Just musing on the amazing quality of light. I’ve been reading several science books lately, one in particular (The Invention of Science by David Wootton) that goes into considerable depth about actual Seeing as essential to the transformation of culture from a pre-scientific to scientific basis. But all of them deal with light as a founding subject for the apprehension of the world. Einstein won his Nobel because of the work he did on photons, Newton began with a study of optics, and quantum mechanics wouldn’t be giving both the joys and headaches of our present understanding of nature if not for the whole revelation about quanta and photons and wave functions…
It is essential to everything we are, whether we can see it or not. As Carl Sagan said, we are made of star stuff and you cannot think of stars separate from the light.
So a couple of images for you, showing the marvelous manifestations of light.
Caught out the window of the car on our way back from Pittsburgh.
Stepping out of my car in an underground garage, early morning, where an opportune window let this beauty in.
Have a good week.
In all the chatter about Russian interference in the last election, one question keeps coming up. It’s never fully answered and because of that, the question as to whether or not such interference occurred remains in play. At this point, it’s like climate change—everyone knows it happened, but how, in what form, and to what end are details the absence of which seem to insulate the president for the time being. That seems about to change with Comey’s testimony.
But that question—why, what does Putin hope to gain, what’s the pay-off?—bedevils people. Especially people raised on spy thrillers and James Bond and post-Cold War conspiracy porn.
It seems fairly evident that any hacks of voting systems were ineffective in changing ballots or anything so direct. What is important is the fact of the attempted hacking not the direct results on tallies. Something was done, but because there does not seem to be the kind of result that makes sense in terms of past history and strategic movements of the sort we expect, the whole thing exists in a murk.
Which was the point.
Putin would like to “restore” Russia to the size and influence of the former Soviet Union. He doesn’t necessarily want to resurrect the U.S.S.R. politically, at least not in terms of collectivist, Marxist ideology. That nonsense doesn’t interest him. He’s interested in power, pure and simple, and the one threat to that is still—the United States.
The telling moment was this whole mess in Ukraine. Not till the threat of NATO membership did Putin act. Despite what Trump might say, NATO still has teeth. Membership in the alliance carries many benefits beyond simple military cooperation and mutual defense, although that is huge when you stop to think about it—the confidence that the member states will guarantee your sovereignty has tremendous ancillary benefits. You can act in your own best interests without, or at least with much less, fear that those actions will be crushed by a neighbor. Which is what has happened to Ukraine.
Power and money, at this level, are two sides of the same coin. The sanctions imposed on Russia by Obama have throttled a potential windfall from the Siberian oil fields. Ukraine was a part of that. There is a huge amount of money bottled up because of Putin violating Ukrainian sovereignty. What he wants more than anything else is to get those sanctions lifted so the oil will flow.
But more than that, in the long run, he wants a free hand in his part of the world. He’s not exporting revolution, that’s no longer part of the Russian identity. He just wants to be a big, bad bear, in charge of his tundra, and able to play as an equal on the world stage. He wants what he possibly believes the West has been keeping Russian from since 1917.
In spite of the fact that over the last three decades we have hamstrung our ability to be a positive force in the world because we can’t see how making money and human rights conflict in the Third World, and because we are unwilling to put a muzzle on our corporations when they go into other countries and poison environments, undercut reforms, and damage the people we think we’re helping, it remains possible for us to actually do what we should have done after the Soviet Bloc collapsed, namely rebuild and stand for justice. We in fact do that, in limited but occasionally spectacular ways, but we rarely hear about any of it and too often we do a half-assed job because of our inability to see our way past our own paranoia and self interest. (The chaos and mess in Iraq is an example of shortsighted greed undercutting what might have turned out to be a major success, but I won’t go into that here.)
What Putin wants most is for our political will to remain locked up in a struggle with itself over questions of money versus ethical action. We have been doing a reasonably good job of keeping ourselves disorganized and conflicted without his help. But it is just possible that he sees what we do not yet see, and that is a younger generation coming up that is fed up with this kind of inanity that will put into power people who will act positively. That will impact the money sector, certainly, but its biggest impact may well be globally with an America once more of the kind that created the Peace Corps and embraced a humanitarian mission. It might create an America willing to call Putin’s bluff.
Of course, it’s not just the United States. And so we’ve been seeing signs of Russian interference in many elections, most recently in France (where it backfired and where the newly elected president publicly scolded Russia), not with a view to invasion or anything so dramatic, but purely for the chaos resulting that will distract the West from Putin’s actions. Putin can do nothing but benefit from a West that is paying little or no attention because it is tangled up in petty feuds and ideological mudwrestling. Undermining our confidence in our own electoral process will only feed that chaos and render us even less effective.
