Return from the Old Place

08 Friday May 2026

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, creativity, politics, psychology, Veritas

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AI, environment, ethics, fiction, legend, life, myth, nature, politics, Resistance, short story, story, tale, truth, Veritas, weapons, writing

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Many Paths led their foursome back toward the Center Place of the Veritas. She contrived to walk near Cat Eyes and Cat Eyes walked behind Jaccim. Thus, Many Paths continued a sort of indirect dialogue with Jaccim.

“Ask him if the mother horse loves her baby horse.”

Cat Eyes quickened her step till she walked close to Jaccim. She noticed that he seemed fairly recovered from his injuries.

“Oh, yes! Very much!” Cat Eyes translated back to Many Paths who then elaborated this idea by asking about all sorts of animals. When she judged that the mind and heart of Jaccim were both prepared, she shifted to a related but different topic.

“It seems to me the natural order of things. The natural place of adults is to care for children, not to enslave them. We want to teach them but we don’t want to harm them. Ever. Every living thing has a pattern. A pine tree grows in the pine tree pattern. An oak tree grows in the oak pattern. A grape vine grows in the grape vine pattern.”

in distant photo of tree on landscape field

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A long conversation ensued between Cat Eyes and Jaccim. At last, Cat Eyes looked back over her shoulder to Many Paths. “I think he understands. He understood after I gave your specific examples. I don’t know of a way to say ‘the natural order’ or ‘the natural place’ in ROI. That doesn’t surprise me. They have little respect for the way things are in nature.”

Cat Eyes walked another hundred yards in silence. At last, she spoke again, loudly enough for all of them to hear. “It is as though everything in nature is there for them to use…to steal for their own use. So, perhaps it is not surprising that they also steal children away from their parents.”

Many Paths furrowed her brow. She shook her head. She thought about it and thought about her dream and the dream of She Who Saves Many Lives. She looked out over the beautiful plain below and felt a hollow in her chest much as she felt when Shadow Walker and Tu-Swift were away and possibly dead. Her sorrow and worry now were not for the two people she most loved, but for her the entire tribe whom she loved. If these people who cared not for nature — these people who stole other people’s children… if they had killing sticks and they were numerous and cruel, this might all be destroyed — all the beauty, all of nature, all of the Veritas. Everyone and everything that she loved. Gone.

For a moment, she pointed her hand toward Jaccim’s back. Her nostrils flared and she saw flames shoot from her hands and burn him badly. Then, Many Paths shook her head to wipe the fantasy from her mind. She felt she had reason to hate these ROI and the only one in sight was Jaccim. Yet, she may need him in more ways than one. And, was it his fault to be born among and learn the ways of the ROI? She might as well be angry at a flea for biting a dog or an eagle for snatching a fish.

A more central reason for her sudden anger, she realized, was that she seemed completely unable to understand this man’s heart. She had all seven rings of empathy and she still had no idea how he could look at the world the way it seemed he did. But she must try. What if there were some useful truth in the way he looked at the world even though it was distasteful to her? And, even if that turned out not to be the case, it was certainly the case that understanding the way he thought would be of enormous use in case of war, or, in case of slavery. She had to try, for the sake of everyone she loved, to try to understand this man’s heart and mind. It is clear, Many Paths suddenly thought to herself — I must learn this man’s language. “Cat Eyes!”

“Yes?”

“I want you to teach me ROI. Will you?”

“Certainly. But really, you should learn from Jaccim. He knows it much better and he speaks with the … the flourish of the way the words are spoken. Perhaps…perhaps it would be good for everyone to know all the languages, at least some. Do you think so, Many Paths?”

“Yes. I certainly do.” Then, Many Paths thought to herself: How can the people do all that needs to be done though? She had taken the lead for awhile and suddenly a hart leapt across her path only a short distance ahead. She was thrilled with the beauty of the deer — as though all the parts worked together with the single goal of staying alive. Many Paths thought: That’s what we need to do with the Tribe as well, I think. Yes. I must explain all the plans, but different persons of the Veritas will be responsible for different parts. But we will all know the whole of it. And I may not even know all the parts we need, but there’s already a fair number.

She continued her planning: There is the matter of the Killing Sticks. We need to know more about them, but we also need to begin thinking about other weapons in case we cannot get them. Eagle Eyes would be good for that. But…she’d also be important in leading reconnaissance to the Walled Camp of the Z-Lotz, both because she’d been there and because of her superior eyesight. I could lead the thinking on alternative weapons, at least until we know more about the nature of the Killing Sticks. Some of the Veritas, but not all, should put energies into knowing as much as possible about these people who seem not to care about nature. But they are of nature. How can this be? How can this be? It is like a child hating his own mother. Perhaps that is why they steal people’s children. Perhaps such a child hates their own mother for not protecting them. Then, such a person might also not feel the truth of their connection to the Tree of Life. Yet, Cat Eyes seems all right. She’s not … disconnected. I think it’s time for a talk with She Who Saves Many Lives.

Many Paths reflected ruefully that her usual joy in walking back toward the Center Place of the Veritas was now marred by her own thoughts. Once she decided to lead the group that would think about weapons, she could not turn that stream off. Instead of noticing the brilliant pink glow of some Lady Slippers growing near a stream, she thought of their medicinal properties as a soporific. She began to wonder how much would be required to poison opposing warriors, or, if it came to that, slave-owners. Poppy Pods could be used the same way. Cat Eyes had said that some of the slave children of the Z-Lotz had found ways to thwart their overseers. She herself had managed to sicken those who “owned” her. She had never used enough poison to kill anyone, not because she would feel guilty, but because it would increase the chances of being found out. She would typically contrive, not to sicken everyone in a family, but one person at a time, so that every few weeks, one or the other would find themselves retching all day or unusually tired. That way, her captors had simply assumed an illness was working its way through the family. She would feign these symptoms herself so as to avoid suspicion.

And, now, instead of enjoying the delicate blooms of the Lady Slippers for their own sake, Many Paths found herself eyeing everything in the field and the forest as a possible tool — a weapon of defense or offense. Wasn’t this frame of mind exactly what the ROI themselves did? And, according to Cat Eyes, this was also the true way that the most powerful and richest among the Z-Lotz viewed the world. Though they would put on a show of being consumed with piety, they were constantly scheming to get more through work or artifice or treachery.

Many Paths wondered if she was simply feeding the bad wolf within herself. Would she become so consumed with how to destroy the lives of those who would kill or enslave the Veritas that she herself would lose the capacity to feel for others? Was there a path to peace that did not run through the fire of war? I must speak of this with She Who Saves Many Lives, she thought again. And, I will speak of this with Shadow Walker as well. Perhaps he and I can help each other keep the light of love alive through the coming trials.

Shadow Walker had said that the People Who Steal Children had made no effective attempt to cover their trail. Perhaps they had spent so long plotting and scheming to get more that they no longer saw the impact of their own actions on the world. Or, perhaps, they could still cover their trail but believed so much in the superiority of their numbers and their weapons that they didn’t bother. Maybe hiding hoof prints is just too difficult and time consuming. She did not want to become a person who saw nothing, heard nothing, felt nothing except for how it furthered or did not further her plans to hurt others.

