I figured out how to explain it. You know, that thing that happens when you get home from vacation and walk back into your house, and suddenly, don’t remember who you used to be when you lived there? Or a week or two of Special Events or Troubling Aberrations will do the same thing. Which is presently my case.
I have lost track of my vector. The vector I keep in my head.
You are blinking. Why are you blinking? A vector: a graphical representation of any force having magnitude, direction and a point of application.
You are still blinking. Okay: look.
Graphical representation: a picture or graph.
Point of application – the place my hand is when I begin to sling the thing.
Direction – you know what that is.
Magnitude – REALLY FAST AND really HARD
The broken glass has no relevance to this discussion. Maybe to the last post. (I have to explain to you that I memorized this definition in Mr. Hanson’s ninth grade science class in Hartsdale, New York, and I never have forgotten it.)
In other words, after the refrigerators are exchanged and the health insurance is replaced and M comes home and Char leaves and I have half set up the new book site, all of my life-staples seek to sink back into a state of normalcy – BUT, I find that I have lost my sense of forward movement. Which step is next? Where did I leave off? Loose ends – I know they’re there, but I totally forget how to find them. Lost my point of application. Lost my direction. Certainly lost the magnitude. Spinning on the ground like a ground bloom flower.
So, in honor of not being sure what it was I was supposed to be doing, I’m going to show you random pictures from the last couple of months.
Chaz in her tailor-made Organization Thirteen (yeah, I don’t know what that is, either) coat.
The early spring yard after two days without rain (back in May), early morning.
Out the bedroom window.
Looks like the same shot over and over – but it’s actually just the same yard.
The storm clouds that watered all that green.
These clouds are up above the lake where the sky is wide and wild.
I think I posted this before: The Dog Who Looks Up. I do not call him the dog THAT looks up because he is a person, not a thing. He is hunting birds, butterflies and anything else that flies.
Actually, I’m surprised he doesn’t trip and end up on his face, he’s always so focussed on the sky.
See?
Chaz. I don’t know who this character is, but I think it suffers regular angst. One tough, scary cookie.
Yeah. You can put the tough on the girl, but you can’t hide the silly inside.
Tough character baby talking a dog. I was trying to catch that dog’s tongue, but I missed.
Our ancient tulips. I have a story to tell about them. But not today.
When I come home from the pasture, I swing around the corner into the neighborhood, and sometimes the sky is so amazing, I have to stop, open the door of the Suburban, then hanging half out of it, clinging to the roof, try to capture what I’ve seen. See the clouds at the very top of the mountain? Sometimes what look like clouds are actually ice particles and snow, whipped off the peaks by the wind and sent hundreds of feet into the air.
And that’s the end. Life continued tomorrow –
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