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The forecast calls for showers before 11 a.m., showers and thunderstorms between 11 a.m. and 2 p.m., and showers and potentially a thunderstorm after 2 p.m. high close to 90. In the morning, a light north wind turns northeast at 5 to 10 mph. Up to 16 mph gusts of wind are possible. There is an 80% chance of precipitation.Thursday: Before 8 p.m., there may be showers and a thunderstorm; after that, there is a risk of showers and thunderstorms. low, about 76. There is an 80% chance of precipitation.
A Quick Look at Today:
The Drug Court convenes before Circuit Judge Dawn Nichols at 10 a.m. in Courtroom 401 of the Kim C. Hammond Justice Center, located at 1769 E Moody Blvd, Building 1, Bunnell, the Flagler County courthouse. Drug Court is accessible to everyone. View the participation agreement here and the Drug Court manual here.
Palm Coast’s Central Park, located at 975 Central Avenue, will host Model Yacht Club races at the Pond from noon to two o’clock. Participate in the races with your own model yacht or watch Bill Wells, Bob Rupp, and other Palm Coast Model Yacht Club members race. The club meets every Thursday at the pond in Central Park and there are no dues to join.
Preschool Story Time is held at the Flagler Beach Public Library, located at 315 South Seventh Street, Flagler Beach, from 11 to 11:30 a.m. Join Miss Doris for stories and songs—it’s where the wild animals are.
Specifically: I was searching for an image to use as the backdrop for a forthcoming Conversation article about an Aristotelian perspective on leisure. A bit of a clich, the image the Conversation was offering was a stock photo of a woman looking out with the nostalgic expression of a stereotypical Rousseau in a natural location (the French word “clich” also means “photograph”). That photo above was taken in Death Valley a few years ago, and I found it while searching through my own image bank. We passed past in our car. I witnessed the event. We came to a halt and I asked the woman if I may take her picture because it was so ridiculous and sublime. She consented. The picture’s date and the potted tree in Death Valley both allude to the occasion, but I didn’t want to pry further, so I didn’t ask her why she was there. The day was Christmas. Cheryl Luka and I were in Vegas over Christmas for a chess tournament Luka had joined. To make these journeys to Death Valley and other places, as well as to spend Christmas there, we had left a few days early. Death Valley is always a gift to the senses and the soul, especially when it’s not 110 degrees, so that scene turned out to be one of the great gifts of that day’s drive. That morning was chilly near the salt flats, which from a certain perspective glistened like a billion Christmas lights under a sky so clear that it was almost sharp enough to make you wonder: why did Christ choose Bethlehem when he could have been cradled in Death Valley, preferably not in the cabin where Charles Manson temporarily resided? He was arrested in Death Valley, which likely saved us a lot of trouble because geology that is billions of years old is far less picky than hotshot Levantines born today.
P.T.
Now, this:
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The canyon opened up after a mile or so, and I could see farther. The top of one ridge was illuminated by the sun before it moved on to the next. Mesquite trees, scrubby willows, and thumb-shaped cactus protruding from the canyon walls were among the verdant vegetation I saw. There was a spring, dark-tinted and upwelling among weeds and creepers in the curve of a switchback. The day grew hotter after a few more miles. Now that the sun was overhead, it shone through the enlarged canyon with a ferocious brightness that was untarnished by any shade. There was still a great quiet. I remembered the Manson family, including several young ladies with newborns, going up this track barefoot in 1969 while a raven skittered over a ridge. Subsequently, I started reflecting on 1969 as a whole, how insane it was, and how the crazy look in Charles Manson’s eyes in that Life magazine photo seemed fitting for the period. When I was distracted by the sound of an engine and then by the sight of a bright-red ATV approaching from up the road, I started to get the creeps. It came to a stop next to me and rolled down its window. In it were suburban Chicago businessmen Scott and Marv, who were driving Marv’s high-tech, diesel-powered, tank-like, extremely costly Hummer through the desert while their spouses were in Vegas playing blackjack. They were also searching for Manson’s hiding place. A guidebook had told them about it. I accepted their offer of a ride.
Desert Hideaway by Ian Frazier, The Atlantic, February 2000.
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