When is there too much of something? Too many Flowers? Too much Music?
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Too much Joy? Too much Love? Too much Peace?
Can there ever be enough of something? I don’t know, I guess so. Maybe of some things. William Blake said we don’t know what enough is until we’ve had too much. But is that really the same thing as too large an amount? Aldous Huxley said we can’t have Heaven without Hell. That we need comparisons, or more accurately we need contrasts. Rather like we would not know a thing intimately or would get used to and therefor tire of something repetitious. I really don’t know.
The thought of this makes some of us want to make a list, a chart, a diagram of things to check against the possibility of there ever being too much of it. But is that too much?
I found a new (to me) bookish website: https://interestingliterature.com
My first attraction is the article on “22 Interesting Facts about Writing.” So I’ll be checking it out for a while. After all, to us bookies what is more interesting than things about writing or writing or reading or reading about writing? And today I just learned that my pal, Friedrich Nietzsche was the first philosopher to ‘write’ on a typewriter. What a trend setter he was!
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On Facebook today, spotted gems of familiar (well sort of) places. These were posted by The La Crosse Tribune.
Peter Thompson Photo City Square
This is the building that once was Barron’s, as called by locals. The E.R. Barron Co. department store was where my mother worked when I was in high school. My father or I would pick her up coming out of the side door way on the back left, next to the alley, on Friday nights. Now it is the setting for several small self-contained shops.
This is a photo of the beach house where we stayed in Florida (Santa Rosa).
And oh my! What a lovely vacation at Santa Rosa Beach, Gulf of Mexico. It was quite glorious and joyful and fun. A family gathering of the generations from the oldest—Matriarch Rita—to the babies and the youngest—Baby Rita. And those two pulled off the greatest feats and bookended the event.
Baby Rita took her first steps and then took off. Next, to complete her charms, she sang her first song. (I’m not sure what it was but it was great, and got the most applause from the audience.)
Meanwhile, at 87, Rita went to her first Karaoke and also danced! She came home with the latest incoming bunch at 1:00 a.m. And woke me up to tell me what I missed and how much fun she had.
So here’s the view on the beach (sans edits). I hope to clean up more pictures for posting and make a few more notes on the time at the Gulf.
View From the Beach
When I was younger, pretty much any rebel was my hero. And I can’t honestly say that I’ve changed much. Unfortunately rebels don’t tend to live long, or well as they age. You might say their “use-by” date comes early. Or they go off the deep end like Che, and Trotsky, et.al. Thompson just basically blew himself up. Literally I’d say, with a gun. He wrote a suicide note. I don’t blame him for being bummed about the Super Bowl though; it went to the New England Pats. At least it was Philly they were playing, not Green Bay. And there is a definite vacuum once football season is over. The eternal and existential questions arise. What’s it all about? Is there a God? Is there life after death? Does anything matter?
And then there are all of the wonderful quotes. Hunter sure knew how to sling ’em. I like them to the point that I used more than one in The Fat Man, under chapter headings. (Just like old times—I don’t know why writers quit such a lovely gesture.) Here’s one as an example. “I wouldn’t recommend sex, drugs or insanity for everyone, but they’ve always worked for me.” That’s the lead for Chapter 23—The Hero In Heroin.
So here we are, once again contemplating life, death, and what happens in between. Who better to guide than someone who observed life in all its normal, its glory, and its ugly. And by the way, Hunter, we’re still here waiting for the answers we sent you on ahead to gather. Let us know, huh?
I was reflecting on the old home town, and the photos arrived on Facebook. That is such a lovely gift from the Universe. (Although and until I’m sure that the waters did it—moving from one place to another as is its way.) The view below is of Riverside Park, where so often we went with parents and children and sometimes to eat a lunch and watch the river flow by. The view behind the eagle and the street lights is as the street moves up through the town.
Bob Good Photography—La Crosse, WI—Riverside Park
And below is the photo of the Mississippi with the La Crosse bridge in the background. With the bridge seen from this perspective you can see how the one-way pattern of each blends together to create a lovely picture. That effect cannot be captured when viewed directly with the traffic flow. The photo was taken from the back of a boat so that is the wake from the motor that we see curving out behind the boat, in front of the bridge. Another lovely merging of arcs. Viewed as a whole, it appears to form a circle. The river, the bridge, the sky.
Bob Good Photography—Mississippi River Bridge—La Crosse