Replace “book” with “blog” and you’ve captured what makes a community like Micro.blog so special:
Even the oddest, most particular book was written with that kind of crazy courage—the writer’s belief that someone would find his or her book important to read. I was struck by how precious and foolish and brave that belief is, and how necessary, and how full of hope it is to collect these books and manuscripts and preserve them. It declares that all these stories matter, and so does every effort to create something that connects us to one another.
Fascinating article in The Economist this week about the effort underway by computer scientists to use machine language models and a particle accelerator (!) to decipher the petrified remains of 500 scrolls from a Roman library buried in the Vesuvius eruption. The impact on classical studies and history would be mind-boggling if it becomes possible to virtually unroll and read these lost scrolls.
The Economist article sits behind a paywall, but this website details the project (and the prize money involved!).
🍿Went to see Killers of the Flower Moon last night. Parts of the movie were extraordinary. Such a sad, sad story. But gosh, the 3 1/2 hour length was too long. With better editing, this could have been a 2 1/2 hour movie that held me on the edge of my seat.
Working my way through the backlog of Stephen King books I haven’t read (I’ve read over 50 of his books!?!). What a gifted and prolific storyteller he is!
Getting some culture today at the Phoenix Art Museum. Since moving to the area last December, we try to see something new each week on what we call our Adventure Thursdays (and eat: lunch at Welcome Diner was delicious).
Any Phoenicians here with recommendations on places we should visit?
The first lesson of philosophy is that we cannot be wise about everything. We are fragments in infinity and moments in eternity; for such forked atoms to describe the universe, or the Supreme Being, must make the planets tremble with mirth.
Will Durant, The Story of Civilization Volume III: Caesar and Christ
A good premise perhaps weakened by too many characters and side stories. The depression era setting, poor living conditions, and the horrors of racism and cruel treatment of people with disabilities felt Dickensian. McBride held my attention by the end, but a good editor might have helped maintain it all the way through. ★★★
The English word lost derives from the Old Norse los, which refers to the disbanding of an army. This etymology implies that losing one’s way is less about being in the wrong place than it is about letting go of planned endeavors, and embracing surprises rather than avoiding them.
Mary Pat Fennessy is one of the most compelling characters I’ve encountered in a while. She made the bleakness of the story worth it. And yes, the story is bleak!
I’ve wanted to see the Grand Canyon for as long I could remember. I think it was a Brady Bunch episode from the early 70s that first caught my imagination. They described the canyon as mountains lying down. Last week, we drove up from Phoenix and camped on the South Rim. We took our electric bicycles from Mather Campground to ride Hermit’s End. Even with such high expectations, I was floored by what I saw. We took the entire day to ride eight miles. We stopped and stared for long stretches. What a wonder. 🗺️
An Early morning departure across the Strait of Juan de Fuca. Watching the sun rise from the wheelhouse is a unique trawler life delight. Calm seas, light wind, a favorable current. Feeling especially blessed this morning.
Our first ever stern tie aboard Indiscretion here in Prideaux Haven! That was quite the experience. We learned so much about what not to do! Oh, and swear words come through loud and clear on our wireless Eartec headsets even when one member of the crew is on shore.
We’ve lived aboard Indiscretion now for 75 days. Other than the comical annoyance that anything you need is ALWAYS under or behind other awkward things that you must first haul out, life on this trawler has been amazing. And now that we’re underway, home takes on a richer meaning. In one sense, we have no home. We’re finally the vagabonds of our youthful aspirations. Yet, in another very real way, wherever we drop our anchor is home. Or, put differently, home for us has become a feeling, not a place.
I know there will be stormy passages and stressful nights in the weeks and months ahead. That’s life on a boat. But tonight, swinging on the anchor in this quiet, calm harbor on my own little ship, the immensity of the Salish Sea to discover and explore just outside these pilothouse windows, there’s no place in the world I’d rather call home.
We had such good intentions … We left Shilshole Marina on 6/1 with the northern reaches of British Columbia on our minds. This is the year to revisit Canada: the Sunshine Coast, The Broughtons, a slow cruise down the West Coast of Vancouver Island. We’d skip the San Juans altogether. Well, maybe just a stop over in Roche Harbor …
A week later, we are still here. After enjoying a long weekend at the wonderful SYC outstation on Henry Island, we made the seven mile voyage to Reid Harbor on Stuart Island. That’s a short trip even on a trawler.
We realized we were aching for a little peace and quiet after the frenzy and emotion of selling our longtime island home and the hustle and bustle of liveaboard life at Shilshole Marina. A little healing time is what we’re calling it. And I can’t think of a better way to let the stress of life fall away than on a boat at anchor in this one particular harbor …
Fall cruising in the Pacific Northwest brings such a variety of weather conditions. Full sun, clouds, rain, blustery winds, even hail and thunderstorms. We canceled many cruising opportunities on our sailboats when the forecast was iffy, but not anymore. This trawler provides a comfortable sanctuary for just about any kind of weather. And beautiful sunsets too. Trawler life is good!
Sometimes all it takes is a few quiet days and nights at anchor in some secluded bay. Any stress you might have brought aboard fell away in the wake of the voyage, but soon you rediscover a deeper level of relaxation and peace that you only seem to find on a boat. You slip into that easily misplaced rhythm of tide and weather and sky. Maybe it’s the primordial rocking, almost imperceptible on this heavy trawler, or the immediate connection to the fundamentals of life. You don’t dare examine it too closely. Allow the mystery of what drives us seaward be enough.
Back to reality: the lawn needs mowing, the deck needs pressure washing, the bills need paying … but a part of me is still afloat, feeling the gentle sway and rock, marveling at the colors and hush of twilight on a boat in the islands.
