Here are some pictures I took from the Sunday drive back up that I didn’t put anywhere. We simply can’t have that. One mustn’t take photographs for the pure joy of hearing a shutter close, or for seeing the fake version of that a phone offers. No,
no. How would anyone ever know you were there? How could they tell you’ve done the thing? Or saw the stuff?
Here’s a bit of what you see on parts of I-69 somewhere around Evansville, I think.
I don’t know for sure. We’d been in the car for hours already, and at some point you just lose track of where you are.
And when that happens I spend time thinking about how I would tell the person on the other end of an emergency call if I had to reach them.
“There’s been an accident by … this sunset. But it’s a really beautiful sunset, and you should roll some people out here to see it.”
The Yankee was on the podcast today. We talked about the newest old discovery, a message in a bottle.
It was a German bottle, dropped off to test currents. And it is now thought to be the oldest known message in a bottle. (By now you should be thinking of the Police song, and that’s a good thing.)
Have you ever put a message in a bottle? (We talked about that in the podcast.) Did you hear anything back from it?
How many do you suppose you’d have to drop into the ocean to be sure you’d get a response? And does anyone even do this anymore? After elementary school, I mean. It seems an action that is a metaphor, really. There’s a bit of whimsy and hopefulness in the whole process. What should I write? Roll this up and jam the message in the bottle. And then, finally, the heave. A lot goes into that throw, which is probably a metaphor within the larger metaphor. Whatever the message in the bottle, we’re really saying something important here: get back to me.
Because my commander really needs some ocean current data.
