A Musical Offering

by JanieM Farmstand in October – better version here. I was trying to write a post about nanny tech – a phrase I thought I had invented until I googled it. But it’s hard to have orderly thoughts about anything this close to the election, so instead of that post, I’ve made a YouTube playlist … Read more

“The Biden Thing”

by JanieM   As suggested by Pete, a thread for anyone who wants to talk about "the Biden thing." I've been skimming BJ threads about it and picking up snippets of opinions and news articles from here and there, and I think my best course is to say nothing atm (as per this song), although … Read more

Trees, Water, and Sociopathy

by JanieM

 

We need an open thread (if only so I can post this story), so here we go.

The view from a trail in Belgrade (or Rome?), Maine, on Mother's Day of 2023. The ponds were the site, IIRC, of some of the filming for the movie On Golden Pond. The line of hills in the distance is the Camden Hills, behind which is Camden, the setting of the following story.

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Turmoil

by JanieM Still traveling, very aware of my luck in only having to read the headlines, not live them.  Open thread. ***** The Presumpscot River, downtown Westbrook, Maine, after yet another winter storm. Bigger version here.

Maybe Someday

by JanieM

Preface: I’ve had a draft of this post rolling around in my head for a while. I picked some photos to go with it, then let it sit around some more. It’s just a little slice of life, and probably relevant to a number of us, but it also feels incredibly trivial in the light of wars, assassinations, the ongoing attempted destruction of American democracy, climate change, and anything else you’d like to add from the headlines. Then again, vaguely nodding toward the serenity prayer, life is quiet in my corner of the world right now, so on a day to day basis this is just one of the things I think about.

Open thread.

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My to-do list includes several projects that are, in effect, endless, including the one where I try to get rid of all kinds of stuff I don’t need anymore. (Or never did.)

Some people tackle a project and don’t stop until it’s finished. Not me. I chip away at things and get them done eventually, but the very nebulousness and lack of urgency of this task makes the chipping away even more desultory than usual. I putter in my attic in spring and fall, when it’s not too hot or too cold up there. I purge no longer needed financial records once a year. I take boxes to the Goodwill now and then – mostly clothes and books.

Okay, mostly books.

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Still and Always

by JanieM

Rebecca Solnit has a long essay in the London Review of Books called In the Shadow of Silicon Valley. It opens with a meditation on driverless cars:

I’ve become somewhat used to driverless cars in the years they’ve been training on the city’s streets, first with back-up human drivers, and then without. They are here despite opposition from city officials, including the fire chief, and San Francisco recently sued the California state bureau that gave companies licence to use the streets as their laboratory. Firefighters have reported driverless cars attempting to park on firehoses; last June one such car prevented emergency vehicles from reaching victims of a shooting; the vehicles are apparently unequipped to assess these situations and respond by stopping. Direct communication isn’t an option: the only way to get a driverless car to do anything is to contact the company in charge of it.

In early October, a driverless car owned by Cruise, a subsidiary of General Motors, hit a woman who’d just been struck by another car, and in the course of performing what was described as a rote ‘pullover manoeuvre’ dragged her twenty feet, mangling her badly and leaving her trapped under its wheels. The device was unable to detect that it was on top of a human and would not respond to rescuers, who had to lift the car off her. Cruise withdrew its 950 driverless vehicles, but Waymo, a company launched by Google’s parent company, Alphabet, continues to send its cars onto the streets.

Driverless cars are often called autonomous vehicles – but driving isn’t an autonomous activity. It’s a co-operative social activity, in which part of the job of whoever’s behind the wheel is to communicate with others on the road. Whether on foot, on my bike or in a car, I engage in a lot of hand gestures – mostly meaning ‘wait!’ or ‘go ahead!’ – when I’m out and about, and look for others’ signals. San Francisco Airport has signs telling people to make eye contact before they cross the street outside the terminals. There’s no one in a driverless car to make eye contact with, to see you wave or hear you shout or signal back. The cars do use their turn signals – but they don’t always turn when they signal.

