Category: All about me

Anti-quark

This is Ed, who walks the opposite way ’round from me in the morning. Like the two cartoon sheepdogs clocking out: “Mornin’ Ed.” “Mornin’ Ed.” Only twice, since we walk in overlapping loops. We can tell ourselves apart because I’m the one with the faux hip, he’s the one with the pacemaker…or, wait a minute,

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Case in Point

No one has actually asked my why I go out to walk (or, in the old days, run) at 5 a.m. Today provided plenty of reasons. The soft pre-dawn light lit the low ground mist around the Mill Gut, and I walked through a cascade of mist that flowed past the Coggeshall farmhouse, the ice

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My Approach to Pedagogy

In the fall of 2008 I applied for a tenure-track position at the university where I currently teach as a full-time visiting professor. As I observed to a friend, that would mean that I would be eligible for tenure when I reach 75…just when I’d really be able to enjoy it. Part of the application

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Walkin’, yes indeed, and I’m talkin’…

Last time, I was about to get a new right hip; it was supposed to happen on the 9th of December but due to an unusual set of circumstances, Laurie and I ended up being told, at 6 p.m., that the surgery wasn’t going to happen that day. (The day of fasting and prep was

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Happy Holidays!

The fall has been spent wearing away the last few centimeters of cartilage around my right hip joint, so the time has come to call for replacements. I have never been a fan of artificiality, even when it comes with “triple-stranded polymer plastic” which I am told will make up the lining of my new

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Grumpy

I’ve been chewing on this one for a while. A while back, I posted this photo to a weather site because I thought that it captured early summer morning mist in a thoroughly bucolic setting. It has the hand-hewn fence, the thistles, the Queen Anne’s lace and – of course – the cow (incidentally, an

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Eccentricity

Maurice Webster was my father’s mother’s brother. An achitect who played chess at the open-air chess boards in Chicago. He rolled his own cigarettes from a pouch of Bull Durham, a process that fascinated small children. Once, when he was visiting Beloit to look after a building project on the college campus, I saw him

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Email to my son

Your mother has me reading her book club book, Wallace Stegner’s Crossing to Safety, taking its name from a Robert Frost poem, not a Robert Frost poem that I know, nor one that I heard him read when he appeared at Stanford when I was an undergraduate.   Wallace Stegner was, when I was an

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Deciding moments

Working on another video taken in Honduras in 1965, I am reminded that my trip there probably accounts for a pretty decisive turn in my thoughts about what I would take up as a career. It was the beginning of a decision to leave the military rather than stay in for twenty years and then take up

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