Cold and dark nights knew not we
Nor an evening's warm fire light
Only a little snow did we see
A Winter's tale on one icy night
Fair Winter into the past receding
Onward Texas, this wondrous land
Relentless sun and respite needing
Behold, Spring once more at hand!
Underneath the yearling green
Hopes held dormant hibernate
Seeking, longing for things unseen
Another Winter's day to liberate
Ye weary days of Winter, rest!
Slumber and renew your energy.
In molten months, we'll roam distressed
Until again met with a mighty season's apogee.
Many love the season of spring, myself included. Yet, I enter it with trepidation, my gaze cast over my shoulder to the fading promise of a favorite season. Arctic blasts heralding the portent of snow, but usually leaving only ice, or more often nothing at all. Still I mourn its passing, and look forward to its return year after year.
There seems to be some controversy regarding the date of this year's vernal equinox; it arrives at 12:07 AM UTC (3/21), or 7:07 PM CDT (3/20). So, it occurs either today or tomorrow, depending on where you are. Take the time to read Natalie Angier's article in today's New York Times, "The Tilted Earth at It's 'Equal Night of Spring'" . In it she writes, "Whatever the date, go on and celebrate, for the vernal equinox is a momentous poem among moments, overspilling its borders like the swelling of sunlight it heralds." Delightful writing, and a fulfilling conclusion.
Although I write here of a passing season, I should highlight one fact. The greatest snowfall I've ever seen occurred April 19th, 1996, while I was camping. April, as you know, is the heart of spring here.
Hope remains.
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
Thursday, March 15, 2007
Ides of March
Cæsar: What sayst thou to me now? Speak once again.
Soothsayer: Beware the ides of March.
Cæsar: He is a dreamer; let us leave him: pass.
(Julius Caesar I.ii.28-30)
Caesar cast off the warning, but we know his fate. Behold, the Ides of March has come. Take heed this day.
While we have a (to put it mildly) disinclination toward Friday 13th, I'm fascinated by the knowledge that for the Spanish Tuesday 13th is considered unlucky. I initially learned this on the television program "Hey, Dude!".
For Caesar, it was the fifteenth. As the soothsayer foretold, the ides did not treat him well at all. Such benevolence and such tragedy. Perhaps he should not have thrice refused the thrice offered crown, but then it would have seemed ambitious. Brutus was right on that point.
It's such a nice day outside.
Soothsayer: Beware the ides of March.
Cæsar: He is a dreamer; let us leave him: pass.
(Julius Caesar I.ii.28-30)
Caesar cast off the warning, but we know his fate. Behold, the Ides of March has come. Take heed this day.
While we have a (to put it mildly) disinclination toward Friday 13th, I'm fascinated by the knowledge that for the Spanish Tuesday 13th is considered unlucky. I initially learned this on the television program "Hey, Dude!".
For Caesar, it was the fifteenth. As the soothsayer foretold, the ides did not treat him well at all. Such benevolence and such tragedy. Perhaps he should not have thrice refused the thrice offered crown, but then it would have seemed ambitious. Brutus was right on that point.
It's such a nice day outside.
Monday, March 12, 2007
Saturday
I was witness Saturday to the wedding of a cherished friend, and it was a privilege to be able to celebrate with her on that day. It afforded the too rare opportunity to connect with absent friends and to lay the foundation with those who might be friends in the future. One instantly acquires an enriched knowledge of a person by moving into their relational sphere. The keen observer knows where to look for clues about a person by looking in a few places. Two of my favorites are what books they have on their shelves and what company they keep. Saturday was a day of celebration, but also of love shared, joy expressed, even spiritual renewal.
But this entry isn't about that. While I enjoyed it and took much from it, Saturday wasn't my day. I mention it only to pay homage to the two around whom it was centered and to preface what was on my mind that night.
