Part four in what just might balloon up to a two-week stroll through the LD photo archives, Copenhagen sub-file. I just couldn’t hold off posting something of the lil’ monkey. Â Here, she is doing her darndest to see out from underneath some spiffy hat of mine that has since become lost. As have so, so many that look a great deal like that one.
Here we are in the parking lot at the the grocery store in the north-of-downtown neighborhood my sister and her family was living in that year. Big, big herring selection at the grocery store. Whenever in Scandinavia I have a perverse urge to check the herring section and measure it, so I can go back home and report to goggle-eyed friends who have never been  there and would otherwise dismiss my reportage as yet more hyperbole.
“In mustard sauce! In sour cream-ey looking sauce! In a tomato-ey sauce! Â Plain! Smoked! In a tube! You want herring they’ve got it!”
“Does it take up more space than the salsa selections do back here?” they’d ask, brazenly displaying their ignorance.
“Way more!”
In non-herring-related news: it’s kind of amazing looking at images of someone so helpless back then — she had this hat down over her head, nearly obscuring her vision of herring, cobblestones, and more, for quite some time before either of us knew it — a person whom you now know to be so hugely self-possessed. Â It’s fascinating, really. She was totally in there, back then. Â A fairy-obsessed, wise, pun-loving, encyclopedia-reading five year-old, trapped in a language-starved one year old’s body.
Day three roundup of the UN Climate Change Conference in Copenhagen.
Not with a bang but a whimper
How many people are thinking of the last stanza of T.S. Elliot’s “The Hollow Men” these days?
I’m going to figure: a lot of us. Not that the world has ended. Â Yet. The year’s coming to a close, though, or at least the year as marked by the Gregorian calendar. Â My whimpering end to it: I let my first LD Weekend bonus shot go completely by, not even fixed ex post facto, and am going to be lucky to get my arse out of town and up to the hills in one piece, there to wait out the rest of this year amidst drifts of snow and family.
In “Why I Blog,” a piece he posted/published in The Atlantic last year, Andrew Sullivan discussed the power and perils of this medium, noting this distinction:
He goes on:
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