Did Trump and his people collude with the Russians to fix the election? Probably not, at least not in those terms. I think Trump really believed he could win without interference. I think he may have thought he was playing Putin, accepting a hand that would gain him advantage with the Russians afterward. Did he do it out any embrace of treason? No, he did it because a deal was on the table and there was a lot of money to be made, and that is simply how Trump sees the world. If he is impeached over any of this I suspect he will be genuinely surprised. It was, after all, the Game, and he sees himself a master of that game.
What he will not understand is that his game is the least important one and the one Putin is playing is both more sophisticated and more devious and with stakes Trump just might not understand.
But the bottom line is likely to be, all Putin wants is what he now has. We’re distracted, we’ve suffered a blow to the confidence in our systems and institutions, and the bitter squabbling over the right to make as much money as avarice demands continues but now with even less intelligent players.
Recently (last weekend) we attended the Nebula Awards in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. Actually, we went to visit our good friends, Tim and Bernadette. Tim—Timons Esaias—is an accomplished poet and a solid SF writer. You should go find his work, it will improve your mind. Bernadette, his wife and partner, is a physician and one of the finest people I’ve ever met. The gentleman with the magnificent mustache is Douglas Gwilym, whose acquaintance we had just made. And, of course, that’s Donna beside me, my sweetie.
This is the night of the reception and award ceremony, so we’re all appropriately attired. It was a fine night and the tributes to the writers and the craft and those we have lost this past year left me seriously moved. In any case, proof that we were there and that I at least can clean up well. More later.
Photograph by: Larry Ivkovich
At long last, in the fulness of time, it came to pass that the patio needed attention. Yea verily, the walkway from patio to garage lay sore in need of a makeover. The lineaments of the former had become a vexation to those of us who walk upon it daily. As can be seen and attested by this image, while in most ways decorous and even of distinctive character, the stones which we had set down to replace the joke which had lain from pad to door when we originally moved in had lost their charm. Winter especially proved awkward and we agreed that this was but an accident waiting to happen.
We’d inherited those stones from my parent when they redid the concrete around their house. They had formed a wall around a garden plot in the front of their house. Dad just wanted to pitch them. Donna immediately said we’d take them and we spent a hot summer weekend digging a trench and placing them as you see. Donna’s nephew Dan helped. I’m not sure I could do it again, certainly not in one weekend. I was proud of that walkway and it has done it’s job for over 20 years.
But it was time. Something a bit less picturesque and a lot more practical was in order. So we made our plans, got in touch with the man who did my parents’ concrete work, got a quote, and set date.
First problem. Because we’ve had a rainy spring, the date had to be flexible. As it turned out, we had a window. They showed up on a Friday, after almost a solid week of rain, to do the prep work.
Scott Schilling and two young men arrived around nine and went to work. They moved all those stones, piled them up, and started excavating. I spent the time doing other chores and some writing and occasionally emerging to document the process. (Because, like the kitchen remake, I knew I’d be writing one of these.)
It rained that day anyway, though barely. Not enough to cause a massive disruption. During the heaviest part, they sat in their truck and waited for it to pass, which it did.
Our backyard is…idiosyncratic? It has character. Over the years we’ve acquired a variety of objects which Donna has rather wonderfully incorporated. One major change this time is Coffey’s old digging pit. She hardly uses its anymore, so we had them dump the extra dirt in it and Donna went to work later remaking it.
Below is a series of shots from that first day.
The gravel laid, the forms in place, we just had to wait for another dry day to complete it. Fortunately, Sunday was gorgeous, so when they arrived Monday morning it was ready to receive the magic elixir of impenetrable solidity.
There’s something beautiful about wet, freshly-smoothed concrete. I almost wish it could have remained so gleaming. But in the rain and during winter ice, that could be dangerous.
It took them till almost noon to get it done. I had to go to work that afternoon. We did not use it for two days, despite assurances that it would be walkable by the next morning.
I almost wish we had opted to get the entire patio done at the same time, but that would have stretched the budget a bit too far. A project for a couple years from now. We will certainly use the same contractor.
Now, then, came the work to restore some semblance of order and charm to the wreck of the yard. Repurposing those stones was the first set of decisions. Some, we knew, were destined for the front of the house. I pulled up the wooden ties that had framed the small flower bed to the left of the porch. Replacing them—which was inevitable, as the bottom of the two ties had already turned to mulch—gave us a slightly larger area for flowers. I moved the stones carefully. A few of them weigh upwards of sixty or seventy pounds.
Shifting the remaining stones in the backyard was a more studied project. Some of them returned to their former positions, but now only as borders, with a trench for—yep—more flowers.
