red ass sock monkey

A twitter friend posted: “I find myself sending prayers to [snip] as he and his family go through that which is hardest.” I had no idea what she referred to.

Her feed had no more information than that, and I’m pretty much out of everybody’s loop. I followed her link back to the other fellow’s account. The most recent post said, “Of course, this is Rebecca. It’s entirely likely that she’s staying precisely because we told her she could go.” My god! Was this guy tweeting the death of his mother?

I started to feel like I was in shock. The previous post, an hour before, said, “We keep telling her she can go, she can rest, she can stop fighting. It’s not working. She won’t go, or can’t.” Oh my god! I could picture my own mother’s passing.

Then, before that post, “She looks dead. She already looks dead but her body keeps breathing and I keep trying to find the words that will help her finally let go.”

Before that, roughly seven hours before I saw it, “She is essentially gone, yet her body keeps taking shallow breaths; her heart beats strong, but irregularly. Caught between life and death.”

Eight hours before, “I will be so, so sorry when you’re gone, Little Spark, but I will never, ever, ever be sorry that you came to us.” Little SparK? An odd pet name for someone’s mom.

But under that, I realized the horror: “An hour ago, at 7:24am EDT, she officially, thoroughly, totally turned six years old.” Before that, “Sunrise on her sixth birthday.

Her last birthday, and probably her last sunrise.

She’s unconscious, unable to see it.

Not long now.”

Eric Meyer shares more on blog posts over the past few weeks. This is easily the most painful thing I have ever read. Part of me is comforted that the Meyer family can gather support from the internet community that’s so much a part of their lives. Another part of me wants to never look at twitter again.

My god, my god. I am so sorry.

A few days ago there was an old stereoscopic image posted in the Smithsonian’s Bigger Picture blog. I love old images for lots of reasons, and I have real fondness for early stereoscope images. I had a stereoscope and shoebox of cardboard photos when I was a kid, and when I had a daughter I made 3D photo disks for her Viewmaster. I’ll even confess that the first time I saw a set of photos that I took through a Viewmaster I wanted to run screaming with joy into the street. It’s just too cool.

I’ve played around a lot. I used Library of Congress images in an experiment posted on my old site when I tried seeing if audio directions would be enough for creating an anaglyph in Photoshop. (It worked, but nobody really cared. And I hate listening to me, too.) With the small web presentation of these old stereoscope images it’s possible to focus your eyes so they look “through” the stereo image, resolving the double photo into one 3D image without a Viewmaster or Stereopticon. Like the “magic picture” books. I have lots of glasses laying around and for me, I still get a big kick out of red/cyan anaglyphs. Hence, I made this one from the image posted in the Smithsonian’s Bigger Picture blog. It has a really nice sense of depth. The anaglyph technique works the same with full color images; I’ve experimented with them when I had a camera and did a 3D shot of the Nittany lion shrine.

What? You don’t have any red/cyan anaglyph glasses?

I’ve been spending too much time reading books and watching movies. I try to pick the best stuff so my brain doesn’t completely atrophy, but still. I waste too much time. Movies bring on the guilts far worse than books, and lately I’ve been watching far too many. Recently I had a friendly prod, though. I stopped at the county library and grabbed two movies that I’ve been waiting for. One of them was The Book Thief.

When I got up to the counter the librarian said, “Oh, Dave, (yes, they call me by name…) have you read the book? It’s so good!”

I had to confess that I hadn’t read the book. At this point another librarian chimed in and said that the movie was very good too. Great. But undeterred, the first librarian said, “Really you should read the book. At least before you see the movie.” Minor dilemma. They really didn’t want to let me take it out.

The librarian that liked the movie wavered a bit and said, “Well, yes; you should read the book before watching the movie. It fills in so much.”

Okay okay. I took both movies, and hung on to The Book Thief an extra day to make sure, but I ended by not watching it. I checked online and all copies of the book in all county libraries were checked out. When I told the librarian, she said she’s bring me her copy.

That’s pretty amazing wouldn’t you say? I would have been too uncomfortable to take her up on it. Then it turned out that the libraries copy came back early. It actually said, “On shelving cart” when I checked the digital catalog. What kind of crazy timing is that? So I followed the cart, checked out the book, read it over the weekend, and have to confess I loved the tale. I asked the librarian if the movie had a narrator, and she said yes, although it isn’t featured as prominently. But you know what? I don’t even care. I currently have no motivation to see the movie. The book was perfect. Buy it for your kids.

