It was the breast of times, it was the wurst of times

It was a hot August day, the naked people were in the pool, some floating face up, some face down. We ignored the face-down floaters, why spoil an otherwise idyllic day. The shadows were getting shorter, because it was still before noon...after noon, the shadows lengthen, the days shorten.

I looked in the skimmer basket to see what had happened during the night. Have you ever emptied the bucket from your vacuum cleaner and looked closely at what makes up household dirt? Our container is dog hair, cat hair, bits of carrot peel, fingernail clippings, beads, bead wire, bead needles, bead glass, bead magazines, bead earrings, an occasional Oreo cookie, never anything of mine, a sock or two-never a matched pair.

Sorry, back to the skimmer basket. Drowned insects, bees, flies, dragon flies, damsel flies, dog hair, cat hair, bits of carrot peel, fingernail clippings, beads, bead wire, bead needles, bead glass, bead magazines, bead earrings, an occasional Oreo cookie, never anything of mine. Leaves, bits of the face down floaters, and other flotsam.

Last night we went to hear Curtis Ebbesmeyer talk about his his book "Flotsametrics in a Floating World."

http://flotsametrics.com/reviews.php

That is what got me thinking about our little gyre in the pool, in the house, on our street. I wonder if I am part of the problem?

"`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe."