On Jun 28, 2012, at 11:40 AM, Torgeir Fjeld wrote: > > > Dag 157 > This language ushers forth like bow and waterfall > I like this. Yesterday was black around the edges. I don't mean this metaphorically; my experience of jet lag is visual--I feel as if I'm losing my peripheral vision. Having traveled for forty hours and then risen at four thirty, I managed the day on a thirty minute nap, but it wasn't a pleasant or productive one. What did we achieve? Some grocery shopping. Some news of our bags--they took a detour to Panama but are expected to return. A phone call with my father, who fell over and hurt his shoulder, but still hopes to compete in a golf tournament next week. Watching the Germans lose to Italy. Having conversation one about J.'s post-graduation plans. The latter quickly ran up against the fact that one person's experience is not much guide for another; L. can talk about how she came to be where she is in life and so can I. But what guidance can we offer someone who is in one of life's peculiar positions: able to choose among many, many paths forward. J. wants all those things good young people want: to help people, to do something worthwhile, to apply her talents. Alas there are not signs posted all over, "Wanted: smart, kind, talented folk. Remuneration: from each according to his capacity, to each..." In Hong Kong we saw a show devoted to the work of Feng Zikai: http://www.lcsd.gov.hk/CE/Museum/Arts/en/exhibitions/exhibitions01.html What struck me was how little evidence there was of the history he lived through. The Japanese invasion showed up briefly, but there was no Communist Revolution, no Cultural Revolution, no upheaval at all. His world was quite Wodehousian, full of domestic incident and enduring truths about the Chinese equivalent of aunts. Perhaps this is how all artists should live, ignoring petty squabble and ugliness, aiming at an attractive and simple beauty? Not letting anything choke their toilet. This last phrase comes from Cathay Pacific's plane, which listed things liable to choke the toilet. In my travel stupor I imagined them sprouting hands and coming at the porcelain neck from the outside. Carry on. David Ritchie, Portland, Oregon