I arrived home after a full day aware that I had an early morning and an hour was already lost (with thanks to the Energy Policy of 2005). I should have crawled immediately in to bed, but I instead settled into the chair in my office. Lacking any real goal, I fired up Google Earth (an application that should prove beyond a shadow of doubt there is indeed a higher power). I had recently read a news article reporting that someone believes to have discovered a massive impact crater in Nevada, and I had spent some time discussing with co-workers on Friday the glass-floored skybridge extending beyond the sheer walls of the Grand Canyon (where fear-induced cardiac arrest is yours for the low price of $25). These were in my head as I took in an overview of the United States. However, I didn't zero in on either of these, as I first suspected I would. Instead, my attention wandered from my home base to the area surrounding our nation's capital. Inspiration struck when I discovered full-screen mode, and I zoomed across the Atlantic to Münich.
One of the first things I did upon my return from Germany in October was to look down upon this city and make note of any interesting thing I might have missed during my time there. As I looked upon it again Saturday, I retraced my footsteps from the door of my hotel to some of the more interesting sites, investigating undiscovered side streets as I went along. Fatigue eventually reminded me of where I should be, so I retired after only a few minutes.
With my head settling into my pillow and my eyes adjusting to the dark, my mind was filled with memories from that vacation. The endless beauty of the Bavarian capital, the streets of Rothenburg redolent of a past age, the crush of Saturday afternoon shoppers in Cologne. Me, wandering wide-eyed, listening the constant voice in my mind reassuring me, "You are really here."
It is difficult to find sleep with such images rolling by invoking thoughts of what the future might hold. Then dreams; then the morning.
But this entry isn't about that. While I enjoyed it and took much from it, Saturday wasn't my day. I mention it only to pay homage to the two around whom it was centered and to preface what was on my mind that night.
I arrived home after a full day aware that I had an early morning and an hour was already lost (with thanks to the Energy Policy of 2005). I should have crawled immediately in to bed, but I instead settled into the chair in my office. Lacking any real goal, I fired up Google Earth (an application that should prove beyond a shadow of doubt there is indeed a higher power). I had recently read a news article reporting that someone believes to have discovered a massive impact crater in Nevada, and I had spent some time discussing with co-workers on Friday the glass-floored skybridge extending beyond the sheer walls of the Grand Canyon (where fear-induced cardiac arrest is yours for the low price of $25). These were in my head as I took in an overview of the United States. However, I didn't zero in on either of these, as I first suspected I would. Instead, my attention wandered from my home base to the area surrounding our nation's capital. Inspiration struck when I discovered full-screen mode, and I zoomed across the Atlantic to Münich.
One of the first things I did upon my return from Germany in October was to look down upon this city and make note of any interesting thing I might have missed during my time there. As I looked upon it again Saturday, I retraced my footsteps from the door of my hotel to some of the more interesting sites, investigating undiscovered side streets as I went along. Fatigue eventually reminded me of where I should be, so I retired after only a few minutes.
With my head settling into my pillow and my eyes adjusting to the dark, my mind was filled with memories from that vacation. The endless beauty of the Bavarian capital, the streets of Rothenburg redolent of a past age, the crush of Saturday afternoon shoppers in Cologne. Me, wandering wide-eyed, listening the constant voice in my mind reassuring me, "You are really here."
It is difficult to find sleep with such images rolling by invoking thoughts of what the future might hold. Then dreams; then the morning.
Monday, January 29, 2007
I'm not cold, thanks for asking
The reports are mixed, but on average the current temperature is 36°F. I am dressed as I am most of the year: business casual. A little more casual than many as my shirt sports short sleeves, but this is often a necessity. I am wearing one of my favorite shirts today, purchased this past August. It is blue, and has a silky texture, despite being cotton. I am not, by principle and habit, brand-loyal. However, I love Nautica. Not only am I beholden to their name and its invocation of sailing and watercraft, but I also find their use of color, fabric, and design meld well into my aesthetic preferences.
Friends and other readers (who may be surprised that there is now a new post here) will know that I write this from Austin, Tx. Friends will know that I am hot-natured. Until the thermometer drops into the sub-freezing range, I enjoy the change of pace and will gladly venture outside without a coat. While I own two very nice coats, there is hardly occasion to wear them. I've been this way my whole life, causing those close to me (mom, for instance) to constantly fret over my health. To date, I have no adverse effect to report.
