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February 27, 2005

Different Worlds


”Reggio Emilia, Italy, 1984” by Charles Traub at Gitterman

This photo appeared in the 2/28 edition of the New Yorker and it simply made me smile (and smile and smile). Gitterman's web site has more of Traub's work - there's more where this came from.

Posted by pgutwin at 11:51 AM

February 26, 2005

I've been thinking

I’ve been thinking a lot about my favorite poem by Robert Frost (from his book Steeple Bush, 1946). The poem has a number of powerful themes – history, struggle, loss and redemption. It has a pathetic, yet wise-cracking tone, a sad story that is a caricature of itself. For reasons I can’t clearly explain, this tone more than anything seems to sum up life in Vermont. Actually, I should say it sums up life - the texture used in the poem of mountain farms failing could easily be translated to the death of a mill town, or the fading of a cultural icon.

The last few years have been a struggle for a lot of people. The economic downturn, the political environment, and stresses in the social fabric of our country have reminded us of how fragile we are, how fragile we as a people are. Frost speaks of a failed farm and a failed town, but oddly, at every turn of phrase he allows some sense of hope or new life to almost break into view, yet subside.

But this is not a poem of defeat. Frost elegantly sums up the lesson we should draw – “drink and be whole again beyond confusion”, that is, This Is Life. Loss leads to fulfillment. Confusion leads to understanding.

This is a difficult poem, but the only one I keep coming back to over and over again. Check it out in the "Continue Reading" section.

Directive

Back out of all this now too much for us,
Back in a time made simple by the loss
Of detail, burned, dissolved, and broken off
Like graveyard marble sculpture in the weather,
There is a house that is no more a house
Upon a farm that is no more a farm
And in a town that is no more a town.
The road there, if you’ll let a guide direct you
Who only has at heart your getting lost,
May seem as if it should have been a quarry-
Great monolithic knees the former town
Long since gave up pretense of keeping covered.
And there’s a story in a book about it:
Besides the wear of iron wagon wheels
The ledges show lines ruled southeast-northwest
The chisel work of an enormous Glacier
That braced his feet against the Artic Pole.
You must not mind a certain coolness from him
Still said to haunt this side of Panther Mountain.
Nor need you mind the serial ordeal
Of being watched from forty cellar holes
As if by eye pairs out of forty firkins.
As for the woods’ excitement over you
That sends light rustle rushes to their leaves,
Charge that to upstart inexperience.
Where were they all not twenty years ago?
They think too much of having shaded out
A few old pecker-fretted apple trees.
Make yourself up a cheering song of how
Someone’s road home from work this once was,
Who may be just ahead of you on foot
Or creaking with a buggy load of grain.
The height of the adventure is the height
Of country where two village cultures faded
Into each other. Both of them lost.
And if you’re lost enough to find yourself
By now, pull in your ladder road behind you
And put a sign up CLOSED to all but me.
Then make yourself at home. The only field
Now left’s no bigger than a harness gall.
First there’s the children’s house of make-believe,
Some shattered dishes underneath a pine,
The playthings in the playhouse of children.
Weep for what little things could make them glad.
Then for the house that is no more a house,
But only a belilaced cellar hole,
Now slowly closing like a dent in dough.
This was no playhouse but a house in earnest.
Your destination and your destiny’s
A brook that was the water of the house,
Cold as a spring as yet so near it’s source,
Too lofty and original to rage.
(We know the valley streams that when aroused
Will leave their tatters hung on barb and thorn.)
I have kept hidden in the instep arch
Of an old cedar at the waterside
A broken drinking goblet like the Grail
Under a spell so the wrong ones can’t find it,
So can’t get saved, as Saint Mark says they mustn’t.
(I stole the goblet from the children’s playhouse.)
Here are your waters and your watering place.
Drink and be hole again beyond confusion.

Posted by pgutwin at 11:39 PM | Comments (0)

It's been a busy week

This has been a busy week, although you wouldn't know it by looking at my work schedule. There just seemed to be a lot of interruptions (more than normal), and I've also been trying to plan Beth's birthday festivities.