The next time I grabbed a movie, it was because an old friend recommended MirrorMirror. This time, when I got to the desk the librarian smiled and said, “Have you seen The Fall? It’s by Tarsem, too (Meaningless reference…). Oh you’ll really like it.” She ran from behind the desk, grabbed the library’s DVD of The Fall and checked it out on my card.

And she was right. I enjoyed finding out who Tarsem is, and The Fall easily surpassed MirrorMirror. I’ll bet The Book Thief book surpasses The Book Thief movie just on the librarian’s say so. Smart folks, those librarians. I think I’d love working in a library, except there’s no way I’d be able to provide that calibre of friendly personal service.

I met a friend in the park several days ago. We sat on a bench and filled each other in on what had been going on in the months since we’d last talked. It was nearly lunch time and the lawn was filled with the usual assortment of ducks and smiling young families feeding them. One boy, who looked to be about three, stumbled from his parents and chased after a few mallards.

“Why can’t these parents teach their kids any respect for the ducks?”

The statement hit my ear in an odd way. Respect the ducks? Actually I’d winced when my daughter’s step son chased after the ducks. I said something gently, without pushing, but I wasn’t sure how his parents felt about it so I let it go at that.

“At least if the duck feels threatened it will fly instead of waddling.”

I said it a bit sheepishly. I thought kids would be kids and they certainly all seem compelled to run at the things, watch them scurry, hear them quack. Perhaps expecting parents to use an opportunity of a fun lunch in the park as an occasion to teach duck respect was a bit harsh?

This morning I was out just as the sun came up and the park was still in a cool, gray light. I like the time, listening to the water with no one around. I sit on a bench and read, with the ducks all minding their own business. They know me and know I bring a book and not bread. A few stayed sleeping under my bench, others slept across the grass field with their heads tucked under their wings. A few stirred, but just found another position and sat down again as soon as they realized it was still a while till breakfast time.

I looked across the lawn at the sleeping ducks. They’re some how unnatural, sleeping around people, waiting for handouts instead of hunting. Maybe they aren’t deserving of respect? They’re kind of like homeless people, living in the park. And it hit me. Yes, pretty much exactly like homeless people. What would I say to a child who chased a homeless man? How would I teach a child who had no sense that a homeless person was worthy of respect? Aren’t all living things deserving of respect? The beautiful chevron of ducks that herald the coming of spring as well as the mixed village that lives on stale bread? What a complex point of view.

What a perfect word respect is. I really need to listen faster.

And playing with a different style. It’s relaxing. Makes me think about wood cuts.

This year’s Centre Gives campaign doubled the amount the Centre County Library received during last year’s campaign. That’s a bit over $3100 for 2014. When viewed as an increase over last years donations, it seems pretty awesome. More awesome still because Centre County Library no longer has to support the Millheim Library. What a bonus, right? SCHLOW on the leader board at #1 with 345 gifts and $37,221. Centre Co. Library:
58 gifts and $3135.Unless you live in Millheim. Or live somewhere that depends on families who benefited from the Millheim Library. The Centre County Libraries will continue to do the best they can for families across the county, but they did close the Millheim Library permanently. Permanently. Not as a week long, perfectly timed, promotional stunt.

The State College Library is available to the entire county, too, if you can get to State College. In fact, if you can get to State College, and get to their library, you can likely walk a few hundred yards and too, access Penn State’s Pattee/Paterno Library, which is free and available to everyone in Pennsylvania. What an abundance of resources!

All libraries are worth supporting: the services; the assets; the helpful, knowledgeable librarians. I listened to a research librarian address a small group of educators last year. Why we need libraries and librarians was so obvious. You can’t “just google” everything, but frequently, if you try, you’ll have no idea what you’re missing. Almost every day I see the patience, knowledgeability, and helpfulness of the librarians in Bellefonte. I can’t imagine them going away; but how can the rest of our relatively low income county support the library services the county needs?

CentreGives is now over, and I’m sure Schlow raked in an abundance of donations. They get to continue to compete with Pattee I guess. I wish them well. I really do.