Occupation of Independence

It is worth exulting over the passing of another summer, even though it was a merciful one, that is, cool and wet. Summer is a season that must be suffered stoically.  Oh certainly, August is still a summer month. But the small improvements compared to July are noticeable: slightly later sunrises and longer shadows in mid-day; and cooler temperatures, even if it is only a couple degrees. The proper equipment for enjoying the outdoors in the Southwest. It is a fundamental fact of human existence that a couple percent of improvement from a given base seems to affect a person more than the base. Even easier to appreciate is the waning of the tourist season in Colorado. Some of the big school districts restart in early August, these days.  The icing on the cake is that we are getting afternoon thundershowers that might not bring a lot of rain, but they bring clouds, shade, and a 10--15F cooling off. How magnificent!

I have long accepted that I am artistically challenged, in the sense that visual arts have no effect on me. Rather than taking that issue on by direct frontal attack, I prefer an indirect, flanking movement. That is, it seems preferable to stretch the definition of what "art" is. The other day, my dog and I were bicycling by the Rocks. Out of the corner of my eye I caught a dog and a half dozen small children frolicking on the rocks. Talk about the indirect approach! There is a lot to be said for catching things on the edge of your vision. Photo taken a couple years ago at a festival in Silver City, NM. I guess readers don't expect photos taken on the same day and at the same place as the written post. I look for photos (and why do they need to mine?) that are visual representations of the ideas I am writing about. I am not trying to document the Here and the Now. Something about it fired my imagination. It made me turn in to the campsite and give the parents

Give in to the whimsical, and imagine Gilbert and Sullivan working in the tourism industry in Colorado, in summer. What a field day they would have, especially with "I've Got a Little List." [KO-KO] As some day it may happen that a victim must be found I've got a little list — I've got a little list Of society offenders who might well be underground And who never would be missed — who never would be missed! There's the pestilential nuisances who write for autographs — All people who have flabby hands and irritating laughs — All children who are up in dates, and floor you with 'em flat — All persons who in shaking hands, shake hands with you like that — And all third persons who on spoiling tête-á-têtes insist — They'd none of 'em be missed — they'd none of 'em be missed! [Chorus] He's got 'em on the list — he's got 'em on the list; And they'll none of 'em be missed — they'll none of 'em

Whenever a certain RV friend visits the area, I feel inspired to simplify my rig. In the past, that urge has had pretty important consequences. So I tried to get in the mood again, this year. It had been awhile since I had made use of the 20 dead-tree books that I carry in my tow vehicle. So it seemed like a good idea to reread them, and try harder to replace them with the eBook version. The first book was "The Heavenly City of the Eighteenth Century Philosophers," by Carl Becker. It is tempting to try to explain why I have always loved this book, but maybe analyzing the book will kill its beauty! Aw hell, I'll do it anyway: the book is about a fundamental topic; it is short; although written by a professor, it is enjoyable to read; it doesn't let the trees get in the way of the forest; and it is full of imaginative warmth.  Therefore it is a good book to practice the consummate skill of trying to 'rip the book's heart out', that is, extractin

What pompous fools most intellectuals are! They think they are accomplishing something by cogitating over the Big Questions, and burying everybody under a mountain of vague verbiage. Once again, the afternoon sky had come alive and threatening. What a show it is!...this noisy blustering of the Indo-European male sky gods, strutting across the sky, high over our 'sagebrush sea.' As the Sky built up to its climax, a young man and his dog mountain biked by my campsite. On the ascent the dog finally got the better of the biker, and spurted ahead. My dog ran out to check the dog out. This gave us a chance to talk. We had to communicate quickly because the biker was afraid of cold rain, lightning, or hail. (It was like that scene at the beginning of the "Wizard of Oz", when Dorothy and Toto are on the run, and you wonder if they are going to get home before the twister hits.) The dog had a pair of doggie saddlebags on, which carried water, a collapsible wate