near the end of autumn in the southeast.

This time of year in the southeastern United States has these mid-morning thaws, in which a thin veneer of overnight or early morning frost beings to melt in the brilliant near-winter sunlight.

This thaw is like the renewing of the mind, the growing midday temperature being a kind of growing hope, a kind of destiny enlarging and increasing with the advance of the clock.

And overnight?  Like the caterpillar entering his little cocoon for later, a kind of "gone to earth" type of wish for rejuvenation, and during the day, the romance is to come as the thaw comes, the ice "effervescing", turning from white to clear, a thin skin of frost becoming water, and the clear water then evaporating in the later midday.

We're in a kind of bated breath that happens between Thanksgiving and Christmas, when the advertisers are wanting our money, and the loved ones are beginning to impinge upon our time: baking, shopping, the red velour ribbons, green wreaths of cedar or pine, and the white oak leaves are our version of snow across the SEC.

Review: The Merry Wives of Windsor.

 

The Merry Wives of WindsorThe Merry Wives of Windsor by William Shakespeare
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

A comedy without a lot of Shakespeare's usual verbal flourish, which should be far from off-putting for the modern reader, because it means this one is more accessible than some of his other plays.

History says that the English queen suggested that she wanted to see a comedy featuring John Falstaff, and here Shakespeare complies in what could be called "John Falstaff and the Merry Wives of Windsor".

Accessible, somewhat physical, and somewhat also "adult" featuring humor regarding infidelity and jealousies, with of course, a stock wedding featuring a daughter torn between her parents' choices in suitors for her: but that's really just a subplot, in the long run.

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The God of Hope providing Peace and Joy to the believer.

If only it were worded this way.  But here are three King James Version verses stringed together from different books.

"Now the God hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, that ye may abound in hope, through the power of the Holy Ghost.

Now unto him that is able to do exceeding abundantly above all that we ask or think, according to the power that worketh in us.

And God is able to make all grace abound toward you; that ye, always having all sufficiency in all things, may bound to every good work."

This was:

Romans 15:13

Ephesians 3:20

2 Corinthians 9:8

Shuffling the verses often makes a great message, but may or may not damage the context of the passage.

Productivity: DRICE method for productivity and Google Workspace Calender with Metrics("Time Analysis")

lenny@substack.com has a piece from Darius Contractor on the "detailed RICE framework", which can be applied to pretty much any question-decision-action cycle, not just in business.

Also, Google Workspace has added schedule metrics("Time Analysis") to Google Calendar in Workspace.  It looks good, and without the paid account or pro account, one has to use add-ins for such info.

One can look back and get tabulations and even graphs of time spent and comparisons of time spent at various things, even color coded.

 

as always

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Henry David Thoreau and Walden

"Screw you all.  I'm going to live in the woods for a while."

He took him to the woods, for lack of much else of substance to do.  He was classically educated, Ivy League, studying Greek, reading Homer in the Greek, as was the fashion of the day, that so much of the curricula bedrock of the day dovetailed with the Ancient Greek language.

He started a school that failed, and for a time, he was even Ralph Waldo Emerson's housekeeper, just earning a wage and on occasion writing a book.

A unique man, educated, but in plain language, he could justify at length so much of his own existence.

Consider it: a person without a proper career.  In today's age of goals and devices, one works a career towards a dream home, and then, Dr Martin Seligman and others have studies that indicate that the peak of happiness in this modern existence is a vacation of at least one week.  So the dream is to take a break from the dream, maybe.

Thoreau took most of a year, near Concord Massachusetts, camped-out in a self-built cabin on the edge of Walden Pond.  He had some 30 dollars in groceries, mostly staples, as he seemed to live on a kind of hard-tack or "hoe-cake" or something, a simple fritter of sorts of simply flour and water.

His approach seems to be an outsider's look, as in an earlier writing, the "Two Weeks...", in a chapter on "Sundays", he looked at religion from what seemed to be an outsider's perspective, uniquely original, taking on eyes of someone seeing for the first time, and explaining as if speaking to someone with no knowledge of the thing.  Clinical, like, and a nice little time capsule for the modern era.

There was, of course, the "Two Weeks On The Potomac and Merrimack Rivers" and his "Cape Cod", in which he gave a nice naturalist view of the flora and fauna of the countryside, though he dips less into that literary vein in Walden.

The ultimate bit of minimalist philosophy, perhaps, in a man, not of property or stature, with perhaps a bit of an odd reputation.  And of the modern era, we note that his work survives so-called "counter culture" because he was an abolitionist, in the present lensing of history: one of the "good guys".  A day laborer quite often, working a harvest, helping raise a barn, for his income, then finding fame in posterity later as an author, eclipsing to an extent the Transcendentalist Emerson in his lasting influence.

Indeed, a first edition of such a book as Walden would be a great prize for my own person if I were not such a downcast poor day laborer myself, but I have annotated copies in plain print, and a digital Thoreau, "Complete Works", with of course, access to Thoreau with Gutenberg holdings and the Walden Pond Society.

In reading Walden, we have kind of an intoxication of neuroplasticity, pathways in the brain being routed, something in the unique quality of the writing, the originalist kind of perspective, the renaissance man of the youngling America, and we find that thinking can be intoxicating, and thinking about thinking is an even higher intoxication, as Thoreau talks about laying in the mid-morning sun on the bank of the lake, and so forth, having his idle time outside of tending his garden, reading Homer.  

Consider this somewhat "contemplative", a time of being lost in one's thoughts.  As is said in the King James, "God man made upright, but man has sought many devices".  I note the overbearing presence of the cell phone in modernity.  Android now gives the casual user a usage report weekly, tallying total hours of usage, and even presenting in terms of metrics, a comparison of week-to-week numbers.

