Quantum Solace It's Not

So, WAY back to an earlier theme from the Laurelhurst Park days… physics.

The quantum world, if I understand it correctly, has comparable distances between particles/waves as we find in cosmology. While it’s not light years from the neutron to the electron, if you or I could be reduced to a size such that we’d stand on the “surface” of the particle as we stand on earth, it would seem like light years to our atomic selves.

That’s boggling, at least to me.

Further, if I understand it even halfway correctly, movement isn’t really something that’s detectable within the quantum world. We can see particles whizz by at near light speeds in particle accelerators, but from the particles’ points of view nothing is happening. They are stone cold stopped, for all their practical purposes.

This particular dichotomy to me raises a very interesting question about consciousness. The quantum world is never-changing to the quantum world residents.

Reality there is a rigid, fixed, constant grid of unchanging structure. Whether the particle is free-floating, inside a large piece of granite or small grain of sand, or part of our neural net that allows thought, its existence remains unchanging, unless the particle is obliterated entirely.

As we are composed of these particles, and by we I mean you and I and anyone or anything that can think or is otherwise alive, what does this really say about what kind of beings we are? Truly, there is no fundamental difference between us and any other form of matter, especially at the most basic level, the subatomic.

Whatever it is that happens to cause life somehow blends the quantum and relative paradox with astonishing ease, it seems. By ease I don’t mean like an intelligent designer, I mean that this blending takes place without serious amounts of energy being required. I’d reckon offhand that we ought to be nothing but gigantic atomic bombs, every living cell, when you get down to how quantum and relative are pounded together in us.

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Speaking of consciousness, Amy Winehouse passed, found her on the flo, flo, flo (play on words from her “Rehab” song). 27, the infamous rock and roll rebel spirit dies now age, she joins a long list of famous addicts who passed at the same age. I dunno, but it seems to me that an addictive personality might do better without fame, glory, superficial attention, and unlimited funds. Then again, I’m an addictive personality and I’ve had none of that and look at me… so scratch that thought.

I guess it doesn’t matter. We play the cards we’re dealt, and sometimes we misplay a hand or two without realizing we just made critical errors of judgment.

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Grandson is spending the week, camping on the computer and in front of the television and his video game box. I can probably get him a job tending to mowing and stuff for the next month. It’s kinda like having a roommate. I told him that yes I’m grandfather and still in charge but because he’s older and I’m no longer married it seems more like being back in college to me than anything else.

And then I made him clean the kitchen.

But it does feel awkward and comfortable and familiar. A month is about all I could handle, though.

He loves the studio and has run through most of the canvas I bought for him. Must be fun, I try to imagine as impartially as possible, to get away from three much younger siblings and pretty much do what he wants within reason. Especially exploring a creative side without pressure but with full support and guidance on request.

We had a raccoon on the porch last night while he was up playing one of the shooter games, Bioshock 2 or 3 I think. It was standing by the glass doors staring in, for all intents and purposes watching him play the damn game. I think the coon was mesmerized because the kid was doing something with his hands -- the controls. Racoons use their hands and it wouldn't surprise me to find they equate that with food, so my guess is Rocky was trying to figure out what the kid was eating.

He said he’d seen another coon and three cubs the first morning at dawn. We also encountered a doe and two fawns on our walk to the lake.

Need to get the older other kids here, too, just for the wildlife encounters and viewing. But not for a week at a time…

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Went down to Radio Shack with D and we looked at the firearms. It’s not your usual RadShak. “All Glocks On Sale” say the signs outside.

And a nice little selection of handguns they have, small but a thorough walk through calibers tiny to tall. Several .22 and .32 semiauto handguns prompted a discussion between the kid and me about their overall defensive and offensive values. He showed me he knows more than I thought when we were comparing a .45 1911-type Remington Arms roscoe with the Glock 17 9mm. Not an expert, but he’s studied at least a little bit, as he knew the .45 had been the major US Army handgun for almost ever but the Glock had a never-run-out-of-bullets clip.

Then on the walk home we came across two fawns on their own, right in someone’s front yard. Mom HAD to be around somewhere, but we were about 10 feet from them. Those EYES! We both felt guilty even thinking about guns around the fawns. Run Bambi! LOL!