Maybe, she reflected, there is a way to turn the minds of the Z-Lotz back to pleasurable things and back toward harmony. She Who Saves Many Lives had tried to do this with POND MUD and ALT-R. But they were somehow beyond — it seemed they had fallen in some way. Tu-Swift had hurt his knee fleeing the flames. He might — or might not — be permanently marred in his running. Perhaps ALT-R and POND MUD had been marred in their souls to such an extent that they could not ever have been healed. She had tried. Others had tried. And, what of this man NUT-PI? From all accounts, he seemed to actually enjoy inflicting pain on others. That might be a type of wound of the soul that festers and never recovers. In rare cases, she knew that the infection of a wound sometimes festers and the sickness of the wound spreads until it destroys the human body of a person, no matter what medicines are given, or how many healing songs are sung. Is this what had happened with ALT-R and POND MUD? And, NUT-PI? Could this happen to Many Paths herself if she kept dwelling on all the different ways to sicken, maim, hurt, thwart the Z-Lotz?

Original drawing by Pierce Morgan

She hoped not. Yet, even as she walked this path, one of her favorites, she looked at a different forest, a different field — one less filled with life. It was a path on which things of use rather than things of beauty stood out for her. Saplings became spears in waiting. Thorn Apples became possible two-part weapons. She could coat the thorns in a poison from the leaves and then arrange for the thorns to penetrate the skin. Rocks along the path reminded her of slings. Slings and rocks. These were weapons that could always be ready to hand for a people who were captured. Tu-Swift himself had used a small rock to sabotage some of the weapons of the ROI.

Many Paths tried to drink in the beauty surrounding her with the eyes of her youth, and she could, but now it seemed an effort. After all, if she could not help lead her people so as to prevent the destructive war that seemed inevitable, there might not be any beauty left to drink. In the Battle of the Three Paths, two would-be enemies had been persuaded not to fight. But they had had to fight the Cupiditas. Those people could not be deterred, at least in any way that anyone had yet discovered. She resolved to spend some part of each day reminding herself of the way of seeing which was to feel the inner beating heart that she shared with all living things. But for the rest, she would dedicate herself to finding many weapons of war, the most important among those weapons being yet the way of peace. Perhaps, thought Many Paths, if the way of the Z-Lotz and the ROI is to stop seeing the harmony of nature, we can use the harmony of nature that they no longer see as a kind of weapon to destroy them. Or, maybe we can somehow rekindle that love-sight in their souls.

Many Paths began to sing the legend of the Forgotten Field of Flowers and soon Cat Eyes and Tu-Swift began to sing along. Jaccim improvised a humming beat to accompany. Singing one of the songs of her people put Many Paths in a more harmonious mood and as she glanced to the northern horizon, the flashes of lightning in the dark clouds filled her with awe. The storm was headed their way, but she relished the smell of summer rain and looked forward to the downpour.

island during golden hour and upcoming storm

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Many Paths came to the end of her song. To her surprise, Cat Eyes kept singing! She sang verses that Many Paths had never before heard. Cat Eyes sang with a beautiful clear voice. She sang with joy and she sang with a profound sadness at the same time. The voice of Cat Eyes filled the heart of Many Paths and she wondered yet again what deep wounds had been cut into the very heart of Cat Eyes and how those wounds had been healed. Many Paths nodded and made an effort to remember her next thought: Perhaps that soul-healing was also a weapon–or anti-weapon– whose secrets must be discovered.

———————————————-

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Start of the First Book of The Myths of the Veritas

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Table of Contents for the Second Book of the Veritas

Table of Contents for Essays on America

Index for a Pattern Language for Teamwork and Collaboration

Destroying Natural Intelligence

All we Stand to Lose

The Silent Screams of Dead Men’s Dreams

After All

The Isle of Right

Imagine All the People

The Dance of Billions

Freedom and Local Knowledge

16 Thursday Apr 2026

Posted by petersironwood in America, essay, politics, psychology

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Consider the photograph below. Tell me what you see and think about what you infer based on the combination of your perception of the photo and your general knowledge. You might want to jot it down.

Let’s do a similar exercise based on the photograph below. Again, what is your take-away? I’ll give you a hint. I live in the San Diego area and these photos were taken just a couple days ago (early April, 2026) near where I live.

I took the first photo coming out of the grocery store after doing the shopping. What I “saw” pleased me. I “saw” that my car had an empty parking space on both sides. That makes loading the car from the grocery cart easier. My car is the dark Lexus just beyond the large red pick-up truck. I can recognize my car from almost any small portion of it.

I took the second photo on a Wednesday afternoon. It shows me that it’s still sunny out. It also shows that the gardeners have done with the work and left. The last thing they do is to take out to the curb the lawn trash, the garbage can, and the recycling bin. I can’t see the bins, but I can see the shadows of the bins. When the gardeners come, I open the gate to the garden. Since they are now gone, I plan to take the dogs out in the back. I will first have to re-shut the garden gate so they don’t go bounding out of the garden into the street.

There’s very little chance that you would have any way to figure out what these stimuli mean to me in my context and constraints and goals. And that’s okay. You have hundreds of goals, constraints, and habits that I know nothing about.

It would be absurd for me to try to direct your life and it would be equally absurd for you to try to direct mine. Luckily, we live in a free country. Of course, there are some constraints on that freedom. It’s not legal for me to go steal stuff from my neighbors nor is it legal for them to steal things from me. But in many areas, large and small, each of is free to do as we wish. My neighbors might take their own trash cans out to the street and do it on their own schedule.

Not everyone on the planet is lucky enough to live in a free country.

A dictatorship seeks to control everything about your life. They do not take into account your goals, your context, your habits, your preferences, your constraints. They don’t care. They have neither the knowledge nor the desire to put in place controls that will be right for me. They won’t be right for you either. They won’t be right for anyone.

Except themselves. That’s what dictatorships do. They take power in order to control you, enslave you, and steal from you.

And, if they feel like it, they’re perfectly fine shooting you in the face after you wish them a Good day.

——————

Finding the Mustard

The Self-Made Man

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A Pattern Language for Collaboration and Cooperation

Travels with Sadie Teamwork

The Walkabout Diaries Natural Variation

All We Stand to Lose

Dick-Taters

Absolute is Not Just a Vodka

The Myths of the Veritas: The First Ring of Empathy

The Dance of Billions

An Open Sore from Hell

Roar, Ocean, Roar!

Imagine All the People

The Illness that’s Everywhere

09 Thursday Apr 2026

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, politics, psychology, story, Veritas

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“I don’t really feel sick. Not exactly,” said the white-haired lady.

Many Paths sat down on the edge of the pine bough bed and looked down warmly into the eyes of She Who Saved Many Lives. She squeezed her mentor’s hand a bit tighter as she asked, “Can you tell me how you feel, Great Leader?”

