My son remembers what I say better than I do. One example is this:
I uttered it in some context while wheezing my way up a slope somewhere in the Great Blue Hill Reservation.
Except it wasn’t there. Also I didn’t say that. Exactly. Or alone. He tells me it came up while we were walking across Boston Common after getting some hang time after Mass at the Thinking Cup. He just told me the preceding while looking over my shoulder at what I’m writing. He also explains that the above is compressed from dialog between the two of us, at the end of which he said it should be a bumper sticker, which he later designed, sent to me and you see above.
What I recall about the exchange, incompletely (as all recall is, thanks to the graces and curses of short term memory), is that I was thinking about the imperatives of invention, and why my nature is native to Silicon Valley, which exists everywhere ideas and ambition combine and catch fire.
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