The birthday plan started as a pretty extravagant affair (Bed & Breakfast, dinner at an exclusive restaurant in the upper valley, etc.) but the more it came into focus, the less enthusiasm I felt. Finally I realized that we already live in a pretty spectacular place - we should just enjoy it here. So far we're having a great time, and more in store Sunday and Monday, the actual day of the celebrated birth. It really is a privilege to live in Vermont.

Posted by pgutwin at 10:45 PM | Comments (0)

February 20, 2005

Running again

Today was the first "long" run for me since January (6.4 mi., 9 min pace). Difficulty with my Achilles tendon and then the flu have kept me from running, but today everything finally lined up for a good run. Good in the "I did what I planned to" sense. My strength and endurance are still well below where I had hoped to be at this point. I think I can get back on track for the marathon, but I need to do a little more detailed planning to know.

My thought is to spend a few more weeks doing 2-3 mile daily runs, and build up to 10 mile weekend run. From there I need to pack in the long (12-18 mile) weekend runs. That's the "fun" part. I hope to finish my training with a 20 mile weekend run about 2 weeks before the marathon.

I was reminded today of how solitary running is. A well organized and attended marathon is really crowded with runners and spectators. It's a great time overall, but when I'm running in the marathon I keep thinking "where were all these people in February"? I was glad they were all someplace else today. The quiet was really nice.

Posted by pgutwin at 4:18 PM | Comments (2)

February 18, 2005

Go Andy!


All the sailors in the Burlington area are very proud that Andy Horton won the 2005 Rolex Miami OCR regatta. Andy grew up sailing on Lake Champlain and has gone on to make quite a name for himself in one design sailing.

Posted by pgutwin at 9:38 PM

February 16, 2005

More testing of the emergency blogging system

This is yet another test of the KEBS (Karl's Emergency Blogging System). Stay tuned for blog posts containing actual content.

Paul Gutwin

Sent from: Paul Gutwin

Posted by pgutwin at 8:10 AM | Comments (0)

February 15, 2005

Talking tunes

The rush to add music to my phone is really interesting. For quite a while I've wanted an mp3 enabled phone so I could listen to music while hanging out at the airport etc.. Now that it's really happening, I have to choosee between Nokia, Moto and others...

I really like iTunes, but I'm also very partial to Nokia phones. Now I have to choose which one I'm more fond of. Some times being a consumer is really hard.

Posted by pgutwin at 10:08 PM | Comments (1)

February 12, 2005

Caught in the Act of Conspiracy

If Dr. Dobson read the New Yorker with any intrest, this cartoon may never have been drawn. Then again, we might also have a more forgiving and inclusive society as well.
SpongeBob.gif

Posted by pgutwin at 12:03 PM | Comments (0)

Recalled to Life

This is actually the tale of only one city, Burlington, and there was nothing quite so dramatic as a swords-waiving-in-the-air revolution going, but I do feel I've returned for an imprisonment of sorts. My prison was in the land of "I'm so sick I can't read", and it was unfortunately extended by being conjoined with the land of "I'm so busy with critical work items I can't sleep". This is offered by way of explanation - save your sympathy for something of value.

On the topic of work, I've been struck by the nature of the frontier of science and industry. It's wild in the classic sense, where rules of thumb regarding efficiency and value break down, but you can't tell that until it's too late. Radical ideas of value become normal once the backwards thinking nature of the old rules of thumb are reveled to be inefficient. It forces one to question one's own intuition, and that can cause a lot of confusion (e.g. an American driver in England for the first time). Living on the frontier requires a constant readjustment of one's intuition. Change or die is the norm. It's a life many aren’t prepared for.

The weather last weekend was spectacular. Living in Vermont we get these odd confluences of circumstances, and last weekend was warm (high 40's to low 50's), lots of solid ice on the lake and a decent snow pack on the mountains. Skiing, skating and ice boating were all pan-dimensional (from what I hear). I of course was mainly flat on my back with the flu, but it didn't stop me from going out for a walk a couple times, alone or with Beth and friends. One particular walk, down by the waterfront in Burlington was practically a religious experience. The haze in the air made the air glisten - the brilliant sun poured over the people frolicking on the frozen lake, all with a backdrop of blue sky and mountains. That memory is a keeper, and one of the serendipitous moments that make up Living in Vermont.

Posted by pgutwin at 10:52 AM | Comments (0)