She Who Saved Many Lives chuckled a bit. “That’s you now, dear.” She squeezed the hands of Many Paths and returned the warm gaze. “You’re the Leader.”

“It is more like everything feels sick,” Saved Many Lives continued. “Not a lot, but some. I see, feel, hear, sense — an illness that is slight for now but growing and that it is — everywhere.”

Many Paths now grew worried. Perhaps, as sometimes happened, something bad grew in the brain of She Who Saved Many Lives. Or, maybe she was being metaphorical and vague on purpose. That was one of her many “tricks” to get you to think for yourself. Maybe, thought Many Paths, she is even now about to teach me a lesson. I would certainly welcome it. The mood of Many Paths improved. She at least hoped that her mentor was teaching her.

She Who Saved Many Lives sighed and continued:“It’s most like a dizziness. As when you spin around in a circle for a long time. Then you stop and the whole world seems to be spinning. You lose your balance and fall. And that is what this feels like as well. Something in the world is very much out of balance. It is falling. And though the earth still lives, there are those about in the world who would make earth herself fall.”

“And that makes you dizzy?” Many Paths still thought a teaching lesson was not the only hypothesis, but the best.

“It does when I look upon it. I want to understand what it is and how it came about and how to stop it of course. And when I study into it, that’s when I myself start to feel that dizziness. How can anyone want to destroy life itself? They want it to be imbalanced! They want life to stop!” She Who Saved Many Lives sat up and Many Paths could see her mentor’s forehead was wet.

Many Paths thought perhaps rest was the most important thing to prescribe for her patient. But her “patient” was anything but; she seemed obsessed with trying to find out what was imbalanced. Many Paths decided to pursue the conversation.

“How could the world get out of balance? If it were in balance to start with, why wouldn’t it stay in balance?”

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She Who Saved Many Lives nodded, “I have asked myself that same question. As you no doubt would appreciate, there are many possible answers. It might be that none of them are correct. It is possible that the imbalance was always there but too slight for us to notice. Over time, the imbalance became so large that it was impossible to return to balance.”

Many Paths remained more concerned with her patient than with such a philosophical discussion. But her curiosity had nonetheless been engaged. She Who Saved Many Lives had a gift for that.

“I can see how a small imbalance could lead to a larger one. But it may also be true that imbalance and balance are themselves in a cycle. When a person is a tiny toddler, they fall a lot! They have very little sense of balance. At last they grow into adulthood and they have good balance. Then…no offense meant…but as you get very old, your sense of balance becomes worse. Then, you fall again.”

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“Yes, and of course, each of us individually dies. For us, as a separate being, we grow so far out of balance that we die. And yet normally, the whole of life is not thrown off balance by that. But my sense of things is that people are “falling” at all ages, not just toddlers and old folks. It is something — I don’t think there is a better word than “evil” — some idea or way of thinking that is not only wrong in some circumstances, but actually aimed at self-destruction. I think of NUT-PI and also from our own tribe, ALT-R and POND MUD. But it is not just them. Somehow, they or people like them are infecting others. It may be that I myself am ill. And because of that, I sense illness elsewhere. But I don’t honestly think it’s like that. The illness is everywhere — and it makes me sick to think of it — that there are life forms out there — as recounted in The Myth of the Orange Man — that want to destroy life itself for some trivial greed.”

For a time, the two women sat in silence, each considering the words of She Who Saves Many Lives. Many Paths at last began, “I have felt something similar. I felt it when POND MUD and ALT-R betrayed us. But after we won the Battle of the Three Paths, it seemed as though the world was well again. Then someone stole Tu-Swift. Stole him. Who would steal the children of others? And then, in trying to find Tu-Swift, others left — and no-one is back. No-one. They may all be dead for all I know. Everything is sick. Yes. Very sick. And I don’t know how to cure it.”

Many Paths looked for a time into the eyes of She Who Saves Many Lives for an answer, for a clue. Any moment now, she hoped, her mentor would ask one key question and this would all fall into place. At last, Many Paths realized that was not going to happen. Saves Many Lives had not been teaching at all. She was as confused as Many Paths. Saves Many Lives had reminded Many Paths that it was now her turn to be Leader. Many Paths took a deep breath and gave the hand of She Who Saves Many Lives one last squeeze and stood up.

“But we will find out how to cure it. We will find out. But for now, let us both get some rest. Tomorrow may bring good news or bad, but it will be another day. Many Paths smiled, turned, and exited the Cabin of her mentor. She looked out onto the Center Place of the Veritas. She smelled the cooking fires, and she heard the happy chatter of her people punctuated now and again with a laugh. It suddenly hit her that she loved this entire tribe and loved it with the same ferocity as a mother grizzly loves her cubs. She would find out what this illness of the world was and together they would cure it. They would fix it. Surely, life itself would come to her aid.

She walked over to the edge of the broad, swiftly flowing stream. She smiled as she remembered the clever way that Eagle Eyes had turned this stream into a weapon in the Battle of Three Paths. She could see the pink and gold of the sunset clouds reflected yet transformed by the churning water. She knew that somehow and some day, all would be well once again. Life, after all, was robust. It also flashed through her mind that she was only a few feet from the spot where KAVA-NUT had been attacked by a trained eagle. That was something to behold. If we can enlist nature….

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Many Paths looked upward imagining the great eagle swooping down. She imagined that she could actually glimpse the eagle in the fading light…careening over the trees. No. It was an eagle, she decided, and headed this way! Could it be…? Many Paths quickly flung several folds of her robe over her forearm so that the Eagle could land there. She put her forearm up parallel to the ground and the Eagle alit.

Many Paths recognized the Eagle as one of the ones that Eagle Eyes had trained. This one appears to have a badly broken leg, she thought. But as she calmed the Eagle, hooding its vision with her hand, she noticed that something was attached to the Eagle’s leg. She had to breathe deeply to calm herself enough to remove the something without spooking the Eagle. It seemed to be some sort of message.

———————————-

The Creation Myth of the Veritas

The Orange Man: A Parable of Lying and Greed

The First Ring of Empathy (The Start of Book One)

Fire and Feast (The Start of Book Two)

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An Essay on How we sometimes Confuse the Label with the Thing

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What About the Butter Dish?

Math Class: Who are You?

The No-Rock Rock & the No-Door Door.

23 Monday Feb 2026

Posted by petersironwood in family, psychology, story, Uncategorized, Veritas

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Shadow Walker took the first watch along with Easy Tears. After their long day’s march, it would be too easy for a single sentry to fall asleep. Shadow Walker felt as though, for him, it was an unnecessary precaution but he realized that could be a delusion. He might be more prone to sleep than he realized. Easy Tears and Shadow Walker had known each other since childhood and they were comfortable with each other. The wolf pups lay beside them and helped stave off the chill of the night air. Though the pups appeared to be in a deep sleep, he suspected they would be awake in a flash if more ambushers tried to sneak up on their search party.

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Quietly, Shadow Walker began to chat with Easy Tears, the better to keep them both awake. “We should watch out for snakes as well. They are drawn to body heat as well as the fire. I suspect this is the sort of place that many rattlesnakes may make their home.”

