Friday, January 25, 2008
Imagination
"Imagination is more important than knowledge. For knowledge is limited to all we now know and understand, while imagination embraces the entire world, and all there ever will be to know and understand." - Albert Einstein
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
A Gift to the Big I-Magi-Neer
This is the start of something big! Here's my first contribution...
I came from the South –Mobile,
moonlight and magnolias,
Daulphin Island beach trips,
Jimmy Buffett just down my street,
dropping crab traps in Pensacola Bay with Mama Pelham,
my uncles Coy and Buck on the wooden porch with a burlap bag of fresh Apalachicola oysters, okra, turnip greens, pepper sauce, cornbread, and tiny Alabama red potatoes on the table.
I come from – a strong sense of family, knowing my father’s strength will protect me from crashing Gulf waves, and people that value front-porch conversations.
I grew up in the Midwest –
dirt roads led out of Enon then,
Gus King’s cornfields flanked Rebert Pike,
one stop light in our town,
summers reading on the bed with no AC,
chalk reminders of my sister’s high school party written on the basement beam left untouched for twenty years,
out-of-town visitors toured Yellow Springs’s beatniks and war planes at the cramped Air Force Museum, Sputnik and Telstar sped past a thousand stars in the backyard sky.
I grew up – belonging to a community, appreciating the value of a good book, and valuing diverse views of life.
I left home –
first to Columbus and the Buckeye battle cry,
then above Boulder in a mountain cabin nestled in three feet of fresh snow,
on to Reston and the high tech boom that stretched from Washington to tiny Blue Ridge towns untouched ‘til now since Lee’s army rode through, back south to Safety Harbor Florida and grand, moss-covered oaks not unlike Pensacola on the Gulf of Mexico.
I left home - for education, to explore the wilderness, enhance my opportunities, to reconnect with Southern traditions held close to my heart.
I came back to the Midwest –
in a house surrounded by spruce, redbuds, pink flowering cherries and a huge catalpa tree that gives me shade in the summer,
a big front porch where friends sit and talk,
and sometimes play music on weathered Martins and Gibsons some older than I.
I came back – to a simpler rural life, for front-porch conversations with friends I missed, to see if satellites still race the stars across my backyard sky.
I came from the South –Mobile,
moonlight and magnolias,
Daulphin Island beach trips,
Jimmy Buffett just down my street,
dropping crab traps in Pensacola Bay with Mama Pelham,
my uncles Coy and Buck on the wooden porch with a burlap bag of fresh Apalachicola oysters, okra, turnip greens, pepper sauce, cornbread, and tiny Alabama red potatoes on the table.
I come from – a strong sense of family, knowing my father’s strength will protect me from crashing Gulf waves, and people that value front-porch conversations.
I grew up in the Midwest –
dirt roads led out of Enon then,
Gus King’s cornfields flanked Rebert Pike,
one stop light in our town,
summers reading on the bed with no AC,
chalk reminders of my sister’s high school party written on the basement beam left untouched for twenty years,
out-of-town visitors toured Yellow Springs’s beatniks and war planes at the cramped Air Force Museum, Sputnik and Telstar sped past a thousand stars in the backyard sky.
I grew up – belonging to a community, appreciating the value of a good book, and valuing diverse views of life.
I left home –
first to Columbus and the Buckeye battle cry,
then above Boulder in a mountain cabin nestled in three feet of fresh snow,
on to Reston and the high tech boom that stretched from Washington to tiny Blue Ridge towns untouched ‘til now since Lee’s army rode through, back south to Safety Harbor Florida and grand, moss-covered oaks not unlike Pensacola on the Gulf of Mexico.
I left home - for education, to explore the wilderness, enhance my opportunities, to reconnect with Southern traditions held close to my heart.
I came back to the Midwest –
in a house surrounded by spruce, redbuds, pink flowering cherries and a huge catalpa tree that gives me shade in the summer,
a big front porch where friends sit and talk,
and sometimes play music on weathered Martins and Gibsons some older than I.
I came back – to a simpler rural life, for front-porch conversations with friends I missed, to see if satellites still race the stars across my backyard sky.
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