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I get the impression that Nathanial Hawthorne despised the strict Puritanism of the 1600s and was glad to be living in the modern world of the 1800s instead. I quite enjoyed reading one character's excited talk about the promise of better transportation. At his first sign of freedom, he jumped on a train and bothered the first person who would listen (the ticket taker) with his notions of how speedy transportation would free us.
"My impression is that our wonderfully increased and still increasing facilities of locomotion are destined to bring us round again to the nomadic state. ... In the early epochs of our race, men dwelt in temporary huts, of bowers and branches, as easily constructed as a bird's nest, and which they built--if it should be called building, when such sweet homes of a summer solstice rather grew than were made with hands--which Nature, we will say, assisted them to rear where fruit abounded, where fish and game were plentiful, or, most especially, where the sense of beauty was to be gratified by a lovelier shade than elsewhere, and a more exquisite arrangement of lake, wood, and hill. This life possessed a charm, which, ever since man quitted it, has vanished from existence. And it typified something better than itself. It had its drawbacks; such as hunger and thirst, inclement weather, hot sunshine, and weary and foot-blistering marches over barren and ugly tracts, that lay between the sites desirable for their fertility and beauty. But in our ascending spiral, we escape all this. These railroads--could but the whistle be made musical and the rumble and the jar got rid of--are positively the greatest blessing that the ages have wrought out for us. They give us wings; they annihilate the toil and dust of pilgrimage; they spiritualize travel! Transition being so facile, what can be any man's inducement to tarry in one spot? Why therefore, should he build a more cumbrous habitation than can readily be carried off with him? Why should he make himself a prisoner for life in the brick, and stone, and old worm-eaten timber, when he may just as easily dwell, in one sense, nowhere--in a better sense, wherever the fit and beautiful shall offer him a home?"
I bet he would like European trains - so quiet and smooth. Would he like the literal wings of modern planes? Or would the ordeals of security screening, lost luggage, missed connections, tiny seats, etc. be but a modern toil and dust of pilgrimage? What would he think of cars? Our own personal devices to go practically anywhere we want any time we want.
What would he think of Glenn, author of To Simplify, who got rid of almost everything he owned, moved into a van, and has been traveling, locally at first, then nationally, ever since? A van is hardly a "sweet home of a summer solstice," but then it's unlikely to be loaded down with the history of the ancestors who held it since it was first built.
What would he think about the fact that with all these fabulous forms of transportation, we mostly all still live in houses of "brick, and stone, and old worm-eaten timer"? What would he think of hotels--they let us have our completely unportable houses, but escape, too. And many people do escape on a regular basis, but travel is still the exception for most people rather than the rule of daily living.
Probably he hadn't thought about the idea that with everybody converging on the best spots, the best spots would get worn out and become less beautiful, less fertile, etc.
Most of now are tied by our jobs.
And most of us, unlike the character quoted above, actually like some of our relatives and have some friends--and those people help tie us to one place, too.
Blog of the day - Things Organized Neatly. This is a set of pictures that illustrate the title. It won't give you ideas for organizing your stuff--it's more like art for the obsessive-compulsive. Not everything is beautiful, perhaps there's nothing he won't photograph or display. But it's interesting just how many ways humans go about organizing things neatly.
Some of my favorites:
"My impression is that our wonderfully increased and still increasing facilities of locomotion are destined to bring us round again to the nomadic state. ... In the early epochs of our race, men dwelt in temporary huts, of bowers and branches, as easily constructed as a bird's nest, and which they built--if it should be called building, when such sweet homes of a summer solstice rather grew than were made with hands--which Nature, we will say, assisted them to rear where fruit abounded, where fish and game were plentiful, or, most especially, where the sense of beauty was to be gratified by a lovelier shade than elsewhere, and a more exquisite arrangement of lake, wood, and hill. This life possessed a charm, which, ever since man quitted it, has vanished from existence. And it typified something better than itself. It had its drawbacks; such as hunger and thirst, inclement weather, hot sunshine, and weary and foot-blistering marches over barren and ugly tracts, that lay between the sites desirable for their fertility and beauty. But in our ascending spiral, we escape all this. These railroads--could but the whistle be made musical and the rumble and the jar got rid of--are positively the greatest blessing that the ages have wrought out for us. They give us wings; they annihilate the toil and dust of pilgrimage; they spiritualize travel! Transition being so facile, what can be any man's inducement to tarry in one spot? Why therefore, should he build a more cumbrous habitation than can readily be carried off with him? Why should he make himself a prisoner for life in the brick, and stone, and old worm-eaten timber, when he may just as easily dwell, in one sense, nowhere--in a better sense, wherever the fit and beautiful shall offer him a home?"
I bet he would like European trains - so quiet and smooth. Would he like the literal wings of modern planes? Or would the ordeals of security screening, lost luggage, missed connections, tiny seats, etc. be but a modern toil and dust of pilgrimage? What would he think of cars? Our own personal devices to go practically anywhere we want any time we want.
What would he think of Glenn, author of To Simplify, who got rid of almost everything he owned, moved into a van, and has been traveling, locally at first, then nationally, ever since? A van is hardly a "sweet home of a summer solstice," but then it's unlikely to be loaded down with the history of the ancestors who held it since it was first built.
What would he think about the fact that with all these fabulous forms of transportation, we mostly all still live in houses of "brick, and stone, and old worm-eaten timer"? What would he think of hotels--they let us have our completely unportable houses, but escape, too. And many people do escape on a regular basis, but travel is still the exception for most people rather than the rule of daily living.
Probably he hadn't thought about the idea that with everybody converging on the best spots, the best spots would get worn out and become less beautiful, less fertile, etc.
Most of now are tied by our jobs.
And most of us, unlike the character quoted above, actually like some of our relatives and have some friends--and those people help tie us to one place, too.
Blog of the day - Things Organized Neatly. This is a set of pictures that illustrate the title. It won't give you ideas for organizing your stuff--it's more like art for the obsessive-compulsive. Not everything is beautiful, perhaps there's nothing he won't photograph or display. But it's interesting just how many ways humans go about organizing things neatly.
Some of my favorites:
- Day after you die - an unlikely juxtaposition of well-organized belongings.
- Tour de France - so pretty
- Ital Florida Trieste - this one perhaps used to be organized a bit more neatly.
- Thorns on rice paper - there's something striking about thorns on rice paper.
- Bunkbeds - amusing
- Keys - especially for the obsessive compulsive