Easy Tears responded, “I am not so much a friend to the snakes as you are. They aren’t always so easy to see either. I recall once almost stepping on a large snake who had a rattle-tail of ten rattles.”

Shadow Walker considered this, allowing the silence to flow between them. “Those snakes can fool the eyes. That is true. A walking stick, a butterfly with the eyes of an owl. Many animals make themselves look or sound like something else…or just fade into the background.”

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A shooting star streaked across the sky. Shadow Walker had jerked his finger to share with Easy Tears and though she turned quickly, she only caught a brief glance. “Like those whom we pursue. They don’t hide their trail well at all. But then they simply disappear!”

Shadow Walker considered this. “You’re right. I suspect that once we search in daylight we will find some sign of continuing trail. I’m impatient to continue but we need the rest and … the sunlight will show us the way.” Shadow Walker noticed that the soft glow of the firelight flickered on the eyes and hair of Easy Tears in a most pleasing way. Shadow Walker thought of Many Paths and the serious conversation that they had postponed.

Easy Tears shivered slightly. Shadow Walker considered sidling up to her and putting his arm around her so that they would both enjoy the warmth of the other. It would be all right. Pleasurable even. But sometimes, it is difficult to know what is around the next bend and the one after that. Instead, he stood and got another blanket and draped it around her shoulders, then added another log onto the fire. He sat back down and reflected on his discovery that snakes could sense the heat of their prey. If only they could train a snake to be a helper. That could prove useful. He wondered aloud, “Easy Tears, if people can train horses and wolves and eagles, do you think it is possible to train snakes?”

Easy Tears chuckled slightly. “I wouldn’t think so, but you are the expert. I don’t really care for them, though I do appreciate their eating the rats and mice that try to steal our grain.” She considered for a time. “I suppose you could train them. Yes. I suspect you could train anything with enough love and patience. But you see how it is. Despite your love and patience, there is always a chance they would bite you or misunderstand your intention. I suppose it might be something that would take a long time. What would you train a snake to do?”

“I wish we could have their sense of heat. Perhaps we could use them to follow trails or find hidden enemies. Maybe we could even train them as guards. Ours did not work so well for some reason. That bothers me. How could such as these who do not cover their tracks elude our guards?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps they did not try to elude our guards at all, but simply overpowered them too quickly for them to sound the alarm. Or perhaps, they feigned being peaceful? Trunk of Tree will figure it out. I like him.” She smiled and glanced at Shadow Walker. “Do you think he likes me?”

Shadow Walker considered this. Trunk of Tree had never said anything, but judging from the actions and looks of Trunk of Tree, probably so. “Yes, I think so. He looks at you…with longing. You are a beautiful woman, after all.”

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Easy Tears smiled and Shadow Walker realized that he really found her attractive, but not in the deep way that he loved Many Paths. The half moon set and it grew darker. “It’s time to wake the next guards. He calmed his mind and thought of their serious quest in order to cool his blood. Then, he stood and walked over to Lion Slayer. He stood almost on top of Lion Slayer but Lion Slayer appeared to be a sound sleeper. He snored loudly and Shadow Walker joked, “I wonder whether he actually slew the lion with a spear…or with that snore.”

Easy Tears laughed aloud but all the others remained asleep. Shadow Walker squatted down on his haunches and shook Lion Slayer. The snoring continued. For a moment, he considered shaking Hudah Salah but decided against it. He shook Lion Slayer again and whispered his name. Hudah Salah suddenly sprang to his feet and pressed his thumbs against Shadow Walker’s windpipe. Shadow Walker smacked the hands away and jumped back, “Lion Slayer! It’s all right. It’s me. Time for your watch, as agreed.”

Lion Slayer shook his head. He looked hard at Shadow Walker and mumbled something unintelligible. At last, he seemed to come to his senses. “Yes,” he said and awakened his wife.

Easy Tears lay down and smiled at Shadow Walker. She moved her body so that sufficient space appeared next to her for the body of Shadow Walker to fit snugly. Shadow Walker sighed and lay down instead by himself and dreamt of Many Paths.

aerial photo of mountain surrounded by fog

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The next thing Shadow Walker sensed was light. It was not yet dawn. The troop all awoke and had a small breakfast and then began exploring the cliffs for a sign or a path. As they explored, they continued to chew pemmican and some dried fruit. Shadow Walker had asked Fleet of Foot to explore with Easy Tears, who took the wolf pups with her. Shadow Walker walked with Eagle Eyes. It was understood now by the group that Lion Slayer and Hudah Salah were fairly inseparable.

Although Eagle Eyes had the best vision, Shadow Walker’s eyes were also sharp but he found nothing but sheer cliffs. Eagle Eyes said, “Wait.”

“What do you see?” asked Shadow Walker.

“Nothing really. But something’s not right. It does not look right here. I’m not sure why.” Eagle Eyes stood with her hands on her hips staring at the sheer cliff face. She looked up the cliff face and noted various hand holds. “This wall might be scalable to a good climber.”

“Yes, I can see that as well though it would be dangerous. But horses? They are horses, not mountain goats” Shadow Walker said without blame or sarcasm.

“I know, but still, something is not right.” Eyes of Eagle shook her head and asked herself what she was missing.

Because the pair had stopped their systematic exploring, the rest of the search party converged on them. Fleet of Foot was the first to arrive. “Did you find something?”

Eagle Eyes smiled at him. “Not really. But his does not look right.”

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Easy Tears arrived next with the wolf pups who immediately began jumping and whining. They sniffed around the base of the rocks and ran back and forth between the rocks and Easy Tears. They had clearly caught a scent of something. “Perhaps Tu-Swift?” suggested Shadow Walker.

The pups took turns trying to stick their nose into a small cleft in the rock. On impulse, Shadow Walker, put his fingers in the cleft and tried pulling. He could not budge the rock, which did not surprise him. But the feel of the rock did surprise him. It was much like flint but harder and colder. Beyond that, there was no texture to the rock. It felt, somehow, dead, even more dead than the bleached bones of a long dead buffalo. Shadow Walker lay on his back and tried to push on the cleft with his feet. Soon, all six of them pushed and pulled on the rock face though they had no hope of moving it.

And then, it did move, though very slightly. The group positioned themselves and pushed even harder. The rock slid more easily now like a smooth stick along the winter lake ice. Instead of the grinding sound of rock on rock, however, they heard an unearthly screeching sound like a very large eagle.

At last, a huge slab of the cold rock had been moved aside and behind it, all could see a large, short passageway into a sunlit path beyond. The wolf pups bounded through and out into the sunlight. The people followed. Eagle Eyes looked back at the strange rock and noticed something stranger yet. The back of the rock had many handles. She supposed they were to replace the rock. But at the bottom of the rock, she saw something that made her gasp aloud.