Solnit's point about driving being a cooperative social activity is one I’ve never seen made before, yet it’s (semi-consciously) central to my own thinking about driving. For too many people driving is more like a competitive cage match than a cooperative problem-solving enterprise, but even then it’s a matter of humans participating with other humans. The cooperative use of cars is central to the whole notion of public roadways, and I have never seen the lack of it brought up before in discussions of the “wonders” of driverless vehicles.

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Water

by JanieM

Maine folksinger Gordon Bok has an album called “Another Land Made of Water,” the name meant to evoke the Maine coast’s rocky, fir-trimmed bays and inlets, where water and land are magically interwoven.

My picture-taking habit has made me realize that inland Maine, where I live, is yet another “land made of water.” Everywhere you look there are lakes and streams, and since Mainers want access to the water for fishing, snowmobiling, and the like, public boat landings are plentiful. For me, the boat landings provide dandy places to park the car and take pictures.

Water has been a mixed blessing this year, Maine’s ninth rainiest on record. On the positive side, the rain helped create an unusual variation on fall color: the grass was such a deep emerald green that you might almost have thought you were in Ireland. It was especially lovely next to the autumn leaves, persisting late into the season and fading only after a couple of hard frosts.

On the negative side this year were the storms and floods…

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Light

by JanieM

(This was drafted and ready to go when lj's post went up on Christmas Eve. I would have used it as a comment, but I wanted to include some pictures.)

Christmas got diluted for me this year, what with car problems, illness (not mine and not serious, but hampering), the birth of another grandchild (a reason for rejoicing, but also a time sink 😊), storms and floods and a mass shooting to sap my energy.

So – I have lights in the windows, gifts wrapped, and a bit of celebratory food to make, but for the first time in my life, and I hope the last, no Christmas tree. I didn’t even get time to go cut some pine branches to bring that lovely scent into the house. (Maybe I still will.)

As always, though, I’ve enjoyed the light displays in public places and other people’s windows and yards, because for me, light is basically what this time of year is about. The season of increasing darkness in late fall always slows me down, so maybe it makes sense that this turning of the year cheers me up, despite the months of brutal weather yet to come.

Sending best wishes to everyone here for a new, improved year in 2024, personally and politically. Plus, thanks to all of you who hang around here continuing the conversation.

Open thread.

(Pictures below the fold.)

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Imagining

by JanieM I’m having a hard time finding a topic encompassable in a blog post. Partly a problem with my aging brain and the ability to condense and prioritize…partly a problem with current headlines/topics. Factoids: The Gaza strip consists of almost 2.4 million people in an area of 141 square miles. My school district consists … Read more

Grief

by JanieM

Report from my neighborhood, nineteen days later –

Flags are still flying at half-staff in Maine. I see them everywhere as I drive around the countryside, and I try not to cry. Twice a week I drive through the town where Robert Card shot his last victim – himself; it's not hard to imagine that he, like so many people, had to struggle with mental illness in a harsh, uncaring culture that would rather worship billionaires than take care of the ill and unlucky among us.

Similarly with every news article about the massacre, its antecedents, and its aftermath. I still cry. I don’t know when this will stop, and it makes me wonder how the families and friends of the victims of an event like this ever … I won’t say get over it, because I don’t see how they can … but at least pick up their lives and start moving forward again.

News articles are full of blather. Are there enough mental health resources? Did the police, or the army, or social services, screw up the handling of Card in the months before the shootings? Is Maine’s “yellow flag” law flawed? (Duh.) Was the manhunt mishandled?

On and on and on. It’s like we (the collective American “we”) have built a huge Rube Goldberg machine to avoid having to deal with the one part of this mess that's relatively straightforward, if not easily solvable, human nature being what it is. That part is the fact that this country allows private citizens to own weapons of mass murder, which apparently no one can stop them from taking to schools, bowling alleys, and places of worship to gun people down by the dozen.

I have a friend who works with a lot of gun owners, who, to a man (yes) say that they don’t care how many kindergartners are murdered, they will never give up their guns, or support any tighter restrictions on the private ownership of weapons of war.

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