I know I’ve said it before, but books seem to find me. Threads of those stories start to intertwine. I find myself caught in the 1940s. Tesla, Edison, Oppenheimer, Einstein, and Stan Musial. Tangled. Invention. Cigarette smoke. Steel mills. Baseball.
Our past shapes us, revealing our prejudices. Things we thought we had buried, play out in ways we never thought imaginable. Uncontrolled. Our environment adding to or taking away our pain. Secrets. Lies. Confession, and perhaps, redemption. How can we control the outcome of our lives? Justify the decisions we’ve made? How will we be judged? With empathy? Spite? My thinking has tumbled past Shoop’s novel, gathering steam in looking at this time in history with a different lens. Accepting what was. The wonder of the big idea. Yet, seeing what needed to change. Invention. Cigarette smoke. Steel mills. Baseball. A tangled mess.
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