“What is this?” she asked. All of them turned and looked at the base of the weird rock. There were circles of rock on the bottom! What strange magic was this? Despite their hurry to find Tu-Swift and their excitement at finding the way out of the box canyon, each knelt down to marvel at the smooth circles of rock.

After some time, Shadow Walker said. “We cannot solve the mystery of this rock. We must follow the trail. Should we close this … door? If we do not, it may be apparent to any of the Stands on Horses people that we are coming for Tu-Swift. But when we return, we may be in a hurry to go through this way.”

Eagle Eyes spoke next. “We could leave it just slightly open so that we could squeeze through but no horses could. I think we could make this door, as you call it, harder yet to open or close.”

Fleet of Foot spoke. “We should hurry up and get to Tu-Swift as quickly as possible. We have no idea how badly hurt he may be.”

Shadow Walker: “We cannot know for certain the best course of action. I think it best to put it back the way it was. We are not going to be able to overwhelm our enemy with force. We must rely on secrecy. We may or may not be able to save Tu-Swift. But others of those who stand on horses find out we are on the way to their camp, they may go more swiftly and warn their people. That will make rescue impossible and even reconnaissance riskier. Let us move this back and follow the trail. We may also find another way back that is less familiar to those who ride on horses.”

I proved difficult to move the rock back, but they succeeded and they then resumed their tracking, which was again an easy task. Perhaps, thought Shadow Walker, those who stood on horses felt they were so fast they would not be pursued. Or, perhaps, they had not learned to hide their trail. Or, perhaps they thought that odd rock door would cut short any pursuit. Eagle Eyes with Easy Tears led the team with the pups trotting along side them. Next came the pair from the Nomads of the South. Shadow Walker and Fleet of Foot carried the heaviest loads and kept looking for and erasing signs of their trail. They stayed within the confines of the large swaths of changed lands that the galloping horses provided. This made “covering” their trail fairly easy. Trackers of the Veritas might wonder at the paw prints of two wolf cubs traveling without a pack, but Shadow Walker felt it likely that these would not raise suspicions among those he was tracking since they seemed so unconcerned about their own trail.

Shadow Walker was happy to concentrate on the trail ahead and to check to make sure there were no more of those who stand on horses behind them. In this way, he could avoid wondering about things that he could neither control nor prepare for. Many Paths was or was not okay with the rest of the Veritas. Tu-Swift was or was not okay. The only distraction that he really couldn’t block out was the smooth cold feel of the rock that was not rock and the circles of rock. There was also a very odd smell about that rock – something he had never smelled before, but it reminded him of death.

———————————————————

Books by the Author:

The Winning Weekend Warrior focuses on strategy, tactics, & the mental game for all sports including golf, tennis, softball, basketball, etc., as well as business.

Turing’s Nightmares consists of 23 fictional scenarios of humans interacting with technology for good or evil.

Fit in Bits suggests numerous ways to work more fun and exercise into daily activities such as watching TV, sitting in meetings, shopping, playing with kids, traveling, etc.

Tales from an American Childhood recounts early experiences and then relates them to contemporary issues and events.

Travels with Sadie 10: The Best Laid Plans

05 Sunday Oct 2025

Posted by petersironwood in family, nature, pets, psychology, Sadie, Uncategorized

≈ 6 Comments

Tags

books, dogs, fiction, GoldenDoodle, life, nature, pets, Sadie, story, truth, writing

Our dogs are large. And strong. And young. And, sometimes, Sadie (the older one) does “good walking” but sometimes, she pulls. Hard. She’s had lots of training. And, as I said, she will often walk well, but still tends to pull after a small mammal or a hawk or a lizard. She pulls hard if she needs desperately to find the perfect spot to “do her business.” She pulls hardest to try to meet a friend (human or canine).

When she pulls, it is a strain on my feet and my knees and my back. I can hold her, but barely. To remedy the situation, we got another kind of leash/collar arrangement which includes a piece to go over her snout. We acclimated Sadie, and her brother Bailey, to the “gentle lead” and decided we’d try walking them together.

Safer leash, safer walk was the plan. Indeed, the dogs didn’t pull as they often do. Nonetheless, I managed to fall on the asphalt while walking Sadie–the first time I ever fell on the hard road. I’m not sure exactly what happened. The leash is shorter and Sadie has a tendency to weave back and forth in front of me. I may have tripped on Sadie herself or stumbled on a slight imperfection in the road.

Anyway, this morning, we decided to try again but this time, Bailey went with the gentle leader and I was going to use the “normal” leash with Sadie. The plan was to walk together.

Sadie had other plans. Instead of heading up the street as we normally do, she immediately turned right into our front yard, intent on following the scent of … ?? Most likely, she smelled the path of a squirrel that’s been frequenting our yard. Anyway, Sadie was in her “olfactory pulling” mode. Some days, especially when it’s been raining or there is dew on the ground, she goes into an “olfactory exploratory” mode. She takes her time to “smell the roses” and everything else. This makes for a very pleasant, though slow, walk. I call it good walking. She gets to explore a huge variety of scents and she doesn’t “pull” hard or unexpectedly. This is idle web surfing or browsing the stacks of the library or wandering through MOMA, the Metropolitan Art Museum, or the Louvre.

The “olfactory pulling” mode is an entirely different thing. Here, she is trying desperately to track down whatever it is she’s tracking before it gets away! She imagines (I imagine) that her very life depends on finding this particular prey (even though she is well-fed; and even though, in this mode, she shows zero interest in the treats I’ve brought along). Conversely, in the “olfactory exploratory” mode, she’s quite happy to stop for treats every few yards.

This morning, we never found the “prey” she was after, but she did her business and, since she was wantonly pulling, I took her back inside in short order and set out to catch up with Bailey and my wife. Before long, I saw them up ahead and soon closed the gap. Having both hands free allowed me to take many more pictures than I usually do when I take Sadie on a walk.

The sky, like Sadie, has many moods, even in the San Diego area. This morning, the sky couldn’t seem to make up its mind whether to be sunny or cloudy. I don’t mind the mood swings. It provides some interesting contrasts.

Bailey behaved pretty well though he still gets very vocal and agitated when any of the numerous neighborhood dogs begin to bark. He’s much like the Internet Guy (and, let’s face it, it’s almost always a guy) who has to comment on every single post. But the new leash arrangement worked well and didn’t cause any falls or prolonged pulls.

Bailey does, however, look rather baleful about wearing the extra equipment. What do you think?

And while on the topic of reading the minds of dogs, I did wonder if something like the following crossed Sadie’s mind this morning. She saw Bailey get fitted with the leash and the over-the-snout attachment. I put the regular leash on Sadie. Then, Sadie saw Wendy and Bailey walk out ahead and instead of following them, she immediately turned off in a different direction. Presumably, she caught a whiff of the scent she felt obligated to follow.

But I also wondered if she was partly avoiding the situation from two days earlier wherein Wendy and I both walked one dog, each of which had the additional lead on the snout–which ultimately led to my fall. Maybe Sadie wanted “nothing to do” with having that type of leash on.

