Friday, September 19, 2014
Thursday, July 3, 2014
Orin P. Gard was often in his own world, as am I. Learned? Genetic? I don't know. I think I'll be writing off his papers at some point - not now, but someday. I don't understand the missile ballistics analyses, but I'm intrigued by a tension I sense in his files and writings between how he earned his living/supported his family and his religious beliefs/desire for a peaceful planet.
Grandpa's notes on the first computer conference in 1946 are the subject of this article in Penn Engineering, which is accompanied by my brief reflections. His thoughts and pursuits were constantly shifting in scale and focus, and I love this legacy of an active mind. He speaks to me through his papers more directly than he could in person, singular as a dinosaur. What is gone is so important, and right here.
Sunday, February 2, 2014
St. Joseph Lighthouse, Michigan
photo by Kim W.
Here's a bit of winter magic for February 2, just when I thought winter magic had all run out. Never again will I doubt the serious and whimsical strangeness of the north - how ice clings to ice in impossible shapes of known things, in a spell that only the birds can undo but choose not to. Not yet.
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Post title is Charles Tansley annoying Mrs. Ramsay as he sides with her husband and dashes James' hopes. (Virginia Woolf. To the Lighthouse. New York: Harcourt Brace, 1927. 7.)
Sunday, December 1, 2013
Photograph by Dita Alangkara (AP)
Sunday, October 6, 2013
These orange beauties are mountain ash berries (a.k.a. rowan berries) in Lester Park, my home away from home. I made jam from them last year, which looked delicious and practically burned a hole in my stomach lining, so this year, I'm sticking to pictures.
The mountain ash tree just happens to be the subject of a tragic, gorgeous Russian folk song. Are there any other kind? Yes. And it's about berries.