More Trouble
Just can't get that freakin' comment section to work.
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Today I received mail from my prof, who let me know that she couldn't post a comment on my blog. That's disturbing because I seem to have established appropriate settings so that anyone can post a comment. Now I've gone through the trouble of "authenticating" my site, and truning on "trackback", which I hate. But it these things make it so that people can post comments, I guess I'll have to leave them enabled.
I'm entering this post as a test to see what happens. Cross your fingers.
I hope this works.
Some time ago I wrote,
Where we stand within a given situation determines our ability to react, to visualize, to cope with change, to recognize constraints and dependencies, and to alter the given course of that situation, while maintaining a balance that caters to the notion that the situation is one that recurs (meaning that the situation is not necessarily one that involves a problem to be solved). The ability to communicate and to transfer knowledge act as wrappers that cause the situation to take a new form.
Now that I've had some time to think about this, I'm not necessairly seeing it in a different light, but I feel that what I'm proposing here is how I see patterns. How I think of patterns coming to fruition and sustaining themselves may not be fully understood by others, but this is something that I need to investigate and build on. Maybe I need to explain this more. Yes? I wanted to write this here because I didn't want to lose it.
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I'm thinking about images, what they mean, how they come to mean and how that situates itself in how we socialize. How do we analyze or look differently at situations based on the social networks we create around them, based on the social networks that extend from them. What are the soical networks? How do we act as agents in carring out messages or making decisions based on how we see segements of information developing over a period of time? Who's involved in any part of the process? What decisions are they making? What kinds of contexts are we creating so that information flows, so that information is accurate, so that it gets where it needs to be, and once there can be utalized?
But where do I begin to sort through these questions? How do I attack this from a visual perspective, from a social perspective?
I don't want to think in terms of lines and connections and straight and narrow direction, but in terms of how "flow" contains (wraps it self around) natural or unconscious thought and mocwa the processing of information such that it becomes the context of what encapuslates a network of social interaction.
This is what grounds me as I think more about what I want to do with my life.
One morning some time ago, in fact it was about ten years ago, I woke up and thought about how the seansons change. At that particular moment, I was thinking about how the leaves on the trees changed colors, how the smell in the air was somewhat different. I was no longer waking up to the smell of biscuits baking or that tinge of cinnamon in the air. I awoke to the smell of coffee brewing and a crispness of hickory lingering because people burned fireplaces or cooked breakfast using wood stoves.
When I lived in my parent's home, I always awoke to the smell of clothes drying, to the sounds of machines humming and the bumping of foot pedals on presses; I awoke often to the sound of a tune on the radio, to the sound of people talking (as if they were yelling at each other—they just couldn't hear each other because of the noise), and more importantly, I would awake to the sound of my dad whistling, humming, or singing a tune while diligently working. I'd awake to the sounds and scents of the family business. The fumes of the fluid that's used to dry clean clothes is not a horrific smell, but it's something that I find hard to describe. Although for me, it is a special scent, which brings an influx of memories.
Now that I've been away from home for several years, I can still wake up to the smells of freshness in the air—sausages, coffee, hickory, and that crispness, which arrives with fall weather. And I can still wake up and look out the window and see the leaves on the trees change colors. But what I no longer awake to hear are the humming of dryers turning, steam seeping and searing from pipes, the whistling and singing of my dad as he bumped and clicked the foot pedals of the presses; there was always a rhythm and a beat of familiarity. So whenever I would wake up, while at home, I knew that If I were to listen, really listen, I could hear that I was home.
Although I can no longer smell the freshness of clean clothes, of steam, of a crisp fall day in Louisiana, or hear my father's rhythms, beats, whistling, and singing, I am sadden. But when I take a moment to reminisce, I feel whole and at peace with my immediate surroundings and the world because I know that all is going to be well.
So today, despite whatever it is that I will encounter, today will be a good day.