Tres absurde, Candide. Oui, oui.

 For "If you had not been expelled from the noble castle, if you had not been clapped into the Inquisition, if you had not wandered about America on foot, if you had not stuck your sword into the Baron, if you had not lost all your sheep from the land of Eldorado, you would not be eating candied citrons and pistachios here." 
      "Tis well said," replied Candide, " but we must cultivate our gardens."

O Which Path

Francis Bacon:  "I have taken all knowledge to be my province."

Confucius say:

  "Those who bring confusion to our midst always begin by being fond of offending their elders."
 "Who does not know the value of words will never come to understand his fellow-men."

Sorry, Mr. Keats

When I have fears that I may cease to be
Before my blog has gleaned my teeming brain,
Then on the shores of the wide world
I stand alone
With all unuttered words of angst and pain.
Forsooth.

Be like Trayvon

The woman driver of the Lexus  that crashed the Capitol gates, the motorcycle driver who got in the way of the SUV fleeing from danger------embodiments of the spirit of Trayvon.

Im-peached

   One of my favorite foods is a nice ripe juicy peach.  Finding one is as difficult as the hunt for the golden apple in Minecraft.  Peaches have a short growing season in this part of the country, and those are the only peaches worth eating.  My mother used to delight in planting things, including fruit trees.  She had planted 2 sour cherry trees that on maturity yielded large crops of their fruit each summer; the cherry-laden boughs  were widely admired by the customers who used to frequent Sara's store, and their compliments often resulted in their leaving with a generous  offering of cherries. 
    My mother also planted a peach tree on the side of the house, though winter conditions were not ideal for that type of tree, and eventually it fell victim to a severe freeze.  But not before it yielded, in what was to be its final year, a one-time crop of the finest peaches I've ever tasted.  The tree grew for several years before its eventual demise, but for most of its life, it bore no fruit.  I was teaching in Cambridge then, and kept my car parked on the side of the house next to the vacant building next door.  One day, as I was backing out of the driveway, I spotted something in the peach tree------three perfect golden peaches.  I stopped and gathered them up, and was privileged, over the next few days, to partake of the most delectable flavors I'd ever experienced.
    Each year, I try to replicate that experience, and a few times I've come close, but the ultimate "golden apple hunt" is ever elusive.  This year, I've bought peaches about half a dozen times,  usually only a few at a time because I'm  so accustomed to the disappointment.  If I have had in my house a dozen fresh peaches this summer, only about one-fourth of them have been worth eating.  The best were probably presented as a gift from my brother-in-law.  Most of the others were duds. 
    Today I went to a local orchard to buy apples, a once-upon-a-time tradition.  I was pleasantly surprised that they were also advertising peaches.  I saw them in the cooler, in baskets.  I asked the clerk how the peaches were, if they were juicy; she said they were good, she liked them.  I bought a small basket of them;  the clerk told me to refrigerate them as they were ready to eat.  As soon as I got home, I washed a peach, and brought it outside to eat in the waning sunlight.  I also brought a small paring knife (I don't like to bite into fuzzy skin) and a dish towel to soak up the juice. I sat on the deck, spread the towel on my lap, and sliced off a piece of the peach with my knife.  I bit into a piece of Styrofoam.  This can't be. I tried again: desiccated fiberboard.  I took my paring knife and stabbed the peach until it was mutilated--it bled not a drop of juice.  I threw its body down the bank behind the house.  More mayhem undoubtedly awaits. 

Right Aid

   It happened again, the second time in a week.  I was in the Rite-Aid store and another person spoke to me, using my "old name."  I don't hear my name that much any more, so it gets my attention.  But each time I failed at first to recognize the speaker.  I'm not one of those people who usually addresses people by their names in conversation, so I went with the flow, scrambling in my mind to garner a clue as to who the person was.  I never did confirm the identity of the first person, but yesterday, after a few minutes, I realized I was talking to a former classmate,  a man I hadn't even seen in too many years to count.  He seemed glad to see me, and we were in easy conversation for about 10 minutes or so, and not about old times either.  I learned that he's now retired and that he carries a load of birdshot throughout his body from a hunting accident in his youth.  He showed me the lump in his wrist; the bullets will prevent his ever having an MRI, though CT scans are possible.  He said that not all the containers outside the store are for the construction debris.  Some are storage containers holding merchandise that will be put back on the shelves when the renovation  is complete. 
     Since everything is now so much more open, and the customers more visible to each other, I should probably visit the store more often: it's nice to talk to people.  The store looks good, nice floors.  But I must say---I despise the Wellness Program.  The cashiers always point out my eligibility with enthusiasm, evidently as part of their job, but to this date I've never been able to access anything of value through it.  Maybe in the future......