Musings of Professor Fox

Planted long ago, the tree had seen many seasons come and go. He marked time as his world cycled from wet and green to frozen and white, and he always looked forward to a nice winter nap when the leaves finally finished showing off their rainbow colors and floated to the ground. At some point, the curious-looking two-legged creatures living behind him started planting friends for him. Cherry and Peach and their sisters were his favorite. They always spoke the kindest, and they brought the funny little buzzing creatures that landed on each blossom during the wet and green time. They would occasionally buzz around him, but since he had no flowers, they quickly got bored and moved off. His favorite time was during the really warm part of the cycle. The smallest of the two-legged creatures would spend hours playing in the soft green stuff at the base of his trunk. Occasionally one of them would stand really close to him with their head pressed against his bark and utter strange incantation...

  The temperatures are fluctuating, and the skies are dark in the morning which signals the start of another January semester. I will admit to feeling the same feelings as a professor that I once felt as a student: excitement, apprehension, nervousness, fear of the unknown. Added to the normal issues faced in the academic environment, we are in, what, month 22 of the COVID-19 pandemic? Since I just turned 50, I have set myself some goals for the next decades, or at least as many as I'm given. One of these goals is to "justttttttttttt do something". In light of that, welcome to my space of exploring my inner mental monologue. -Professor Fox

  The hours flip by—much like the card clothes-pinned to the spokes of my childhood bike frame offering an exhilaration and feeling of speed.   I sit and ponder the feeling of hearing the thwip-thwip-thiwp in rapid succession as each contact briefly touched the aluminum and let go.   The calendar taunts me from the top of my desk. 2022. Fifty years ago, I started this adventure poor, naked, and cold.   Along the way, I met a partner so imperfectly perfect that my life was altered irreversibly and set on a path full of joy and sorrow, agony and ecstasy.   Never had I thought to gather such emotion and meaning from a single word— a fundamental, foundational change both inwardly and outwardly.   Tipping the imaginary hourglass on its end forcing the unnumbered grains from one bulb to the other, sliding unaffected through the neck to reside in a new home.   Day after day, week after we...

  AN ODE TO THE MAP November 2017 The thing is the map, and the map is the thing. What to include, so its praises they’ll sing?   Nations we’ve built, on starving and sword. On the paper they go, with ink and accord.   On the subject of borders, as they change and they grow. We ponder quite often just what they should show.   Yes, the thing is the map, and the map is the thing. What to include, so its praises they’ll sing?   As time marches on, the medium does change. To the masters of old, it sure seems quite strange.   As the Other sits down at the desk or the table, with the click of a mouse, she creates a new fable.   The thing is the map, and the map is the thing. What to include, so its praises they’ll sing?   When author and worldview meet to define, A piece of reality sparks a design. Since data are placed with precision and care, the effort’s not lost, if you take time to stare.   Yes, the thing is the map, and the map is the thing. ...