I have observed that kind of behavior in humans. Perhaps you can think of a few examples even from your own experience? Sadie certainly has a kind of metacognition that she seems to use on occasion. When she begins to explore something she knows from experience I do not want her to explore (e.g., a cigarette butt or an animal carcass), she herself moves quickly away from the tempting stimulus seemingly with no prompting from me. It’s as though she realizes she’ll be more comfortable not being in conflict.

I’ll be interested to see how she reacts tomorrow or tonight when I again try the two-lead leash.

Meanwhile, enjoy the play of light on the flowers. You can see in this sequence that I “followed the scent” of the brightly lit fan palm tree to get a closer view. Getting a “closer view” is what Sadie does when she follows a scent. I wish to get more details in the visual domain whereas Sadie wants to get more detail in the olfactory domain.

Sometimes, I scan my visual field for something interesting to photograph (explore in more detail) and sometimes, I’m fixated on a particular “target” and looking for the right framing, lighting conditions, or angle. I enjoy sometimes getting to a particular picture, but I also enjoy the process of getting to the picture that pleases. I imagine it’s the same with Sadie. She’s quite happy to find a lizard or squirrel or rabbit, but she’s also happy to search for prey, particularly in promising conditions such as there being a strong scent or having wet ground to search for scents.

Plans?

Some management consultings will tell you that plans are seldom right but that planning–that is the real gold.

Author Page on Amazon

Tales from an American Childhood

Sadie and the Lighty Ball

Dog Years

Sadie is a Thief!

Take me out to the Ball Game

Play Ball! The Squeaky Ball

Sadie

Occam’s Chain Saw Massacre

Math Class: Who Are You?

The Agony of The Feet

23 Monday Jun 2025

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, essay, politics

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

Democracy, fiction, life, nature, politics, short story, Travel, truth, USA, writing

Apparently, everyone else knew I was supposed to go head first.

The instructions, however, were far from clear.

And, although I didn’t know much, four billion years of evolution had taught me to take a few things rather seriously—such as: “Gravity is real!” And: “Don’t dive hard onto something head first.” So, the vague instruction to come out head first made no sense.

I considered whether feet first seemed a sensible option. I decided “yes” but only for someone with a well-developed set of quads and a months of practice in balancing. Otherwise, a being such as myself would simply topple over and smash their head anyway.

Thinking about it as best I could, coming out butt first seemed by far the most sensible way to enter this world.

The only problem was that I didn’t fit that way. So—I was at odds with authority figures such as my mother and her doctors before I was even born.

After 72 hours of labor, I finally let them win that argument and came out head first.

All of us could have been saved a lot of time and effort had the instructions been clearer to start with.

Is that why I ended up with a career in “Human-Computer Interaction” AKA “Human Factors” AKA “User Experience”?

Probably not.

More likely, it has something to do with the agony of the feet.

I inherited “flat feet” and that has been something of a life-long inconvenience. For example, beneath my ankle is another bone that sticks out much more than it does for other people. That bone often rubs against the side of my shoes and boots and that causes a source of both bruises and blisters. The lack of a working arch also contributes to my never being able to jump very well. In high school, when I was very fit, I was capable of jumping up high enough to touch the bottom of a basketball net. On my best days.

I never got close to being able to jump and touch the rim, let alone being able to dunk the ball.

Nonetheless, I spent many years of enjoyment while on my feet—playing basketball, tennis, golf, table tennis, football, baseball, softball, racquetball, running, and walking. Running speed was never a strong point but I do have good eye-hand coordination and know how to concentrate and adjust my play to the opponent(s). As I sometimes like to say, I’be been violating expectations since 1945. I’ve enjoyed every sport I’ve ever tried. I’ve also seen many people with much more natural talent than I have enjoy sports less. That’s one reason I wrote “The Winning Weekend Warrior” which discusses the “mental game”; that is, “Sports Psychology.”

http://tinyurl.com/ng2heq3

I’ve also discovered some things about mitigating the negative impact of the feet I was born with.

For one thing, I never buy shoes without trying them on.

Another surprise is that all hard surfaces are not equally damaging. A basketball floor, a dirt track, an asphalt road, concrete, and steel all seem pretty damned hard. But it turns out that running on concrete sidewalks is much harder on my arches (and shins) than running on asphalt.
It also turns out that standing still for a half hour is harder on my arches than is walking for an hour.

I’ve learned a number of obvious things like: losing weight helps a lot! Strengthening the legs helps. Having good supportive shoes helps. Wearing cushy sox helps. Avoid (when possible) walking on stone, concrete, or metal.

I’ve tried a number of supplements too. For me, the ones that seem to help slightly are: turmeric, ginger, and sour cherries. I find that B12 seems to worsen joint pain. Elevation seems to help and so does ice. Of course, the trade-off is that ice and elevation are typically things that limit mobility.

I also use acetaminophen. I also use arnica gel which seems to help.

If there’s a real “solution” though, I haven’t found it. I was born with a bad design.

Everyone is.

Life is not, never was, and never will be about a “perfect design.” The environment keeps changing and organisms who adapt to the environment are always changing. That happens at the cellular level, the learning/behavioral level, and on a longer time scale, at the evolutionary level.

Not only that: change begets change. If, in response to one change in the environment, you make one adjustment, you might cause another problem. It’s the same with the design of physical artifacts, software systems, user interfaces, social systems, games, strategies, tactics, poetry, stories…

One can use knowledge to shrink a design space. Of course, there is always the chance that by shrinking the space, you are deleting the part of the space that has the very best designs. It took evolution billions of years to create multicellular organisms. Our own human bodies have a large variety of different types of cells. Within many of those types there are sub-types and sub-sub types.

Even within a sub-sub type, no two cells are precisely identical. They have different histories and they have different environments.

The feet that are “bad” are only “bad” in a certain set of circumstances. I’m sure that there’s some circumstance in which it’s better to have flat feet and pronated ankles. For example, it’s probably only a matter of time before there’s a top-rated “reality TV” show dedicated to the implications of odd body parts. That would be a show I would get to try out for because of my feet.

Recently, I got hearing aids. That’s a whole different story for another time, but they fit quite snugly and comfortably behind my ears. But we’ve all seen people who look like Alfred E. Newman from Mad Magazine. What do they do about hearing aids? Do they need a different type? Do they tape them behind their ears? What would be the best genre for the show about unusual feet or ears? Doctor Odds? Opera? Shure-Vivor? America’s Got Metatarsals?

Needless to say, we would have to make it extremely competitive and a little bit cruel. Maybe people with broken feet could run a race and the winner would live for another week and face a greater challenge the following week. The whole thing would be set in someplace chosen to be especially challenging for those with sore feet; e.g., uneven cobblestones, slippery concrete, on fallen tree trunks. Gorse, of course. Background music would be composed to add to the drama. Or, if the budget doesn’t permit human composers, we could ask an AI system to copy some Puccini or Bizet and change it just enough not be sued for copyright infringement.

