Gibbon on History

After traveling throughout parts Italy and spending a few days in Rome a month ago, I realized that I know very little about the history of Rome and the Roman empire. I've always been a Greece guy, focusing my classical studies on Herodotus, Homer, the Tragedians, Plato and the lyric poets. Now I'm trying to learn a little about the Romans by diving into Gibbon's The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. While I doubt that I'll finish the three volume abridged version that I have, I'm picking up some nuggets along the way.

"Antonius diffused order and tranquility over the greatest part of the earth. His reign is marked by the rare advantage of furnishing very few materials for history; which is, indeed, little more than the register of the crimes, follies, and misfortunes of mankind."

It appears that Gibbon, one of the most esteemed historians of his--or any--time, believes that "history" is just a record of humanity's errors. Maybe I don't want to be famous, after all. I've spent 28 years trying my best to make a way into the books--without much success--through positive actions. Maybe that's just the wrong approach. From now on, I'll focus on failure. That's the ticket...failure.

birthday boy...ho hum

Yesterday was my 28th birthday.

While it was a good day, it is plain that it no longer carries the same pizzaz that it once did. I remember witnessing my parents birthdays as a child and wondering how it is that they were able to conceal their extreme excitement. Surely they must be exploding with glee inside but need to maintain some sense of maturity since they are old. Really, what's better than your birthday?

Apparently, I've gone to join them, crossing over that line where birthdays don't exempt you from working, even working longer or harder, and don't bring piles of exciting toys and knick-knacks and baseball cards. Just checks.

Maybe next year, I need to have a child's birthday party to relive some of the emotions of my youth. Gift packs for the guests, a big disgusting cake, streamers and balloons. Or I could have an adult party like last year, with Belgian ales and international cheeses. For some reason, I decided to bypass the get-together this year. Just leave me to get old and die, thank you very much.

Either I'm starting to understand whatever it is that my parents have understood for years or maybe everyday is so festive that it's difficult to muster additional energy for party days. When you are already running at such a high level of positive intensity, how can you raise it up another notch?

In no way do I feel like I'm entering some sort of "big fade" where the rest of my life boils down to boredom and varying amounts of depression and crisis, which must be the fear of every slightly aging young man or woman. Maybe not boredom so much as simplicity. No crisis...I'm not wired for crisis. I'd be more prone to boredom, I'm sure. Honestly, though...Life is good. Birthdays are strange.

spring turns to summer

...
Hot midsummer’s petted crone,
Sweet to me thy drowsy tone
Tells of countless sunny hours,
Long days, and solid banks of flowers;
Of gulfs of sweetness without bound
In Indian wildernesses found;
Of Syrian peace, immortal leisure,
Firmest cheer, and bird-like pleasure.

Aught unsavory or unclean
Hath my insect never seen;
But violets and bilberry bells,
Maple-sap and daffodels,
Grass with green flag half-mast high,
Succory to match the sky,
Columbine with horn of honey,
Scented fern, and agrimony,
Clover, catchfly, adder’s-tongue
And brier-roses, dwelt among;
All beside was unknown waste,
All was picture as he passed.

Wiser far than human seer,
Yellow-breeched philosopher!
Seeing only what is fair,
Sipping only what is sweet,
Thou dost mock at fate and care,
Leave the chaff, and take the wheat.
When the fierce northwestern blast
Cools sea and land so far and fast,
Thou already slumberest deep;
Woe and want thou canst outsleep;
Want and woe, which torture us,
Thy sleep makes ridiculous.

excerpt from "the humble-bee" ralph waldo emerson

funny how these things work

ha.

so i make this post about returning to the blog. and then, well...

in some sense, i suppose it doesn't make much of a difference. currently, there is just a porch, some rain, obscure norwegian acoustic music. maybe that is enough.

it appears that our vegetables are doing well. i really need to spend some time with them, but it's been raining nearly the entire time i've been home since getting off the plane yesterday afternoon. i'm looking forward to eating something that i've grown-a salad of my own birthing.

ten days in france and italy behind me but i'm still processing the experience.

for now, a picture of my neice, linnea. i'd like to think she's named after an espresso machine, but a flower will do.



notice the floating $50 bill. don't worry, it was recovered.