COVID-19 Era Journal: Time Shift, Wyeth, Technology Travel, Rivers of Light

“The greater danger for most of us lies not in setting our aim too high and falling short; but in setting our aim too low, and achieving our mark.” — Michelangelo

Forward, back. Pause, refresh.

A still image from the virtual Matterport tour of the Olson House in Maine, linked to official site of the Farnsworth Art Museum, which features this amazing structure as a digital model to explore. Pay attention to the windows and light, look up.

Toggling between landscapes and creative work shows change is a constant and each of us must make choices for life is a time event. Not endless. After viewing American Masters: Wyeth directed by: Glenn Holsten (via Amazon Prime), curiosity about the Olson Farm led to searching. Finding the Farnsworth Art Museum online and being able to “visit” the farmhouse. Doing so before sleep led to vivid ideas.

“Located at 384 Hathorne Point Road in Cushing, Maine, the Olson House is the subject of numerous works of art by Andrew Wyeth, including his 1948 painting Christina’s World, now owned by the Museum of Modern Art in New York. Wyeth’s series of drawings, watercolors and tempera paintings featuring Christina Olson, her brother Alvaro and the house itself, occupied Wyeth from 1939 through 1968.” — Farnsworth Art Museum

Connecticut River, dog.

What you think you know before learning more. On boats, aircraft, seeing the undulations of the Mississippi River from above. Walking a coast that is east-west in Florida, comparing it to the curve that is Hammonasset Beach State Park in Connecticut. The beginning of wondering about the origins of names, indigenous people and their stories. Travel. Return. Immersion in the arenas of business, all levels. Thinking about fintech removes barriers versus physical box that contains a traditional bank. Gatekeepers and people who listen and act, see the opportunities. Viewing the non-verbal communications in the animals world opens another dimension, horses, dogs, all seen. Intersections others do no (apparently) see. Read, read. Enough of that. Make, grow. Find history, tell stories. Record, build, share.

Write. Swap ideas, cross pollinate across silos of information.

Here are some notable images and story starters, interesting people, recent noteworthy sightings:

Related story, linked here.

Facing the Connecticut River, note the train in the foreground of this cropped image of the Colt factory in Hartford from the Connecticut State Library collection.(Linked to more to see via CSL Flickr account.)

“Two years after Samuel's death in 1862, the Colt factory was decimated by fire. However, his wife Elizabeth quickly rebuilt the factory…” — Colt Gateway

Artists in words, music, thoughts and deeds walk among us. More are gone from our marvel of a planet but have left behind legacies in museums, galleries, science, bookstores, libraries, archives, architecture, as community commitment, in medicine and caring. On Twitter there are quiet bursts of encouragement. To keep trying despite unwanted obstacles. Twitter is a living source for news, writing prompts, sparks, business, learning, authors, publishers, knowledge, art — curated choices, of course.

Ravine stairs to Sachem Street. Walk Norwich image, linked to maps and trails, layers of time.

Recalling service in the USAF, an education working beside people who taught by doing. An English teacher from Puerto Rico, Jorge, who was patient with my ignorance. A superb jet engine crew chief across the hall in the dorm — she and I were the only two flightline mechanics as tenants housed in a supply dorm; both of us worked long hours and weird shifts. A gorgeous blond in the wing admin office who men coveted yet her private preferences were not in step with their admiration. Eyes opened by life to see how the spectrum of abilities and teamwork are enhanced not lessened by who each person is and how they can help. Learning. My roommate in tech school from Pensacola with both Native and Black ancestors; her calmness which helped weather storms around us.

“These Things We Do That Others May Live”

Living in many places around the country, being part of the community and seeing what is the same and how each was different. Fending off the hate that did speak and the catcalls and stupid words at a commander's call. Later facing that person who was ordered to make a personal apology by his commander. Checks and balances. TDYs and a clerk who said you can't be active duty flightline with that unit; others around who spoke up and said, yes, she is. So strange. Staying in officer temporary quarters with another crew chief, as it was the only temporary housing available. Chatting with a person at a social gathering and listening to him tell of his exploits in the very same rescue squadron, looking at his hands which were spotlessly clean while my own (despite nail brush scrubbing) were stained and beat up from work turning wrenches. Calling him out, asking which shop did he work in? Because I'd never seen him anywhere in the hangars nor in any training class or on a redball. He stammered then quickly left, never to re-appear. Stunned, the realization hit that he was a fraud. Looked again at my own hands and soon afterwards left to get some much-needed sleep.

Thinking again of the opportunity to live and work and travel and take classes was an education like no other possible. A gift, understood more in retrospect. Took awhile to awaken to realize the reams of writing while away could be transmuted into life as a writer. Only when necessity and life's pressured made that a way to earn a living did that happen.

Note: One vaccination done, another ahead. Continue to wear a mask, keep distance, follow precautions, listen to science and medicine. Events, listings, business information, markets, updates on our Resources page.