By the numbers
With the change of season, a change of fare. Tonight, a fall stew. What I heard called “bouilli d’automne” for decades, even if we didn’t fill today’s pot with strange vegetables. For us, the foundation food groups. Beef and potatoes. And it was good, right to the last drop.
Twitter is filled with anecdotal evidence that all of our political leaders are unfit for the job. Yes, the anecdotes are partisan, but it does provide a parallel profile, just like when I shop for unknown products on Amazon. And the analysis fills me with despair. Whatever the outcome, in a month’s time, few will be satisfied. Myself included. Why can’t we have representation that is there for us, instead of corporate interests? I don’t dare mention this to my kin, because I don’t want to influence (or be influenced). The decision, when I mark that tiny piece of paper, must be mine.
More mathematics in my life, as well. I’m trying to find out the ideal dimensions for my new experimental antenna, and there’s nothing like a page filled with formulae to remind me how poorly I got along in high school number study. And don’t even mention that brief moment in university when I threw caution to the wind and enrolled in an introductory session. I didn’t stay the course, as they say. One of my few obvious academic low points. To be fair, I have managed to avoid any need for equations over the intervening decades, but now the urge to learn has pushed me over the brink. I’m actually appreciating the theoretical side of my hobby.