I've much enjoyed the past few weeks of winter weather in Austin, and I will soon lament its passing. I had an encounter this morning precipitating this post. I walked into our breakroom/supply closet looking for a pen (another long story), and greeted a relatively new employee grabbing some coffee. I said good morning, to which she had an odd response. Her mouth agape and brow raised, she expressed incredulity that I sported short sleeves and asked whether I was aware it was cold outside. My first thought was to say, "leave me alone, crazy person!" Instead, I testified to the temperate climate and made a hasty getaway. I don't know how to avoid these inquiries and they seem to come from every direction. People seem brought to their mental knees by my absence of need for heavy outer garments. It seems strange this concern should take precedence over the observation that I'm of an age and level of intelligence sufficient to care for myself.
My head spinning from this latest in a string of encounters, I posed a question to a co-worker. Is there a sociological explanation for this behavior? After a little back-and-forth, we settled on the theory of conformity. An innate, subconscious desire requires that everyone adhere to a certain norm, which in this case looks something like "if it is cold, then wear warm clothing." It's another version of the principle that punished us in high school. I'm not comfortable with that, but it's the best idea so far.
Turns out, I don't disagree. When I am cold, I will put on a jacket or a warmer shirt. If I find myself in a position to be out of doors for a long period of time at low levels of activity given current conditions, I will probably do so. The duration of my time outside, however, is generally not much. The walk from my front door to the car, from the car to the office, and back again. There is a certain ratio of comfort to inconvenience. Until it is uncomfortably cold, I will not suffer the inconvenience of keeping track of a jacket or the possibility of suffocating in an office with an overzealous thermostat setting.
In the end, I appreciate your expressions of concern for my well-being. However, please understand that 'cold' is a subjective term. Thanks for listening, and it's great to live in Texas.
Friends and other readers (who may be surprised that there is now a new post here) will know that I write this from Austin, Tx. Friends will know that I am hot-natured. Until the thermometer drops into the sub-freezing range, I enjoy the change of pace and will gladly venture outside without a coat. While I own two very nice coats, there is hardly occasion to wear them. I've been this way my whole life, causing those close to me (mom, for instance) to constantly fret over my health. To date, I have no adverse effect to report.
I've much enjoyed the past few weeks of winter weather in Austin, and I will soon lament its passing. I had an encounter this morning precipitating this post. I walked into our breakroom/supply closet looking for a pen (another long story), and greeted a relatively new employee grabbing some coffee. I said good morning, to which she had an odd response. Her mouth agape and brow raised, she expressed incredulity that I sported short sleeves and asked whether I was aware it was cold outside. My first thought was to say, "leave me alone, crazy person!" Instead, I testified to the temperate climate and made a hasty getaway. I don't know how to avoid these inquiries and they seem to come from every direction. People seem brought to their mental knees by my absence of need for heavy outer garments. It seems strange this concern should take precedence over the observation that I'm of an age and level of intelligence sufficient to care for myself.
My head spinning from this latest in a string of encounters, I posed a question to a co-worker. Is there a sociological explanation for this behavior? After a little back-and-forth, we settled on the theory of conformity. An innate, subconscious desire requires that everyone adhere to a certain norm, which in this case looks something like "if it is cold, then wear warm clothing." It's another version of the principle that punished us in high school. I'm not comfortable with that, but it's the best idea so far.
Turns out, I don't disagree. When I am cold, I will put on a jacket or a warmer shirt. If I find myself in a position to be out of doors for a long period of time at low levels of activity given current conditions, I will probably do so. The duration of my time outside, however, is generally not much. The walk from my front door to the car, from the car to the office, and back again. There is a certain ratio of comfort to inconvenience. Until it is uncomfortably cold, I will not suffer the inconvenience of keeping track of a jacket or the possibility of suffocating in an office with an overzealous thermostat setting.
In the end, I appreciate your expressions of concern for my well-being. However, please understand that 'cold' is a subjective term. Thanks for listening, and it's great to live in Texas.
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