To conclude, this synesthesia thing is definitely the strangest thing about me, and I almost can't believe I was brave enough to publish about it. Go me. If you have any specific questions about all this, I'd love to converse about it with you!

Bottom line is:

You're special, awesome, and there's no one like you in the whole world! (K, bye!)

Parakeets, evidences of God's existence and care, science vs religion, and other yaddi-yaddi-yadda! :)

Written approx. 9:30am, Sunday morning, 1/20/2013, typed solely on iPad (ermahgersh!!! essentially the first time ever using an iPad, and I wrote an entire blog post on it!!!)

I just got done trying to drive down south to meet up with some friends for breakfast. I made it only three minutes down the road when I decided to turn around and go back from whence I came. It was -6 degrees Fahrenheit outside and dangerously foggy everywhere, and every second I struggled seeing things that were only three feet in front of me. I was on the town's main road when I convinced myself to turn around. I pulled over into a fairly easily accessible high school parking lot because I figured it was a safe place to perform the turning around of my car. Immediately upon entering the lot, I started hearing sirens and seeing colorful whirling lights of emergency vehicles of every kind, which paused mere inches directly in front of the turnoff spot I utilized to enter the high school parking lot. I had NO IDEA there was a wreck at almost the exact spot of the main road that I had exited. That's how bad the fog was; I couldn't even see a crash mere inches ahead of me.

I'm thinking to myself: What if I'd chosen to not turn around just then, and to keep driving in that right lane? Would I have hit that endangered person in that car?

Maybe I wouldn't have contributed to that accident, but some voice is whispering to me now, telling me that God is looking out for me. It's occurrences like this morning's incident that testify to me that there is a God.

All around, there have been way too many accounts of these "guardian angels watching over us" tales for there to not be a God to send those guardian angels. Way too many in my life, in particular, for there to not be a caring, fatherly Supreme Being.

Likewise, there have been way too many "miraculous" events and profound acts of kindness and forgiveness that have brought joy to countless numbers of people for there to not be a God to be the source of all miracles and goodness.

Two nights ago I dreamed that dozens of my friends and I journeyed to the moon in a spaceship. I sat between Shaina R and Karina J on the trip (two girls whom I LOVE and who make me laugh so happily hard all the time in real life!). After departure, it took us only an hour to arrive at our destination. When we stepped out of the spaceship and onto the moon's surface, we needed no space suits or helmets; the casual Earthling attire sufficed, and we breathed as we normally would at home. While standing on the moon, we could see that the stars were much huger-looking than normal, and that they truly were pentagraminous (my new made-up word of the day).

Reflecting upon this dream has caused me to reflect upon how truly strategically our planet Earth is positioned in the solar system. HOW can Earth's position be simply happenstance or coincidental? It can't be. I declare that it's strategic. Strategy implies that someone implements strategy. That someone is God. He created the world then assigned it to be "third rock from the sun," a placement that allowed the world's mortal inhabitants to inhabit without automatically freezing or burning to death upon birth. Sure, Siberia, Alaska, Australia, Las Vegas, and the equator countries can all be sometimes uncomfortable to reside in climate-wise, but they're still survivable. The fact that mankind can survive and, in fact, have joy in almost all earthly geographical locations is absolutely a testament that a Supreme Being (God) strategically made it that way.

Which brings me to one last piece of evidence that denotes that there is a God (and when I say "one last piece of evidence," I mean it's the last piece that I'll write about for the time being; goodness knows it's not the "one last piece of evidence" that I can think of, for there are MANY! Like perfectly hexagonal snowflakes...). 

LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, I GIVE YOU.........THE PARAKEET.

When I was a tiny, tiny little toddleresque girl, my family had a bright green, beautiful pet parakeet. He lived till I was 16 years old or so, and he was with us even before I was born. We called him "Noisy Bird" because he was a total chatterbox. He could say Pretty bird!, I love you!, and Where's Richard?

He had conversations with himself in the English language, though sometimes we Homo sapiens couldn't decipher the exact words, but it was definitely English.

He could make kissy noises. And, most impressively, he could whistle the "Andy Griffith" theme song in its entirety. SUCH a great and sweet bird! Oh how we loved him, and oh how we miss him, even till this very day.

Tell me, how could the magnificent Noisy Bird, whose breed is so intricately and exquisitely crafted to be able to sing and speak human languages, be a result of a mere "chance/big bang" explosion? And it's not just the parakeet, but millions upon millions of other taxonomical species that, if pondered about, are recognized as organisms of amazing properties. The way all natural creations cooperate as ecosystems is astounding and miraculous, I do say. There just *has* to be someone ultimately responsible for all this awesomeness.

I do believe in science (jajaja, makes me remember that I love "Nacho Libre"); I believe that organisms and elements all coexist and collectively form areas of study that people SHOULD study! Of COURSE we're supposed to study about the world we live in, as long as it's for the benefit of mankind. I believe that such wholesome studies can do God a great honor. By showing our sincere interest in His creations, we show a form of gratitude to Him.

My parting words for today: Guess what? YOU, my friend, are an intricately and exquisitely crafted creation of God. You are a child of a Heavenly Father, who is God, and you were created in His image. He loves you dearly, wants you to have joy, wants you to enjoy and take care of the world that He's blessed you with the opportunity to inhabit, wants you to take care of His other children that inhabit alongside you, and wants you to keep in touch with Him as you sojourn.