Thoreau was minimalist, before minimalist was cool, and a "contemplative" but not in the religious sense.

Note that Civil Disobedience is not mentioned here.  It's a work for its own page, I think, worthy of so much mention for not only its substance, but its influence in the history of American Civil Rights.

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Instruistoj Hat: Hawthorne and Young Goodman Brown

It seems of no consequence: what "they" thought was evil, and the modern dissipation in contrast, what would bugger church-focused youngling America, and the very complex, vague evils of today.

But the point is universal, across cultures, that the young husband wanted to find out the secret of the young wife, and he took to finding out, seeing what Maury would chime, "the lie detector has determined..."

Across a bridge of interpretation, following his bride, unknowing, into the night-time woods, is the same as catching her asleep during Captain America, and going through her phone.

Not unlike me catching my 9 year old Caitlyn with a stash of Cuban cigars.  "You should take a belt to that little ass."  Of course, thank you, but I don't really want to be a DSS casefile.

Me, telling her we don't support communism, and she telling me that she doesn't, that she's just a flaming nihilist, instead.

Not that we're at all, any of us, above that sort of thing.

And "goodman".  Como se dice?  Just a dude, a young man, young but grown, a man making his life, and titled in no other way, such that in the largely Puritan influenced church-focused America, a Mister is as such, with no encumbrances or liens upon his heritage, is known as a "goodman", and women?

Goodwomen.

Hawthorne, called a great American writer, and his horrific tales put in textbooks, is rarely yet spoken of as a good horror writer.  And he also dabbled a bit in science-fiction, but the labels of those elude his work, thanks to the lensing of early America and all that in his work.

Why, his very epoch of history has cemented him into the textbooks, that we have insight into what was horrific or heart-wrenching for that era of America.

For a young couple, a young husband, what's the bad thing that could happen?  Superlatively bad, when infidelity in early America was somewhat out of the scope of imagination, what would that point to as being a real evil for a young couple?

Answer next time.

As young Brown discovers something about his miss that he did not know.

"The lie detector has determined...."

Truth with Emily Dickinson and Anna Barbauld, approaching wisdom and reason and Thomas Payne as a capstone.

Tell all the truth but tell it slant--
Success in Circuit lies
Too bright for our infirm Delight
The Truth's superb surprise

As Lightning to the Children eased
With explanation kind
The Truth must dazzle gradually
Or every man be blind.

-Emily Dickinson

Indeed, ease into it, or come at it from a state of ease, in a state of ease.

This truth thing that buggers us so much, in the svelte era of the interplay of ease and rationalism, heightened senses to be calipered and so forth, as France fumbles over it itself again and again, from overthrowing fat self-interested monarchs, to the killing of political enemies, to the empire and all.

Too bright...

Here now, the days become shorter, here, November 3 in the Southeast USA.  We will not have such a glut of sunlight with which to contend, but more and more darkness, and then the bugaboo of Daylight Savings Time, we shall, turn over the truth thoughtfully again and again in the gloom before we scream it to the world--plenty of time!

There is an eye that never sleepeth; there is an eye that seeth in dark night, as well as in the bright sunshine.

When there is no light of the sun, nor of the moon: when there is no lamp in the house, nor any little star twinkling through the dark clouds; that eye seeth everywhere, in all places, and watcheth continually over all the families of the earth.

The eye sleepeth not, is God's; his hand is always stretched out over us.

-Anna Laetitia Barbauld

Mr. Burke has two or three times in his parliamentary speeches, and in his publications, made use of a jingle of words that conveyed no ideas.  Speaking of a government, he says, "It is better to have monarchy for its basis, and republicanism for its corrective, than republicanism for its basis, and monarchy for its corrective."  If that means that it is better to correct folly with wisdom, than wisdom with folly, I will no otherwise contend with him, than to say it would be much better to reject folly altogether.

-Thomas Paine

 

Eternity, the void of our own reflections, a bruise on space time, and the obsolescence of the spirit in autumn/fall scenery.


 

To test many things, some watch youtube videos or tik yok, while others measure and form hypothesis; yet to test eternity we have but to ignorantly leap into it with an unguarded heart.

The void we leap into is actually our lives. The hopes and anxieties and so forth are generated within each of us and dictate our perspective so often without reflecting the reality of any given situation.

"We could live like other people."

"We're not other people...."


We are perhaps, a bruise upon the space time continuum, on a hard little rock of iron careening around and around a giant bonfire of radiation and magnetic particles.

Me or thee?

To the learning of, and the testing of, many things, and the awareness, Socratic, of things of which we are not aware, the sensation of a larger universe, and no end to learning and eternal trek of neuroplasticity in which we form new pathways in the brain, that feeling, as good as drugs or sex or other dissipations; while the western world watches Disney movies, we careen onward into, over, under and through old books(no Youtube video Cliff-Notes versions),

and we hasten, but also idle, too, to experience the world in it's original Shakespeare.

A lusterous, somber, sleepy change of seasons which brings beautiful reading weather, and beautiful weather for mid-afternoon walks; indeed, in the Western world, such is in part owned by Robert Frost, speaking a double-talk of his classroom charges and family, afternoon loafing, ambling, excursions into something nearly mystical--the Ruysbroeck of New England, Maugham's poet rusting away in happiness.  At once Poet Laureate of the entire United States during the era of the Kennedy dynasty.

Why, other than the leaves falling, under an overcast day, it's silent as a tomb, a silence otherwise spared for the hours before hurricanes in the Southeast, that quietness, and the birds gone away.




Mahjong Solitaire Adventure/Avenger, two Taylor Swift metrics, Meta's llama3: reflections in a speckled teet.

Tormented deputy Tate Smith left a note, dejected and deep down with the "inner anxiety", saying something, almost a Dear John, th...