FRIED ARTICHOKES

In the dimension of open minds, a magic carpet of words glides over space and time. The question is, whose thought came first?

In another life (high school days), we had Italian neighbors who built the house we bought. They would come visit and play bocce ball on the court they made. I grew to like the game. Afterward in the cottage they made, Tosca in her full blouse would make fried artichokes. The taste of them comes very near to anything I would call religious.

There was a huge oak tree over the cottage, green depths that we took for granted. And it sheltered all of us.

Einstein made his way outside the box, and knew this when making his thought experiments. His puzzles were free range mathematics, filled in to give form to the play of ideas. And now it seems so simple. Mass is energy, and vice versa. His elegant expression is ubiquitous.

It will come as no surprise that the heart of math was to Einstein as artichoke hearts were to Tosca. And I knew you would read this. Does it matter when?

In that cottage by the oak tree, was an upright piano. Fried artichokes permeated the walls. Bocce ball fingers taught themselves boogie woogie.

What just happened?