Salt

I am a churchgoer and a Bible reader, among other practices I do as part of being religious in my religion: The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

I attend church as many Sundays as I possibly can. The idea that “[we] are the salt of the earth” keeps coming up, on so many Sundays, both in sermons and in Sunday School discussions.

Today I heard it again. It’s a reference found in the Bible, specifically in the gospel of St. Matthew:

“Ye are the salt of the earth: but if the salt have lost his savour, wherewith shall it be salted? It is thenceforth good for nothing, but to be cast out, and to be trodden under foot of men.” (Matt. 5:13, as part of Jesus Christ’s Sermon on the Mount)

I’ve been hearing this all my life, that everyone is “the salt of the earth.” But even until this day, I encounter some difficulty in fully grasping this metaphor. I understand the basic point, that if we lose our desire to be positive influences in the world we live in (this desire our “saltiness”), then we’re good-for-nothings. What I can’t seem to wrap my head around, however, is the fact that salt can indeed lose its savor. I’ve never experienced unsalty salt before. Quality Control & Assurance teams don’t typically release unsalty salt for distribution to consumers.

So today, when I again heard about “the salt of the earth,” I decided to try wrapping my head a different way around. I reflected upon all the times this winter that I’ve already witnessed salt get applied to icy sidewalks, roads, parking lots, and driveways. The results of pouring salt onto icy surfaces have blessed my life nearly every day since the outside temperatures hit freezing this year.

To expound on the particular ways that this type of salt blesses, I say unto you that first and foremost it helps you maintain solid footing while walking. Secondly, it eases your mind and comforts you when you fear that you perhaps may slip and fall.

I think we can be this kind of salt for each other. We can seek opportunities to help each other solidify footing on life paths that are hard. We can be each other’s comforters, guiding stars, and guardian angels.

If I had a Top 3 favorite songs of all time, Paul Simon and Arthur Garfunkel’s “Bridge Over Troubled Water” would hands-down rank there. I invite you to watch this video and listen carefully to the lyrics. Illustrates beautifully and perfectly in song what I mean by us being the “winter salt of the earth.”

Thoughts on Prayer

Last Friday was my work’s low-key Christmas/Employee Appreciation luncheon in our new facility’s ginormous “party room” (I don’t know what else to call it; as of yet, that room hasn’t much of a purpose).

To begin the luncheon, our business’s owner uttered his “Welcome!” and said, “Before we eat (Jimmy John’s—yum!), let’s begin with a blessing upon the food.”

A prayer? At work? was my first thought. I was thrown off a bit. It’s seriously not every day you witness someone praying publicly, let alone you actually being involved in the supplication.

My 70+ coworkers and I were sitting together in the party room. In one accord, we bowed our heads and closed our eyes, while the chief production manager (we’re a manufacturing corporation) offered the prayer.

I can’t begin to tell you just how dear to my heart that moment was. Amid the prayer, my mind paused briefly and realized the sheer awesomeness of the moment. There I sat, surrounded by a multitude of folks who I presume aren’t particularly religious. This prayer very likely broke many a person’s norm in that party room. Nonetheless, I perceive that the upper management’s decision to start the luncheon with a prayer was respected by everyone there, and everyone’s complete reverence during the prayer impressed me profoundly.

When the luncheon was over, I returned to my office and briefly checked up on the outside world’s news. Little did I know that all the while I was helping with the luncheon, heartbreaking news stories of one of the most devastating school shootings were circulating like a cyclone across all media forms.

I wept as I read about what happened, but I kept in my heart the sweet feeling I had when my coworkers and I prayed together. I like to consider that feeling as a tender mercy from God, because it comforted me when I wanted comfort as I pondered the events that had just occurred that morning in Newtown, Connecticut.

The memory of my company’s prayer also reminded me of the way America unites in prayer and love during tragedy aftermaths, especially the ones that develop on American soil. The aftermath of September 11, 2001, is a prime example.

There are those who are most deeply and directly affected by the tragedies. Isn’t it interesting how we naturally automatically sympathize with them even though we don’t personally know them? Much more often than not, we’re so distant from these people, according to proximity and social degrees of separation. But we still yearn to help them in any way possible. The number one way to help that we think of is prayer.

Prayer.

Our social network newsfeeds (that is probably supposed to be two words—“news feeds”—but I don’t care; one word looks better to me) were flooded with “My prayers go out to those who lost their loved ones” and other similarly worded posts on Friday, Saturday, Sunday, and still today (Monday).

Prayer.

Just as I presumed that many of my coworkers aren’t too religious and might not often pray, I think that, possibly, many of the dear people who are sending their prayers toward those who need the prayers likewise might not often pray.

It’s in times like these that our hearts are broken, that we sincerely seek comfort and a better world, and that we have a glimmer of hope that there is Deity who can help us.

My bottom line is this:

How wonderful it is that we unify in prayer and love in these seasons of sorrow; however, we mustn’t cease holding prayers and love in our hearts once ample time passes beyond the seasons of sorrow. With all of my heart, I believe we are all children of a Heavenly Father who loves us unconditionally and eternally. With all of His heart, He wants us to talk to Him, in bad times and in good. Let us always pray. When we’re not on our knees, when we’re not praying out loud, may we pray to Him via heart in the name of His beloved Son, Jesus Christ, who also loves us much, much more than we can imagine. With all of my heart, I believe our honest, earnest prayers get answered.

Thank you for reading.