The formula importunes for interviews. They need to be short, shallow, but filled with rage or tears. “So John, when did you first learn that your feet were…what is the PC term here?…Different? Weird? Horrific?” Before each competition, the contestants would be introduced with fireworks and flashing lights along with extremely loud and echoing words of exaggeration. We should get the same kind of introduction once reserved only for “Professional Wrestling” but now common in introducing contestants in Golf and Tennis. Why not insanely dramatic foot-offs in “America’s Got Metatarsals!”

It might be a bit expensive, but we can always cut costs to the bone. And then, just keep cutting!Who even needs real contestants? They can all be CGI. That, in turn, means there’s no need to limit contestants to the kinds of variations that actually occur. Flat feet? Okay. We’ve all heard about that. But how about flatiron feet? Elephant feet? Eagle feet! Grizzly bear paws! Duck-billed platypus feet! Amoebic pseudopods! Insect legs with pollen sacs!

Why stop there? Mice with elephant ears! Elephants with mouse ears! Whales stalking their prey on the Savannah, cleverly camouflaged in the tall yellow grass!Tigers leaping on Great White Sharks! It’s no more out of place than putting a thoughtless human being in a safari hunt And, the best part of CGI players is that we can interview them regardless of species and regardless of their native language. At long last, we can entertain ourselves to death while the actual ecosystem around us is being destroyed by the greediest members of the greediest species who ever existed.

What happens when greed exceeds needs and vital functions of society are left to the unfit, untrained, uncaring, uncouth, criminals? They’ll be about as effective as the Whales of the Serengeti and the Elephant-Eared Mice of Siberia.

Or, me trying to dunk a basketball.

————-

The Orange Man

At Least he’s Our Monster

Essays on America: The Game

Siren Song

The Ailing King of Agitate

Absolute is not Just a Vodka

Poker Chip

Peace

Imagine all the People

Dance of Billions

Where do you draw the line?

Trumpism is a New Religion

Destroying Government Effectiveness

The First Ring of Empathy

Travels with Sadie

The Walkabout Diaries: Life Will Find a Way

Author page on Amazon

The Walkabout Diaries: Precipitation

06 Friday Jun 2025

Posted by petersironwood in nature, pets, Sadie, Uncategorized

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

dogs, life, nature, pets, story

Like most people, when I awake to a clear sky and morning sun, I think to myself, “What a beautiful day!” Here in the San Diego area, there are many days like that. I take my dog Sadie for a walk every morning.

Sadie enjoys the sunny days. Probably unbeknownst to her, the golden morning light makes her golden doodle fur even prettier than the midday sun.

Sadie enjoys the rainiest of days as well. She watches the water gush into the storm sewer, enjoying the interplay of gravity, inertia, cohesion, and friction. Often large water droplets fall onto puddles and make large bubbles. Sadie snaps at as many as she can. Perhaps she imagines they are small silvery fish. Perhaps not.

Sadie also enjoys foggy days! Sometimes, it feels as though the joy is more a product of Sadie than it is of the weather.

Sadie enjoys days like this morning–gray, cloudy, drizzly. It hasn’t rained enough to cause flow a darksome torrent. But the moisture from the drizzle enhances the aroma of the earth and all the life that tracks across it.

Today was gray, sunless, drizzly.

Today was a beautiful day.

Sadie knows:

Today is a beautiful day.

And she teaches me:

Today is a beautiful day.

—————-

The Walkabout Diaries: Sunsets

The Walkabout Diaries: Symphony

The Walkabout Diaries: Levels of Beauty

The Walkabout Diaries: Bee Wise

The Walkabout Diaries: Natural Variation

The Puppy’s Snapping Jaws

Sadie is a Thief

Sadie and the “Lighty Ball”

Sadie and the Squeaky Ball

Travels with Sadie Tolerance

Travels with Sadie Find Waldo

Travels with Sadie

Travels with Sadie: Joint Problem Solving

Math Class: Who are you?

After the Fall

Dance of Billions

Travels With Sadie 8 – Singing of the Rain

12 Wednesday Mar 2025

Posted by petersironwood in nature, pets, Sadie

≈ 9 Comments

Tags

life, love, nature, poetry, rain, story, truth

The San Diego area has famously good weather. Flowers blossom forth all year round. I like it!

But that doesn’t mean it never rains. In fact, I’m glad it does rain. Without some rain, it would be much less pleasant. Fewer plants would grow which would mean fewer friends from diverse parts of the Great Tree of Life: fewer butterflies, fewer lizard, fewer rabbits, fewer crows, fewer hummingbirds and fewer bees just to name a few of the critters I see almost every day.

On the other hand, I was supposed to play tennis this morning and that had to be canceled. We can’t really let the dogs out by themselves to play in the garden because now it’s too muddy. I have to take them out for a walk even when it’s raining. It seems to me that houses should be built with multi-species toilets that would allow humans, cats, and dogs all one place to go without causing a mess. It doesn’t seem that difficult a design problem.

But in our actual house, the toilets are only for humans so it’s important to take the dogs out several times a day. And that means I end up walking in the rain.

It’s wet. My feet often get wet. If it rains hard, I get wet on my head, my back, and my legs as well. As for the dogs?

They love to go out—rain or shine.

Sadie, who is now nearly three years old, often looks up at the sky when we begin a walk. I talk to her about the weather, the airplanes she spots at night, the moon, the stars, the planets. Perhaps she doesn’t understand every word, but, honestly, neither do I. I don’t know “why” there is gravity or how it relates in some way to the strong and weak nuclear forces. I’m not even sure there is a “why” to it.

What I do know is that Sadie does not just tolerate the rain. She loves the rain. She cannot change the weather. So why not love it?

Nor, for that matter, can I change the weather.

When it rains hard, the nearby storm sewer provides a mystery: a never-ending rushing gush of water! She looks up at me as though to ask: “Where does the water go?”

“The ocean,” I explain. To Sadie though, it remains a portal into another universe.

On its way to the sewer, the water rushes down the gutter and the raindrops cause bubbles to appear in the stream! Bubbles! Sadie snaps at each bubble and destroys it. Perhaps she does this in case they are tasty fish, but I think more likely she does it for the same reason I used to like to pop soap bubbles: sheer joy.

The moisture changes the intensity of smells and provide her with unusual odors. She likes to drink the water on the street which I discourage since the water probably contains more gas and oil than is good for her. Soon, I think, my water supply too may be too polluted to be healthy.

The passing cars make more noise in the rain. If it’s a hard storm, the wind blows the trees which she often looks up at as well. She does not wear shoes or boots and seems not to mind at all splashing through the cold puddles on her way to the next novel aroma.

These days, I’m not a big fan of the rain. I’d rather play tennis. I’d rather take pictures of the flowers in the sunshine. I’d rather not get wet.

But Sadie helps me remember an earlier time when I desperately wanted to go outside in the rain. I loved to splash through the mud puddles and wade in the just-born streams of the gutters. The deeper the stream, the better. I tried not to let the water spill over the rim of my boots—not because it was unpleasant to have the water suddenly soak my socks but because I knew my parents would be quite upset. Sometimes, I came home and managed to hide the fact that I had waded into too-deep water. That, in itself was a pleasure.

