St. Ignatius' beans

I was digging through a 1903 organic chemistry text (looking for examples of eponyms), when a familiar name caught my eye. What was St. Ignatius doing in a chemistry textbook, an organic one at that?  Jesuits, I could understand (quinine is extracted from Jesuits' bark), but Ignatius himself?

"Strychnine, C₂₁H₂₂O₂N₂, is found in St. Ignatius' bean..."  What is a violent poison doing in a bean named for Ignatius?  Despite the fact that I've got an impending writing deadline and  a couple of dozen exams to grade, I had to know.

Faba Sancti Ignatii were first described by an Austrian Jesuit missioned to the Phillippines in the 17th century, George Kamel, S.J. (his description was published in the Philosophical Transactions in 1699).  Later authors speculated the plant was named for Ignatius because of its many medicinal virtues (which they do not list, and about which I'm curious -- I'm having breakfast with a scholar of herbals from this period on Wednesday which may help).  These days it forms the basis for a homeopathic nostrum prescribed for grief and melancholia, particularly when associated with an abundance of tears.  I wonder if the homeopaths knew of Ignatius' gift of tears?

The Practice of Looking Up

The past week I've had some intense and difficult meetings, and a schedule that has been somewhat more packed than I would prefer.  Ok, way more packed that I would prefer.  I'm mired in a swamp of details, my concentration is tattered and fluttering in the breeze.  Notes for this essay, permissions for that crisscross on my desk.  I abandon an unfinished email and my tea on my desk to answer a student's question, only to return two hours later to find both my train of thought and tea long gone cold.

On a dash to the grocery store, wearily running through what I still had to tick off the day's list, I happened to look up to see the warm sun wash over the front of the old parish school across the street, lofty thunderheads piled into soft peaks stretching up untold miles into the atmosphere. For a moment I stopped, and breathed. The heavens declare the glory of God...

My tangled, confined heart reached up and stretched into this gloriously infinite space.  I breathed, no less weary, no less on the run, but somehow at rest.

Now each time I walk outside, I've been reminding myself to look up.  To practice stretching into eternity, to extend hands and heart and soul towards the Creator of this firmament that surrounds me, yet does not confine.

On the use of italic and roman fonts for symbols in scientific text

The title of a report I uncovered in my search for the international standards on SI unit names.  It makes the Code of Canon law look simple.

Back to work, those pandas by the door are getting testy.

Reflecting on reflecting with Ignatius: writing on teaching

My harvest of limes in Kamikatsu, Japan

Last year at this time I was in Japan with a group of students from the college's 360^o program. Today, an essay I wrote reflecting on the experience we had reflecting with our students about the structure of the course appeared — framed loosely around Ignatian repetition and his notion of the Examen.

You can find the essay here.  (Click on the photo to see the full text.)

Irritable pandas

I've got a bunch of upcoming writing deadlines flying at me (hence the dearth of posting here).  Is this why I've been dreaming of the neighborhood hawk stooping through the oak in the front yard and carrying me off?

I've put a sign on my door noting that I'm writing, sent out a Tweet looking for some inspiration from the vast sea of chemists who Tweet (what's your favorite eponymous reaction or scientific unit?  Mine is the hartree...), opened the windows so I can hear the rain fall, made a pot of tea, and posted the peevish pandas just inside the door.  I'm not sure if their job is to keep visitors out or me in...

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