Tonight I’m writing about 20th century genius John Von Neumann, trying to clearly and simply explain the wonders of game theory and computer architecture and the exceedingly strange little beasties known as cellular automata. I’m succeeding only somewhat in my mission, and it’s making me think about all those times I was a kid (really so much a kid, even when I was in college) trying to read papers on topics that were beyond my ken and not really even knowing why they were beyond my ken, only that they were confusing for reasons that I couldn’t articulate. I would read, become mildly baffled or entirely perplexed, and feel as a result either frustration, resignation, or perhaps a touch of the sublime. In any case I would never have been able to see why I didn’t see. If you see.

I’m not all that much smarter or more knowledgable now (a little, to be sure) but now when I am confused I do tend to more pointedly zero in on ideas that I don’t understand, figure out what — broadly — I am missing, in terms of fundamental principles or background information, and either

a) Figure things out to my own satisfaction (should I say self-satisfaction?), or
b) Snort huffily at the writer of the book or article in disgust because they haven’t given me enough to go on, not at all no sirree how dare they.

You’ve no idea how much confidence and clarity it’s given me to become so aware of the boundaries of my knowledge and understanding (and sometimes even my intelligence) and to have the tools to push, slowly, at them or to be able to recognize when I’ve leapt unwittingly beyond their safe grounds and am falling, like Wile. E. Coyote, into thin air. I only hope the poor kids reading these little biographies have an inkling of the same self-awareness, so that I don’t frustrate them when I don’t have the space or wherewithal to explain something properly.

One reference I read called Von Neumann a polymath. I should like to be a polymath someday, but I think you have to be a bit of a genius to really deserve the term. I can be an amateur polymath though. I’ll play in the Polymath Little Leagues.

(Today’s photograph tattoos the magnolia tree in our backyard onto Laura’s skin. Laura never even saw the magnolia tree in our backyard, I don’t think. And now it covers her shoulders forever.)

P.S. Ethan, I know there are a million artifacts in my pictures, particularly when I’ve worked on them a bit. I really don’t care, but I hope they don’t offend your eyes.

I had the day off today and spent it less productively than I would have liked, but I did get some reading and writing done, as well as some photo-processing. As a result my eyes are glazing over from looking at my computer screen and I am heartily sick of seeing words, typing words, and looking at pictures. Last week Avi asked me if I would be an astronaut and go to Mars if I had the opportunity, and we both decided that the loneliness and boredom would be too much. But this evening I am wishing for the silence of outer space (and the presumable lack of an addictive internet connection). I will settle for the whirring of the wheels of my exercise bike. Fill my brain, endorphins! Bring me joy and energy!

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Note: I do not understand some people’s footwear decisions. Why would anyone wear yoga pants, a sweatshirt, and high heels? Also, I don’t get the running-shoe and skirt-suit look. Why not just wear a comfortable pair of shoes that matches your suit (loafers are nice) and then you won’t have to change when you get to the office? O Boston, why do you perplex me so first thing in the morning?

It’s been a tiring weekend so far, but only because I’ve been having too much fun — which is a fabulous reason to be tired. Yesterday Jenn and Adam came over for Indian food (Jenn brought the most divine orchids — thanks, love! They’re still standing tall and regal in our kitchen) and we opened and drank three bottles of red wine between the four of us. And I had two Dead Guy Ales besides, which was probably a bad idea for me because when I drink too much I tend to do one of two things:

1) Tell someone I am with that I love them, over and over again (maudlin version), or
2) Become extremely argumentative. (belligerent version)

Last night I’m afraid I engaged both Adam and Jenn in unnecessarily lengthy and shrill discussions of a rather combative nature. Fortunately they both bore it well and I woke up contrite and relatively hangover free. Phew! I really didn’t want to go to the museum though, so it was a good thing we had a quiet morning there.

After my shift it was off to meet Michael and Laura, in town for the day — we had a greasy diner brunch (mmm, shiny eggs) and then hit my other favorite science museum to see the Star Wars Exhibit, where today’s photograph comes from. That Darth Vader, he was really into black plastic and studs. We had a wonderful afternoon, during which Michael (who doesn’t come here, despite the fact that he spends his entire day in front of a computer) said — after I reached over and (gently!) turned his chin so that his face was in full frame — “So… have you always been this into photography?”

Ok, gotta run. We have a very quiet evening planned and I want it to start soon. Happy Easter/Passover/Spring Festival of Your Choice!

P.S. More Star Wars pictures here as I finish processing them!

Tonight I met with Cecily again. The last two sessions I’ve had with her have felt really good; I’ve been breathing differently and shaping the voice that comes out of me differently, and we’ve both been able to hear the difference. There’s a lot of power in these muscles surrounding my heart and lungs, and I am learning to be supported by them.