As for the extension of the patio, Coffey approves. At some point I intend to get a new grill, as we now have somewhere to put one where it can be semi-permanent and easily usable.
Just in time for the full spring bloom.
And I managed to get my improvisational bit of lawn art more permanently fixed. Donna added a touch (the dish) and things are falling into place.
Therefore, we conclude this report by admitting to be pleased with the results.
So there’s a meme going around on FaceBook about concerts. Basically, list 10 concerts, 9 of which you have actually been to and 1 you have not. Your friends are supposed to guess which one is the false claim.
I love music. I mean, if I could I would have a soundtrack backing my daily movements. I’ve been playing an instrument, either keyboard or guitar, since I was nine, and I have been buying albums (as opposed to 45 rpm singles) since I was fourteen. I went to my first honest-to-gosh-wow concert when I was thirteen (I’ve written about that before and will not repeat it here, because it was an anomaly) and started regularly attending at fifteen.
I have not seen a lot of live acts. Compared to some, I am woefully deprived of live concert experience. But I treasure the memory of all the ones I did see, which, mulling over my list for this silly/fun meme, turns out to be not too shabby.
I have seen Yes—my standard, musically—about eight or nine times. The first time was their Close To The Edge tour back in 1972. Poco opened for them.
Opening acts are very important. I mean, we usually go to see the headliner, but those opening acts are sometimes more significant. I only saw Gentle Giant because they opened for Rick Wakeman on his first solo tour, for Journey To The Center of the Earth.
I have seen Emerson, Lake & Palmer at least five times. My other standard in terms of music.
Jethro Tull five times. And here opening acts matter. I have seen, opening for JT—Brewer & Shipley, Journey (pre-Steve Perry), and The Band.
I saw a more or less forgotten British prog group that was AMAZING opening for Yes—Gryphon.
I saw Livingston Taylor, who opened for ELP (and a sadder pairing I have never seen since—no one gave a dove’s fart about Livingston Taylor at that show).
I have seen Kansas three times, Styx once, Starcastle once, and REO Speedwagon once. Of course. I live in St. Louis and am over forty.
Cat Stevens. John Denver (thank you, Vickie).
The Eagles, once, before their whole Hotel California period, but more importantly Dan Fogelberg opened for them. He was all by himself, no band, with a single guitar and a piano and he blew the Eagles away.
Joni Mitchell. Crosby, Stills, Nash (never Young). The Grateful Dead, twice. Santana (three times?) Deep Purple.
Uriah Heep, Fleetwood Mac (twice), Jeff Beck (twice), Jefferson Starship (twice), Jan Hammer, Ted Nugent (before he decided he was more than just a good guitar player)…
Earth, Wind, & Fire.
Mark-Almond. Focus. Billy Joel (twice). Renaissance. America. Wishbone Ash. Hot Tuna.
The Moody Blues (thrice). The Beach Boys.
Harry Chapin (twice).
Genesis (thrice). Robert Palmer (opening for Jeff Beck).
Led Zeppelin. And then, many years later, the Page & Plant tour. David Bowie (once, early, the Ziggy Stardust tour).
Todd Rundgren’s Utopia.
The Who (twice).
Unfortunately, opening for the Who was Lynard Skynnard. That is one of the downsides of opening acts, from time to time you will see (and suffer through) a real disappointment. Opening for Uriah Heep I saw an outfit called Tucky Buzzard, which was the only time I preferred a Stones version to the cover. (Sorry, folks, I know the Rolling Stones are up on Olympus for a lot of people, but I can’t stand them. Love their songs—done by other people, except this time.)
Then there were a whole roster of Other Acts that may surprise. I saw Neil Diamond, who is a consummate showman. I saw Liza Minnelli. Ferrante and Teicher. Arlo Guthrie.
Joe Pass, Oscar Peterson, and Count Basie, all in the same night. Branford Marsalis.
Barney Kessel and Herb Ellis (you can Google them and then acquaint yourselves—superb jazz guitarists).
At this point I would have to go unbury all my saved ticket stubs. I have missed a few, I know. More than a few, maybe. So I’ll probably have to do this again.
But it sent me down into the archives and I came back with some terrific memories. We stopped going because the scene grew progressively less tolerable. First when the drug of choice changes from pot to beer. I’m sorry, it’s true—sitting in a crowd of several thousand beer-swilling people can be a bit dangerous. Whatever else you might say about it, marijuana makes for a much more pleasant audience. Then the security situation got ridiculous. I don’t care to be patted down just to see a concert. And to be fair, I don’t care for big crowds to begin with.
But occasionally, you just have to go see a performer you love. So this summer we’re going to see Santana. Again.
So thanks for the meme—er, memory.