Even though I’m not as much of a rain fan as are Sadie and her younger brother Bailey, I’m something of a fan. The raindrops on flowers are beautiful. I enjoy Sadie’s enjoyment of the rain.

Why not love it?

Yes, we do teach our dogs.

We teach them tricks.

And, the dogs teach us.

They teach us to love and to live and to sing of the rain.

————

A Suddenly Springing Something.

The Puppy’s Snapping Jaws

Hai-Cat-Ku

A Cat’s a Cat & That’s That.

Sadie is a thief

Sadie and the Lighty Ball

Math Class

Author page

Travels with Sadie 5 — 2025 is Here

01 Wednesday Jan 2025

Posted by petersironwood in America, nature, pets

≈ 6 Comments

Tags

books, Democracy, dogs, fiction, fog, life, nature, pets, poetry, politics, truth, USA, writing

Happy New Year!

I hope.

Anyway, I welcome you to the New Year. Why not?

Fog.

Our morning walk began, appropriately enough, in heavy fog. No sun. Cold. Damp. A slight but persistent icy wind.

How appropriate, I thought. No sign of a sunrise. Not near here.

Sadie, however, seemed oblivious to the fog, the damp, the cold, the politics. Before our walk began, I told her we’d try walking without the shoulder harness but she’d have to do “Good Walking” with no Pulling. She’s strong and pulling hurts my back and knees but especially my ankles and arches. The harness helps prevent her from pulling, but doesn’t really eliminate it.

She did good walking.

And I noticed that, up close, she is still as beautiful as ever. No gold or red from the rising sun, but still beautiful.

Indeed, the fog shrouds what is distant, but up close? Bright signs of beauty still beckon. If we bother to look.

Looking more distantly–ominous, if not downright evil.

Even so, the lonely mourning dove coos on her thin wire perch.

Soon, the sun does begin to shine. Darkness, like cancer and greed, always eventually loses.

We cast a long shadow.

The bees still buzz their magic.

I look for patterns and they are there.

I look for color and it is there.

Thank you Sadie.

—————-

Author page on Amazon

The Winning Weekend Warrior

Tales from an American Childhood

Fit in Bits

Turing’s Nightmares

Life is a Dance

Take a Glance; Join the Dance

Dance of Billions

Come to the Light Side

The First Ring of Empathy

A Pattern Language for Collaboration and Cooperation

Tools for Thinking

The Story of Story

Travels with Sadie 4: Going Back Home

01 Friday Nov 2024

Posted by petersironwood in America, fiction, nature, pets, Sadie

≈ 11 Comments

Tags

Democracy, fiction, life, nature, politics, truth, USA

Walking Home with Sadie

One of the most pleasurable “chores” I’ve ever had is walking our goldendoodle Sadie twice a day. It’s exercise. It’s a chance to see nature’s beauty. It’s a chance to interact with Sadie and informally explore her mind. She likes to vary her route. She likes to return to “known” spots and also to explore new places. She knows when we are “headed home.” And, once we begin heading home, she typically begins to engage in a variety of “procrastination” behaviors. She stops and licks herself. She stops and looks back to see whether any of her neighborhood friends—human and dog—are headed our way. She suddenly finds an incredibly interesting scent to track down.

Her procrastination is something I completely understand. I did the same thing as a kid. And my kids did the same thing. And their kids did the same thing. While I sympathize, it also gives me a chance to think. What does it mean to be heading home? Can one ever go back home?

Undo and Home Base

Early in my career as a researcher in Human-Computer Interaction, I had an opportunity to contribute to a set of “Guidelines.” Although the New York Times once erroneously ascribed the “invention” of UNDO to me, I did not invent it. It seems to me that the concept is actually quite old. I did, however, mention in the guidelines that UNDO should be provided as well as providing a “Home Base”—that is, a way to go to a state where you could begin again.

To Sadie, and to me, our home is our home base. Like other home bases, we conceptualize them as being a return to an unchanging safe space. Relatively speaking, and roughly speaking, that’s a good characterization. It’s relative because no place on earth is absolutely safe. Disasters can come in many forms: extreme weather, wars, crime, and disease to name four. Also, even if disaster doesn’t strike, we can be sure that home will never be exactly the same as when we left it. Everything is constantly in motion and in flux. It can be comforting to imagine that home stays the same, but it doesn’t. Nor does Sadie. Nor do I.

Another Sunrise

Sometimes, a moderate amount of change is nice. I like to take photos in our beautiful garden. I end up sometimes taking pictures of “the same” plant or flower several days in a row. I also tend to take flowers when they bloom, year after year. Sometimes, these pictures look very similar on successive days or on successive years. But in actuality, they are never exactly the same. The plant itself changes day to day (as do I; as does Sadie; as do you). In addition, the light changes from day to day. The surrounding plants in the garden also change from day to day and year to year. In addition, when I take a picture, I’m not in the exact same position. The software on the iPhone changes over time as well. The lenses on the iPhone change over time. Even if by some industrial strength replicability dream (nightmare?) I could take exactly the same photo, you wouldn’t perceive it as the same because your eye/brain system is always changing, both organically and by virtue of your other visual experiences.

Another Sunset

There are characteristics of sunsets that we see as similar over time. Here are three sunset shots years apart.

Another “Another”

Are there any replications? In my mind, sure. In reality, no.

A rose is a rose is a rose, but not only are two different roses ever identical. Even one rose is not the same day after day, hour after hour, or even second by second.

Another Trip Around the Sun

What is more steady than the movement of the earth around the sun…or the sun around the earth.
In the Medieval times, the Europeans wanted to describe in perfect circles and put themselves at the center of the universe.

Now, we are more sophisticated and know that the earth actually orbits the sun. Our seasons depend on the relative position of the earth and the sun. But while we are aware of our trip around the sun, earth does not return to the same spot. Today is November 1. Next November first? The sun will have traveled through our galaxy 6,942,672,000 kilometers. That’s a far piece. I’ve run a number of 10K races. The galaxy travels a lot faster.

Another Homecoming?
Is it possible?
Can we use time machines?

Can we go back to the 1950s?

Can women simply forget that they were once treated as human beings?

In order to work effectively, today’s technology presumes a whole set of other technologies, skills, infrastructure, attitudes, processes, laws, rules, regulations. If we actually tried to go back to 1950, we would miss.

By about 500,000 years. Every so-called primitive tribe ever studied has customs, rules, practices, and rituals. Going back to the 1950’s by destroying the rule of law won’t work no matter how loudly people scream for it. You can’t scream your way to the moon. You can’t scream your way to Mars. You can’t scream your way to happiness. You cannot make two plus two equal five, no matter how loud you scream. Sadie can’t bark them into equivalence. A snake cannot hiss them into equivalence.

You can typically get yourself home. But no matter how hard you “insist,” home will not be in precisely what it was when you left. And, it definitely won’t be in the same place in the universe. Not even close. Going back is a mental exercise and never a physical reality.