What Day Is This?

Whatever Steven Hawking says about nothingness and things less than 'ness, it is possible to go backwards.

I'm not a gardener. My fingers are deeply coated with the fine grains of London concrete not Pennsylvanian mulch; when I look at a plot of empty land I see the possibility for a modern interpretation of a Frank Lloyd Wright building, not the first growth of a bunch of Brussels Sprouts.

I tried to fool myself and I failed. At last. New day, new lesson.

Try this...

www.streetroad.org

This is more to my taste because all I have to do is contribute the occasionally pithy but still bland and meaningless paragraph.

Having made a career on bland and meaningless I'm a rocket star for this.

Day Twenty Four

Is it possible for less than nothing to happen?

Mr. Hawking?

Anyway, while nothing at all was happening in the "garden", Emily was moving into her studio at the Delaware Museum of Contemporary Arts - http://www.thedcca.org/
 

And here is Old Uncle Jim, master grower of rhubarb; why is my memory of growing up on Brackenbury Road bursting with images of me scoffing bowls of slightly sweet but mainly sour rhubarb crumble?

My sister sent me this photograph - we think it was taken outside of the Finchley Lido (my guess is the 1950's).

It's an interesting photo; there's the unseen lady with an elegant white shoe, and two men in mid-step, both indifferent to the camera. It would be hard to stage something that perfectly.