Hello, October, you slipped in without me noticing.
Harvard Yard is very leafy. It is swirling; the tiny leaves float in the air.
I cannot remember when I began writing 10 instead of 9 on my papers, but then I can’t honestly care about the difference between 9 and 10 anymore anyway. I had a shocking realization somewhere in the slide between those two months that there actually wasn’t any difference between any numbers, or arrangement of numbers, unless you need there to be. Everything bascially adds up to 1, which is just the other half of zero.
It’s not complicated, but I thought it was. What time I have wasted on things, thinking they mattered. I had fun, though, and I love solving things naturally, like the Uncarved Block.
Have I ever told you how much I love Boston? I don’t understand why I shouldn’t just stay here frequently/forever.
Amazingly I can teach a four week session at MIT in January, every January. It’s easy; anyone with a good idea that might engage others can do it. There is a special session each year that the students (or anyone in the MIT community) can sign up for. It’s called IAP, and I am going to teach it, if possible, every year for the rest of my life. I start on January 4, 2016.
Why not, I say. I didn’t know that I could do this, or I would have started as soon as I could have organized my thoughts, reached the blackboards.
Right now I am on the tip of the tip of the fern frondy edge of the Atlantic Seaboard; I am in a tiny beautiful little cabin on the water in Provincetown, Mass. It is owned by a beader named Rebecca who I have not yet met, but feel close to her here in her space. And it looks like this:
I’ve traveled to St. Louis and kissed Bill repeatedly and frequently and celebrated Evan’s 18th birthday (ah, how I long to spend every second of my life with that boy, and how wrong that would be).
Last week, we held my Seed Bead Summit at MIT (and assorted other exciting locations) and found a theoretical spatial whiz and a gentle visionary artist/engineer and an architect with as much energy as I have, and a math theorist who understands that everything adds up to 1, and is apparently trying to show people how it works in Pythagorean triples. Well, I haven’t met the last one yet, but it is inescapable; I know his name, and we have the same little idea.
above, the wrap-up on the last day; the lecture at the MIT Stata Center (the Frank Gehry building). below, working in the beautiful Beech Room at the Cambridge Public Library. From left, Kim Van Antwerp, Carol Jones, Ingrid Wangsvik, Sharon Manewitz, Sam Norgard, Sheila Prosterman, and a snitch of Laura Shea.
below, Kim and I under one of the polished chrome surfaces of the Stata.
And I met Ray Magliozzi. Just because I like to tag along with people I like (like I am a stray dog that keeps following them around) I followed my friend to go get his car out of the garage and I met Ray. And he misses his brother something awful. I gave him a tight tight hug and told him I did too, and thanked him for all of the laughter and love.
I wouldn’t have met either Ray or the architect if we hadn’t at Miracle of Science – the pull of that golden Down East cider has logged another victory.
The things that are happening lately are feeding into an interesting little idea I have that every triangle seems to naturally find a series of infinitely changing fourth points to use for rotational balance or to find the correct alignment to work within or work around time and space. I can’t see the balance point, but it seems to be unfixed; there are so many possible ways for a triangle to touch things.
It feels like MY balance is sought by the center of my personal trianglulation (which I do with every thing, thought, motion or idea that I have or am) and not any edge, angle or point. And some people or buildings or places or moments allow me to balance on them, in them, and I can reach not only what I can reach but what they can reach, what they are, as well.
Somehow, that reach must work both ways, if they want it to.
Bill is something else; he is his own system, and when I am with him, our systems merge. It’s exhilarating, beautiful, elegant, and life-affirming. We flow in and out of each other, full system to system. He is my home, just like the desert, the sky, the cities. I see him again in DC, in early November, for the annual Planetary meeting. It’s the Pluto team’s victory lap, I want to be there to celebrate them.
Right now, at this very minute (while I am on the curled tip of the Cape) he is walking on a glacier in Canada with a Japanese TV team. I am thinking of him, out of range of phones, finally getting to walk on and touch the living ice that he studies.
Oddly, although he is deeply involved in the study of ice, he has never gone to a Terran glacier before. I guess he was just saving it for now.