Monthly Archives: March 2008

Perspective: Websites are fleeting.

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I was glancing through some files in some webspace I’ve had for a while, and ran across a fairly old portfolio page I had. It listed seven websites that I had worked on around that time.

This was probably about seven years ago, so sometime in 2001 or so.

Not only is there not a trace of my work on any of the sites, only one of them actually even exists anymore. The rest are holding pages from the registrars or host providers.

I had forgotten that I had worked on a couple of them, until I saw the screenshots. Around that time, I had estimated that I had worked on about 100 websites. That’s the last time I tried to keep track. How many are left? How many would I remember?

It doesn’t matter, really. So, as I think about sites that I’m involved with in some way these days, they seem less important to me somehow, when I think that in a few years, they too will be gone.

Here are the screenshots, in memoriam.

Web design of the MSU admissions office viewbook

Web design of the MSU admissions office viewbook

Web design for MSU's Ag Expo

Web design for MSU's Ag Expo

Web design for MSU's Merrilat horse farms

Web design for MSU's Merrilat horse farms

Web design for MSU Detroit College of Law Amicus publication

Web design for MSU Detroit College of Law Amicus publication

Web design for MSU Health Education site

Web design for MSU Health Education site

Web design for stuSource.msu.edu

Web design for stuSource.msu.edu

Web design for University Relations at MSU

Web design for University Relations at MSU

The trouble with desiring less is that it is easier to have more.

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A series of thoughts led me to write a list of possessions.

This is, more or less, what I possess, not counting perishables or things like paper towels.

  • Dishes, pots, pans, mixing bowls, cutting board, cooking utensils, flatware
  • Mop, bucket, broom, dust pan, vacuum, toilet bowl brush, 2 garbage cans, dish rags, towels, cleaning solvents, etc.
  • Table, desk, 4 folding chairs, 2 wooden chairs, card table, TV stand, 2 camping chairs, couch, cot, air mattress
  • 3 pillows, 2 blankets, 2 sets of bedsheets, 5 bath towels, some wash cloths
  • Toothbrush, razor, fingernail clippers
  • A lamp
  • 2 rugs
  • Christmas tree and lights
  • 2 computers, 2 monitors, speakers, router, switch, external hard drive, digital camera, cables, television
  • A full file cabinet
  • Hanging folders, manila folders, envelopes
  • Books, I’d guess about 30
  • Drum set, sticks, practice pad
  • Handgun box, spotting scope, .45 pistol, .22 pistol, .22 pistol (doesn’t work, worn out), various gun parts, rifle, rifle case, shooting chair, rain gear, targets, ammunition, muffs, cleaning kit, various other target shooting paraphernalia
  • 2 pairs of work shoes, winter boots, slippers
  • Winter coat, summer jacket, umbrella, hats, gloves, scarf
  • Clothes
  • Paper, pens, pencils
  • Dry-erase board and 4 dry-erase markers
  • Some music CDs and 3 DVDs
  • Some toys, dolls, crayons, markers, paper, books, and magazines in 2 boxes for my daughters
  • Some photos of my children
  • A car and child safety seats
  • A bicycle, bike lock, used bike tire, tire pump, and small set of bike repair tools

There are a few things that I want, though don’t need. Like a chest of drawers for my clothes, a bed, a small lamp for my bedroom so I don’t have to get up to turn off the light.

I don’t really want this stuff now, though, because they feel heavy.

I have more than I need, and more than I want. I don’t want 2 computers and 2 monitors. I don’t want 2 rugs; 1 is fine. I don’t want 2 camping chairs, though I did when I had no other chairs. I don’t want the switch (I’m using the router’s built-in). I have an extra cookie sheet. I don’t want the .22 pistol that doesn’t work. I don’t want the rifle or its accoutrements. I don’t want some of the books.

Books!

Oh, this is why I write the list.

For the first time in a long time, I read a book that I enjoyed that had nothing to do with work. (See previous post, Memories of snow.) I enjoyed reading that book, and there’s another book I want to read. I’m being very picky, I know, but I only really want to read well-written books.

The book I want to read next is by Cormac McCarthy (author of No Country for Old Men which may be my favorite movie in recent memory). It’s called All the Pretty Horses—a title which really makes me want to not read it—but McCarthy seems like a great writer and the book comes highly recommended from someone whose opinion on books I value.

Alright, so you see the problem? I don’t want the book: I want to only read the book.

I’m impatient about it; my mind spins and I wish for something new to read. But all copies are checked out from all area libraries. And they have been for a week now.

Options? I could buy the book and have it soon. But then I’d have the book and would have to then get rid of the book. These days, it is important to me to not add things like books to my life.

Or, I could place a recall request at a library. But, if I had a book checked out from a library and received a note that I have to return it, I’d return the book, but I wouldn’t like having to do it. So, I’d rather not put that to someone else.

I love libraries: I can get books, read them, and bring them back! So, because I can return library books, they are not fetters. In the back of my mind, I am transient, and every extra thing has to be accounted for when I move. It’s good for my sanity to have less.

I have checked on the book every day. I will continue checking.

In the meantime, maybe I’ll find a different book to read. And get rid of the things I don’t want.

Memories of snow

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I read the book “Snow” by Orhan Pamuk. There is much to say about the book, but I’ll say nothing, except that upon discussing the novel with Sarah Payok, who
recommended I read it, I recalled some memories of snow, which I have not written down before.

The sound of snow

I meditated often when I was young, but had trouble with mantras, having had no teacher to learn from. Adapting, I turned sounds and rhythms into mantras. We lived on high ground, and the wind often blew. Sitting in my bedroom at night, I returned my mind to the rhythm of the gusts and the soft moans of the wind.

One night the wind ceased its noise, and hard, dry snow flakes fell rapidly. In the quietness, the snow whispered silently on the roof and on the side of the tall, shingled house.

Later, I stood at the window with the musty screen and watched the pitch-blackness of night and snow.

Snow-deer

Years ago, I was driving my grandmother and my wife in the Winter in the Keewenaw Peninsula, along the coast of Lake Superior. We rounded a slow corner out of Eagle River, and in a park by the road we suddenly saw a small herd of whitetail deer. They were standing under pine trees, eating bark, legs deep in snow. They appeared to have been standing there for a while, because their backs were frosted with fluffy mounds of snow. They looked like fat, stuffed dolls because their hair bristled out all along their bodies. They were the softest, prettiest deer I’ve ever seen.

A lamp in the snow

Earlier this Winter, I stood in the kitchen of my apartment at 3 AM and lifted the blinds on the window.

I was struck by beauty. Heavy, wet snowflakes were falling, sticking to tree branches and piling in 3-inch high ridges on limbs. The sidewalk had vanished. The landscaping timbers and the bushes were all simply mounds in the snow. The snow was falling at an angle from the North, its fall tilted by the branches. It eddied and spiraled down.

At the center of the scene was a black lamp post. Light beamed from underneath its snow cap and sparkled in the snow crystals. The snowflakes fell from shadows above and settled to rest in the circle of light.