Mathew, Mark, Luke and John. Where's Paul?

That was my first question as I began yet another article in the New Yorker, this one on Paul, from the Bible. As a person of Sunday school - student or teacher - from three years of age until I went to college, I was appalled that I couldn't place him. I once had to memorize all the books from the New Testament.* Going to the black box, I found my answer.

Whew. While not much of a believer any more, I thought I still had some basic knowledge. After reading this morning, I'd like to say I have lots more, but really, test me in a week and I won't remember a lot of it, just the thought that it was a history or comparison of various works on how and why Paul was so important. And I can't even explain that now. 

What I came away with was the wonder of it all, most specifically, that we humans want faith, belief in change, and love and compassion. 

If that came from Paul, good for Paul, even if he doesn't have a book named after him.

In Many, Not One

*Our church, when I was growing up, was more affiliated with the New rather than the fire and brimstone, going-to-hell-in-a-hand basket Old Testament. I knew some stories of the Old, of course, but really what I took away was the parables that were taught in the New. 

Painting and Prayer

I was looking forward to learning more about the painter of The Girl With the Pearl Earring when I began a review of a new book on Vermeer, but, of course, I came away with so much more. Interesting even if sometimes above me, it ended with a thought that left me thinking. Of course. 

Mulling the thought, I was drawn to the light shining on my geranium, the first flowers of the season of the overwintered pot. Light in Vermeer's time became light in my time. 

Vermeer: "Suffusion of Grace"

I Do That

 

All the time! Supposedly an intelligent person, I can't break a habit nor read PULL when it's right in front of me. 

Doh!

Party in Syracuse!

Yarn came to Funk 'n Waffles again this year, and again a group of us traveled the hour to spend an afternoon at the museum, with dinner at Dinosaur BBQ before an evening of great music and more fun back at the hotel. Telling a new friend I'd met and danced with and beside for a good share of the night, I realized this was my tenth concert for Yarn. It did not disappoint. 

Across from our hotel, but wall art was everywhere.

Sign and random chair at the water's edge.

Somehow I connected them and thought a story.

The next morning, meeting for a quick breakfast, with a trip to a record store and walkabout, we headed home, only to become derailed with a lunch break in Schenectady where I had the best chicken tenders with the best coating ever. 

Arriving home around three, we took a break for a few hours before heading to Hopshire for our usual Friday night music. Getting older? You bet. It took many of us two days before we'd caught up with our energy, but hey, so worth it. Memories made, laughter shared.

 

Second Trip, Good as the First!

Wishes

 

Reality

Where to Look?

Weather

Sleeping Cat

No Contest!

Sam Altman and Me

I take many photos of words. Quotes I love, passages that make me laugh (or cry) and statements that hit home. Words are our lifelines to the world but also to ourselves. 

Started an article in New Yorker about Sam Altman, the leader of ChatGPT, and I saw myself.  As usual, it was a one-off on his dress attire, not his knowledge of computers or his business savvy, that resonated with me.

Altman connected his choices in what he wears to the stress in his life. It seems he wears the same color, gray, for his outfits. Not all the same gray, making a comment that even choosing between the different hues is hard for him. 

I'm not sure when I began having a 'uniform' but it happened sometime in the '80s. I was a teacher, and while I didn't go so far as one color, I did go to one look. In the beginning it was pencil skirts sewn by me with a top and 3 inch suede heels, matching the heels to the colors in the outfit. I had at least 12 pairs. 

From there, it was denim knee-length jumpers with turtlenecks, the denim being solids, plaids, flowers, different hues. Other looks were colored denim jeans - green, red, purple, and more - enough for two weeks or more of not wearing the same pair - before going to various corduroy jeans of various colors and finally, overalls, again various colors. For a number of years I wore the same black suede Maryjanes for shoes (still have them), until that became sneakers in the style of Rocket Dogs, again of colors to match the look. 

One year, a student dressed like me on Dress Like a Teacher Day, and another year I had the Home and Careers teacher use me as an example of finding one's style, which might be stretching the definition of style. 

Some years I laid out the whole week's worth of pants and shirts on Sunday night. I wanted no thought to my work attire. Today, subbing, I have broadened out (?!?) to jeans or cords, yes, you heard right, a choice. Not much of one but there you go. 

Did I ever go to one color? No.  And did I ever connect it to stress? No. But. 

I've often wondered why I did what I did. And not just in clothes. I did and do the same with lunches, breakfasts too. I don't like to have to think about choices. Related to stress? Maybe, but am I that stressed now that I'm retired? Not really. Sometimes I wonder what I do think about; I mean, all this nonthinking should leave me with lots of time, right?

Who knows why I do what I do. I do know, though, that I'm not making the world into one mega data center, using up energy for AI. Nor am I making more money than a person could ever need. Maybe my lack of decisions gives me more time to read, walk with friends, write, and enjoy life. I can sure hope it does.

Stylin'