Into the Deep

Article I wrote on Wisconsin shipwrecks for Wisconsin Trails magazine.

Mitsuwa Marketplace

Was invited by my Japanese friend to travel to Mitsuwa Marketplace north of Chicago today. He needed to buy some Japanese snacks for a class of fifth graders to whom he provides cultural enrichment. Gasoline-powered sojourn was worth it.

In the Japanese bookstore, I felt utterly illiterate as I am unable to read Japanese. Being there made for an interesting if alienating sensation of realizing how many different cultures and languages we have intersecting on this planet, and indeed, our country. And also of the utility of photography, graphic art, and the visual image for communication. It's possible to figure out what kinds of books and magazines you're looking at, but it wasn't possible for me to access any of the details of the text. It's like being in a completely alien or foreign environment. Very infrequently am I faced with situations where I cannot use my ability to read and understand language--in fact, this capacity is so much a part of my life and livelihood that it was emotionally significant how inaccessible all the Japanese was. I'm glad of the experience, though, for it is a lesson in humility and a stretch into trying to know, trying to learn.

Another highlight was catching up with some other old friends in the Chicago area, who I somewhat spontaneously invited to join us at the last minute--for shopping in the Japanese food store. What will probably be most memorable, however, was the roast duck soup from the Chinese place in the food court. It was good, and though I struggled through with chopsticks, I did manage to eat most (or at least quite a bit) of the soup. The roast duck itself was very good, but it would have been nice not to have the ribs and carcass of the duck also in the soup. I ate one or two relatively large bones in the process of trying to be polite company. Just goes to show how there is much to learn.

Thanks to all who made this Sunday a fun excursion into a strange, small corner of life.

Shorelines

We are attracted to shorelines. Those boundaries at once inconstant and incessant. We revel in the space to be seen above the sea, out away from land, inaccessible by feet but freeing to the traveling mind. We play in the wind and sand and froth, delight and lament the wind that takes heat from the land, slowly deposits heat in the sea.

Humans seek out shorelines, boundaries, interfaces, confluences, edges, membranes. Among solid and liquid, liquid and gaseous, spiritual and inert, sacred and profane. And there--there at those interminable fractal shorelines--there does life take root, move and settle and sway. The boundary is incubator, but more than that, the fragile sliver of emergence, where the life happens, where the living congregate, how we all move together.

If we should be constituents of an intracosmic body, a macroorganism of our own making, then we ought sensitize to shorelines. For these are the natural confines from which life began and to which life returns, homing with vestigial instinct and open longing and unknowable hope. These lines are never the same, they live on a different scale, and perhaps we shall learn from such patterns.

Another Obit

Edward Lorenz dies.