The weather around Portland has been quite nice for the past few days, though it's beginning to push into the Too Hot range. I'm generally comfortable around 55 to 65 degrees fahrenheit. I do appreciate warmer weather, though, if it doesn't last too long or get too hot. So, the 70 to 80 degree weather we've enjoyed for the past three days has been nice. Now it can go back to being cool. It's not going to, though, and that's just going to make me grouchy. In fact, the highs are supposed to be above 70 degrees for the next week, with highs above 80 for the next four days. sigh We've reached meteorlogical summer. Not my favorite.
(I'd always thought it odd that the seasons started at the end of March, end of June, end of September, end of December. This didn't correspond to my view of the world. Winter ought not begin on December 21st; the wintery weather arrives (around here, at least) near the end of November or beginning of December. Summer doesn't start at the end of June. Around here, it starts at the beginning of June or end of May. Then I read an article someplace that indicated that the traditional start of the seasons is an astronomical distinction. This made sense. The solstices and equinoxes are being used as convenient delineations between seasons. In reality, meteorologists recognize that the seasons actually change much earlier. If I remember correctly (and I probably don't), meteorological seasons begin on the first day of the month in which a solstice or equinox is located. So, if the vernal equinox is on March 21st, then meteorological Spring actually begins on March 1st. I should find a web site to back this up, huh?)
I've spent more time in the yard lately. In addition to finishing the arborvitae chore, I've been pressure-washing the back patio and front sidewalk/driveway. I've never used a pressure-washer before, and it is a slower process than I had anticipated. It works, though. The back patio looks brand new! Half of the front sidewalk looks new, the other half looks like the rest of the neighborhood sidewalks: kind of dark and dingy, as if it were covered in Oregon mildew (which it is, I guess).
Book club went okay on Saturday. The book (Asimov's Prelude to Foundation) was not very good, as I've mentioned. Even Jeremy admitted this after he got over his initial defensiveness. (Some people cannot disassociate themselves from their book selection. If people don't like their book, they take it personally. Jeremy's initial response was pretty defensive, but he seemed to relax once he realized that nobody was attacking him.) Unfortunately, the book didn't lend itself well to discussion, either.
The next book, though, ought to provide lots of discussion material. We're reading Jon Krakauer's Into Thin Air, a first-hand account of the 1996 Everest expeditions that left several people dead. I read it in one sitting, basically. It's a compelling book. The writing is unremarkable but serviceable, but the story itself is quite gripping. You mgiht think there wouldn't be much to discuss about a book of this nature, but you'd be wrong. What motivates these mountain climbers to basically play Russian roulette? One climber claims that morality does not apply above 8000 meters. Is he right? Is he wrong? Can we really say without experiencing these extreme conditions ourselves? Who was responsible for the loss of life? Was anybody responsible? Good stuff (though not great).
I'm now reading Anatoli Bourkeev's The Climb, which is another account of the same fateful trip. Bourkeev has a slightly different view rom Krakauer's and reading the books synoptically makes for an interesting project. All of this Everest stuff is preparing me to finally read Apsley Cherry-Garrard's The Worst Journey in the World, something that I've been putting off for four years.
Dane and I had a lengthy discussion last week about reading and the choice of reading material. This is just a continuation of a discussion that we've been having for years. Here's an excerpt:
Dane: Does a limited range of enjoyment reading material directly correlate to a limited horizon?
J.D.: A limited literary horizon, certainly. And that's all I'm talking about here.
Dane: You didn't say that :) You said limited horizon.
After thinking about this exchange some more, and having read these two Everest books, I realize that I really do mean that a limited range of reading material limits a person's general horizon (in addition to the obvious limiting of the person's literary horizon). Yes, travel and discussion and other activities can broaden a person's horizon, but reading can, too.
The crux of our discussion was this: if a person limits his or her reading material to science fiction and fantasy (or some other genre), is the person somehow less educated, somehow cutting himself (or herself) off from possible horizons? Dane says that limiting a person's reading material has no effect on his/her horizon, I say it does. If I were to read only science fiction and fantasy, I would be missing out on a world of books (mysteries, classics, nonfiction, travel, adventure, scientific, baseball, history, etc.) that can provide enjoyment and insight and, in general, broaden my horizons (literary and otherwise). I think that, in general, everyone can benefit by reading outside of their "comfort zone". This is, too a large extent, what a book group does for its participants: it allows them to move beyond that which they would normally read and dabble in other genres. From our experience in our book group, this is tremendously valuable. I think that every one of our members would say that they are better people (and readers) for the variety that we read.
Nick wants to be philosophical, and it makes it difficult to concentrate on this weblog. I guess I'll go.
On this day at foldedspace.org
2003 — Surgery I hope this information proves useful to random googlers in the future, helps alleviate the fears of somebody else who's going to have his or her first surgery.
— Interlude At some point, I passed out. I woke the next morning feeling awful. I was nauseous, my leg really ached, I couldn't read or watch TV or do anything other than think about how puffy and painful and terrible my leg was. Then I discovered the morphine button, and all was well.