golden age

Another fondly-recalled summer read: Edward Bellamy's 19th century utopian dream, Looking Backward, in which a Bostonian goes to sleep in 1887 and awakes in 2000 to a socialist paradise. I read this one on my iPod too, at the beach. (A free Stanza download.)

The author said it was "written in the belief that the Golden Age lies before us and not behind us."  A very pleasant summer dream indeed, and arguably a more "rational" optimism-- or at least, more flattering of human virtues-- than that portrayed in another of my beach reads, Matt Ridley's Rational Optimist...


Should we be optimists because the golden age awaits our species-evolution beyond commerce and acquisitiveness, as Bellamy proposed? Or because, as Ridley has it, self-interest places us all in the employ of one another and perpetually grows the pie-trough from which we all sup?


I know this : it's easier to be an optimist at the beach than at the Senate retreat. But this morning, I'm optimistic about school too.

Easy living

It's 72.9 degrees here at 4 pm. Days like this in August are worth noting and filing. Perfect for walking the dogs, riding the bike (to the Parthenon and back), hanging in the hammock, and (only briefly) pondering the Monday morning moment, now coming fast into view, when I'll be tempted to echo Older Daughter's lament: “GOODBYE SUMMER!!!!!” Then we'll see if I can really practice what I preach, and haul that summer state of mind back down the highway to school in the 'boro.

But for now, as we prepare to enjoy one more Middle School performance of "Thoroughly Modern Millie," it still feels like endless summer... or "Saturday in the Park."

Summer's end

I'm back, this time from my formerly remote-and-off-the-grid Little House. It was, I suppose, a Luddite summer fantasy to imagine remaining unplugged -- though I'm still not sure I yet have anything vital to communicate to Maine, Texas, and the wider world. But classes are about to resume so I'll be expected to think at least a bit, and so long as I'm obliged to communicate in public I may as well keep this spot warm. The signal out here is low, though, so now I can blame failures to communicate (or communicate well) on the state of wireless technology. My new whine: it's the router.

Anyway: summer was great, we loved Manhattan -- Broadway, the Yankees, the museums -- but it's time to get on with a milder and busier season. (Easier said than done, though this is forecast to be our first sub-100 degree day in a couple of weeks.)

And what would Thoreau say about my air-conditioned, web-connected, cellular-accessible redoubt? Sorry, Henry. Guess I've been seduced by the dark side.