No Keening Allowed in New Harmony

Do you recognize these good sports? They did not mind indulging this blogger entering her dotage and posed for her in front of an interesting painting at the Red Geranium Restaurant in New Harmony, Indiana. I am mostly pleased with the way the picture turned out--could have done without the reflection of the flash in the glass--but a little puzzled about the painting. I am wondering why the ladies in it are wearing white gloves. Do you suppose they are afraid of a little "dirt"?

The blogger on the left (sinister) side of the photo appreciates Tina's keen interest in gardening and meeting as many other garden-bloggers as possible. Tina impressed me even more in person than on her blog with her positive attitude and dedication to family, friends, and teaching. She truly wants to learn as much as she can about gardening and share that knowledge with the rest of us. And she is definitely not afraid of getting her hands or fingernails dirty. She made this sinister blogger a lovely garden marker (more about that topic later). Tina's sunny-blue-sky personality seems to have been reflected in the weather on the day we spent together.

This sinister blogger, though, likes to discover dark things. I probably would have been a "goth" if that kind of personality had been in vogue way back when I was in high school and if my parents had been the indulgent kind to let me dress and act like one.

Modern things like this visitors' center just do not appeal to my taste in architecture. For some reason, it does not seem to harmonize with the rest of the town. I wonder whose idea it was to construct such a thing out of touch with the rest of the quaint little place?

Keep in mind that these pictures were taken the week before Halloween. I am sure the residents of New Harmony do not bury their dear-departed in the front yard, although it might not be a bad idea. Going green could really happen in that kind of situation. Think of how well-composted your lawn would be. There would be no need for chemical fertilizers, and visiting the cemetary would no longer require a long car trip.

These two inscriptions together on the ceiling of one of the buildings in town seem dissonant or incongruous. How could anyone not be mad about getting older and time running away? It can sometimes be a real PITA.

Why do I like twisted things like this tree trunk? Hubby and I found it on a short hike we took after saying goodbye to Tina and her wonderful family.

You know us. We like to roam about a bit in state parks and other places. Be aware, though, this particular park charges admission, albeit a small one. We paid five dollars for the privilege of visiting. I guess Indiana plans on keeping places like this open. The people in charge in the Land of Lincoln have other ideas for public places built with taxpayers' money. There has been talk in recent months of parks closing for lack of funds to keep them open. Maybe those people ought to consider and talk about other options.

The weekend after our visit with Tina and her family, Hubby and I said goodbye to the small town and tiny apartment we have lived in for the past year. We have moved to a slightly larger house on a lake which is about thirty miles farther south. I guess we are getting back to Florida in small--very small--increments.

We will not be hearing interstate traffic, trains going by at 2 o'clock in the morning, or young people visiting otherwise quiet neighbors until the wee hours. The horse pictured above the train seems peaceful enough, even though its pasture is just a few steps away from the train tracks. It probably does not bother itself with thoughts about heading south. The marker that Tina made for this sinister blogger will find a place of honor in a new garden, in a new place. It will even find its way onto this blog in the near future. And it will travel with this blogger wherever she moves next. No doubt about it.

...As you will know, the students of harmony make the same sort of mistake as the astronomers: they waste their time in measuring audible concords and sounds one against another.

-Yes, said Glaucon, they are absurd enough, with their talk of 'groups of quarter-tones' and all the rest of it. They lay their ears to the instrument as if they were trying to overhear the conversation from next door. One says he can still detect a note in between, giving the smallest possible interval, which ought to be taken as the unit of measurement, while another insists that there is now no difference between the two notes. Both prefer their ears to their intelligence.

-You are thinking of those worthy musicians who tease and torture the strings, racking them on the pegs [Note: in order to extort from them a confession of the truth, Greek law allowed the torture of slaves for this purpose at trials]. I will not push the metaphor so far as to picture the musician beating them with the plectrum and charging them with faults which the strings deny or brazen out. I will drop the comparison and tell you that I am thinking rather of those Pythagoreans whom we were going to consult about harmony. They are just like the astronomers--intent upon the numerical properties embodied in these audible consonances: they do not rise to the level of formulating problems and inquiring which numbers are inherently consonant and which are not, and for what reasons.

-That sounds like a superhuman undertaking. I would rather call it a "useful" study; but useful only when pursued as a means to the knowledge of beauty and goodness.

-No doubt.

--from The Republic of Plato, Chapter XXVI, Harmonics--