So I feel like I’m becoming better at this, slowly, and in a way I don’t mind that my partner in rhyme has descended into the pit that is being-in-business-school-and-looking-for-a-summer-internship, or that in the recording from our open mike (which, sorry — I can’t bring myself to share) I am flat from sheer nerves a third of the time. One day I’ll find a place to share this, and I’ll be good enough to share when I do. Too often I try something, am too lazy to work at it, hit a wall, and give up in frustration — it is so good to be on a journey that is difficult, but where I can really see the rewards of persistent practice, self-correction, and a determined but easy attitude. I feel like I went into this with a really positive outlook, and it’s paying off. Also, note to my old therapist Helen: I no longer feel as if I want this for the sake of performance and in order to receive validation from others; I really want this for myself. What growth!

(Although seriously people, when did I become Pollyanna?)

Photo taken on a walk outside Evelyn’s new apartment — she lives right next to a conservation area now, and it’s beautiful.

Today’s digital composite of earth and (reflected) sky courtesy of my feeling of simultaneous flight and paralysis — I am filled with ideas and energy and intent for creative output, but stymied by the fact that every wonderful impulse takes time away from every other. What kind of lousy deal is that?

As I have been crouched in front of my laptop for the past two hours, I am going to go away now and read a book I am really looking forward to. It has a camel on the cover and is set in Ulaanbaatar. I may never have read a book about a city with more vowels in its name. Lo, I set records every day.

P.S. Upon reading yesterday’s entry, my mother sent me an email the first line of which read:

DO I REMEMBER THAT CHURCH CAMP???

I may have added a few question marks. But my mother is a very polite email-writer, and hardly ever shouts. Then she added that she “cried buckets” during that weekend (at which my father was in fact missing but my sister was in attendance — lost to my memory). Poor woman.

I remember this one church camp I went to with my mother when I was a wee girleen, I think so young that I wasn’t even out of kindergarten yet — but I might have been a hair older. For some reason all I have in my memory is my mother and me, no sister or father around. Again, that might be my selective recollection: you’ll see why in a minute. There were lots of other kids there my age, and lots of activities for us, planned and spontaneous, and most of the too-small-for-theology set were busily engaged in one giggly pursuit or another. Children roamed the grounds, splashing into pools and forming huddles over the rules of a game or an interesting thing on the ground.

I clung to my mother. Not in a weepy way, only a matter-of-fact one. She was my favorite person there, so of course I was going to spend my time with her. Why bother with those other ones? Just because they were the same size as me. But my mother was already concerned about my social skills, because I was such a self-contained child. So shy. So inward-looking. My sister danced in public and fought happily with boys. Me, I disappeared into corners and would have tangled myself in apron-strings. If there had been any apron-strings.

So my mother held this cold, sharp fear in her heart. This half-dreamed worry, that her youngest daughter would never crack the shell that still seemed to surround her after already being these few years out in the world; that she would have a hard time in school; that she would pull loneliness around her like a blanket.

And then I have only a muddy memory of this, but all the same I am pretty sure it happened — it was the end of a long day, I had been by my mother’s side ever since we’d gotten there, and she asked me why I didn’t go and try playing with the other kids. I explained that I just wanted to be with her. She looked at me, suddenly watery-eyed. But then she smiled, and nodded ok without a word, not trusting her voice to come smoothly out of her trembly lips.

And I took my mother’s hand and led her off.

Today’s photo is of Barb and Evelyn, another mother and daughter who don’t seem to want to let go of each other’s hands yet. Really, why should they? They’ll both turn out all right. I know.

On Friday we had dinner at Hal and Carol’s, and Liz came over for dessert because this time she’s taking Domino when they go to D.C. next week, and she wanted to meet her charge. She got him out of his cage and settled him on her shoulder, where he talked to her with soft chirps and laps of the tongue against her neck, and affectionate nibbles of the hair. Liz is a person capable of sudden bursts of frenetic energy and creative humor. She is beautifully tall and sometimes seems made all out of angles; she folds and unfolds herself into and out of her chair. She is a long, lean grasshopper of a person: not at all ungraceful, but comfortable stretching to take up space. And then as soon as Domino was in her arms she just sort of — settled into this deep, immense calm, and her whole body stilled. Only her eyes crinkled with happy amusement at the tickles at her neck, and her mouth murmured low whispers in the ear of a very lucky guinea pig.

And then there was Matthew, Hal and Carol’s 11-year old son — whom I adore and who is a small container filled to overflowing with a very large amount of electric curiosity and concentration. Here he is playing his baseball game on his GameCube — all his focus is in his hands, so that’s where mine was too.