History Photography Writing

Let ‘er come

Recovered from the Wayback Machine.

I’m back on track with the RDF book, though slowly. I want to write, frequently, strongly, and to cover the screen with pixels, but, lately, my thoughts have not been on technology. I think my new office location has something to do with it — my desk faces towards a window overlooking the housing complex and there is so much interesting scurrying about that I find myself easily distracted.

At this moment, exactly at this moment, I’m watching a wild rabbit hop around the bushes across the street. And one of the women that shares the townhouse where the bunny is foraging left just a bit ago, every hair in place, dressed perfectly. As always.

(Rather than be envious of her, though, she makes me feel oddly thankful to be so comfortable with my own rumpled condition. If she and I were cars, she would be a BMW, and I would be one of those volkswagon buses that has been around — you know the kind I’m talking about.)

I have also been spending time getting the web site for my online book (Coming of Age in John Birch Country) organized. I’m using pictures from the University of Washington Digital Collections to annotate the site, thanks to the school’s open copyright policy. One of my favorite photos is titled “Let ‘er come” and features a farmer and his wife talking to a reporter about the oncoming flood caused by the Grand Coulee Dam.

It’s easy to be sanguine when you know your home is above the water line.



More words than five

Recovered from the Wayback Machine.

I’m seeing a metamorphosis in many of the weblogs I visit lately — people not only moving their weblogs to new servers or new weblogging tools, but also looking to redefine what their weblogs mean to them. Why am I here?

I wrote the following in an email to a good friend yesterday:

Today, I stopped weblogging and started writing using weblogging tools.

It’s just a sentence. It’s just words. But it changes my view of why I’m here.

Just Shelley

Da train! Da Train

Recovered from the Wayback Machine.

I was woken up in the middle of the night last night by a loud sound. As I lay in bed, confused, wondering if the neighbor was partying I heard what sounded like the train. For a very, very long time.

Finally, I drifted back to sleep.

Just watched local news — the train derailed right next to our housing complex. Luckily, no one was hurt. Also luckily, this trip they weren’t carrying nuclear waste or dangerous chemicals. Guess the Bird isn’t going to be glowing in the dark after all.

But now I have to find a back way to get to my library.