A Friday : Love, robots, London, World War Z, Haruki Murakami, The Great War, ad hoc rituals, white blood cells of culture

Chapter 1

I wake up with multiple people in the bed. One has a camera. There’s toys. I’m tired.

Chapter 2

I lose my patience before 7am, which I wish was a record, but probably isn’t. On the upside, I find it again quickly.

Chapter 3

I do a bit of online work that should take 3-5 minutes, and ends up being spread out over 30 minutes, amidst changing diapers, wiping rear ends, conducting chore delegations, brokering a minor dispute, and ordering a child to take dirty underwear to laundry. Eventually I get this tiny bit of work done, in a manner that can most generously be described as “inefficient.'“

Chapter 4

Boys build robots out of a suitcase of old spare parts of…old things I’ve kept. Such as remotes, VCR parts, foam, wire, and string.

I’ve lost track of the chapters already

A 2-year old tries to pick the lock of his 14-yo sister’s locked door. He finally gives up and asks for broth. Yes: broth, as in the ‘the soup-like substance one eats.’

Another thing

We slowly made our way through Paul Thurlby’s beautifully-illustrated book about London and take a side-tangent into using wood blocks to illustrate the concept of cantilevering.

Activity update

A girl reads World War Z, a boy reads Boy. Another boy does ‘school on the computer,’ another boys naps in his beloved blue dress and green sweatshirt combo.

In the room where it happens

Two children play Hamilton songs on ukulele and guitar.

Nap

I lie down with a 2-year old and snuggle with him until his eyes droop, whereupon I sneakily read a few pages of the Haruki Murakami* I’m slowly making my way through. It’s called Men Without Women, a concretely-named short story collection of seven pieces of various levels of abstraction about different narratives of a certain gender’s relationships with another gender. I shortly thereafter extricate myself successfully and leave him slumbering.

*long talked about by others, primarily by my brother Jeremy, but this is my first foray into his fiction

They didn’t call it ‘World War I’

I gave a brutal quiz on The Great War, as the armed geopolitical conflict from 1914 to 1918 was known.

I am relatively uninterested in memorizing the dates of battles and military tactics, except as they relate to the larger issues of how wars begin, how they’re resolved, and what the catalysts and dynamics are throughout.

It really is horrifying to look at the details of The Great War, or World War I as we call it now, and try to imagine the singular terror of all this new technology being brought to bear on the destruction of human life and aquisition of power and land. Chemical weapons, airplanes, heavy artillery, tanks; millions of lives lost over what on a day-to-day basis might amount to a few hundred meters of no man’s land and barb wire-strung trenches.

I think a lot about greed on different levels. How I am susceptible to it, and how the pursuit of more motivates nations to so frequently not only protect what they have, but to sacrifice so much to gain more.

A big question to me is: What do we invest our human capital and potential in doing?

The white blood cell factories of civilization

We embarked on a library trip, which is a little like saying we ate another meal, which is a good example, because we do both frequently. Our motor car was satisfyingly full as we left; plump with many more pounds and kilograms of printed content to savor.

Ad hoc rituals

We all fill our lives with whatever blend of ritual and spontaneity feels appropriate to our mindset and lifestyle, which is why waiting at the top of the driveway for Becca to return home is both: a sacred-secular welcoming ritual, and a short burst of activity that holds infinite options, from blowing bubbles, to playing catch, to discussing the impact of post-War punishments on Germany and how they laid the groundwork for the next World War.

Readings together - selected

L is for London by Paul Thurlby
Rumpelstiltskin - retold and illustrated by Paul O. Zelinsky

The last chapter

I get into bed. For the moment, for this moment, it’s just me. But others will join throughout the night. With toys and accessories. And then the next day will dawn, and it will be filled with ad hoc happenings and familiar rituals mashed up again. Good night.

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