Ryden Quotes

I find it so much easier to be creatively free at night. Daytime is for sleeping. Nighttime is the best time for making art. The later at night it gets the further into another world you go.

There is a very dark and painful side to life, but that is natural. People in our culture think they should never be unhappy. They think that being unhappy is unnatural. They try to make it go away. They take pills or they go to therapy to "fix" themselves. They blame themselves or others for their suffering. We need to understand that sadness is as much a part of life as joy. It would be easy just to get bitter and cold while focusing on the dark side, but there is also an amazing, wonderful side of life. If you look for it, there is true magic all around us. Maybe that sounds trite to the hardened, self-protective modern ego, but there is magiv in this miraculous life. If you open yourself up, you do make yourself vulnerable to pain but the deeper the pain you experience, the deeper joy you have.

I don’t know how long it’s been since I’ve been gone, but you have to move on. If not today, then someday soon. I love you, Ryden, I will always love you, but I’m not here anymore.

They gave me their names, asking me to forgive them and to pray for them. I would later learn how important it is not to keep a grudge against those who have died. In a mysterious way we 'hold them back' and they suffer if we do not forgive them. We keep them from the higher realm; they seem to remain chained and do not reach Heaven. We must forgive them.

for several years starting in 2004, Bezos visited iRobot’s offices, participated in strategy sessions held at places like the Massachusetts Institute of Technology , and became a mentor to iRobot chief executive Colin Angle, who cofounded the company in 1990. “He recognized early on that robots were a very disruptive game-changer,’’ Angle says of Bezos. “His curiosity about our space led to a very cool period of time where I could count upon him for a unique perspective.’’ Bezos is no longer actively advising the company, but his impact on the local tech scene has only grown larger. In 2008, Bezos’ investment firm provided initial funding for Rethink Robotics, a Boston company that makes simple-to-program manufacturing robots. Four years later, Amazon paid $775 million for North Reading-based Kiva, which makes robots that transport merchandise in warehouses. Also in 2012, Amazon opened a research and software development outpost in Cambridge that has done work on consumer electronics products like the Echo, a Wi-Fi-connected speaker that responds to voice commands. Rodney Brooks, an iRobot cofounder who is now chief technology officer of Rethink, says he met Bezos at the annual TED Conference. Bezos was aware of work that Brooks, a professor emeritus at MIT, had done on robot navigation and control strategies. Helen Greiner, the third cofounder of iRobot, says she met Bezos at a different technology conference, in 2004. Shortly after that, she recruited him as an adviser to iRobot. Bezos also made an investment in the company, which was privately held at the time. “He gave me a number of memorable insights,’’ Angle says. “He said, ‘Just because you won a bet doesn’t mean it was a good bet.’ Roomba might have been lucky. He was challenging us to think hard about where we were going and how to leverage our success.’’ On visits to iRobot, Greiner recalls, “he’d shake everyone’s hand and learn their names. He got them engaged.’’ She says one of the key pieces of advice Bezos supplied was about the value of open APIs — the application programming interfaces that allow other software developers to write software that talks to a product like the Roomba, expanding its functionality. The advice was followed. (Amazon also offers a range of APIs that help developers build things for its products.) By spending time with iRobot, Bezos gave employees a sense they were on the right track. “We were all believers that robotics would be huge,’’ says former iRobot exec Tom Ryden. “But when someone like that comes along and pays attention, it’s a big deal.’’ Angle says that Bezos was an adviser “in a very formative, important moment in our history,’’ and while they discussed “ideas about what practical robots could do, and what they could be,’’ Angle doesn’t want to speculate about what, exactly, Bezos gleaned from the affiliation. But Greiner says she believes “there was learning on both sides. We already had a successful consumer product with Roomba, and he had not yet launched the Kindle. He was learning from us about successful consumer products and robotics.’’ (Unfortunately, Bezos and Amazon’s public relations department would not comment.) The relationship trailed off around 2007 as Bezos got busier — right around when Amazon launched the Kindle, Greiner says. Since then, Bezos and Amazon have stayed mum about most of their activity in the state. His Bezos Expeditions investment team is still an investor in Rethink, which earlier this month announced its second product, a $29,000, one-armed robot called Sawyer that can do precise tasks, such as testing circuit boards. The warehouse-focused Kiva Systems group has been on a hiring tear, and now employs more than 500 people, according to LinkedIn. In December, Amazon said that it had 15,000 of the squat orange Kiva robots moving around racks of merchandise in 10 of its 50 distribution centers. Greiner left iRo

It’s hard to believe that a caterpillar turns into a butterfly. They don’t have anything at all in common. But I guess it’s just as strange that a kid turns into an adult. I never want to be like a grown-up. They don’t have much fun. Greta and I are planning to live next door to each other when we grow up, and raise horses and dogs and keep a few cats. I guess we’ll have to marry men who like animals.

Oh, look, you found a woolly bear.” She suddenly became interested in a gold-and-black fuzzy crawler in my jar. “Do all of these caterpillars have names?” I asked. “I suppose so. I only know the name of that one. But we could name the others ourselves.” That was fun. “This fat one is the Jolly Green Giant,” I announced. “This itsy-bitsy one is Tiny Tim,” she said. “Here’s Hairy.” “This ugly one is Albert. That’s my brother’s name.

Come on in,” she said. “I’m grounded.” “You can’t come out?” I asked in amazement. This had never happened to me. “What did you do?” “It was the caterpillars,” she said. “Come, let me show you.” She led me to the dining room window, which looked out on what had once been a vegetable garden. “They dee-stroyed it.” She made a dramatic sweeping motion with her arm to emphasize the extent of the damage. “Your grandmother’s garden is gone?” “Totaled,” she said with a hint of satisfaction. That it was. I stared at the devastation. Every leaf had either been entirely eaten or was hanging lacy and dead on brown stalks. What a scene there must have been at Greta’s house. I felt my face burning with shame and fear over what we had done. “You could hear them crunching, there were so many of them,” Greta went on. She seemed to relish telling the details. “And you should have seen my grandmother. She was out there swinging her cane around.” Suddenly, I had a terrible feeling that I was going to laugh. The more I tried not to, the more I felt I would. I tried to control myself by saying something that turned out to be pretty lame. “Were any of the caterpillars saved?” I could hardly get the last word out before I was in convulsions on the floor. This set off Greta, and her laughs came in long shrieks. The two of us laughed so hard we hurt. We laughed so long we almost wet our pants. Our gasps and snorts brought her grandmother downstairs to ask what was the matter with us. This just set us off again. I thought we would never stop; I thought we would die laughing. That was the beginning of a great friendship.

Why do grown-ups think they can talk over your head? When my mother and her friends gossip, they think I don’t understand what they’re saying, because they talk all around a subject instead of using plain words. Or they don’t finish a sentence and then give each other meaningful looks. Well, it doesn’t take a genius to fill in the blanks--I’ve learned how to figure out what goes in blanks from taking school tests.

Here it says that snapping turtles eat crayfish, snails, insects, fish, frogs, salamanders, reptiles, birds, mammals, and aquatic plants. Gee, with a diet like that, we ought to be able to argue that they won’t be eating many fish.” “That’s good,” Greta agreed. “We could also make the case that they control snakes. My mom would go for that.

That evening my dad asked if I wanted to discuss the turtle situation. I was as ready as I would ever be, so I said okay. Of course he expected to do all the talking. I hadn’t told him yet that I was preparing a case. Just as I expected, he began by pointing out that we had to be considerate of the summer people who came here to fish; they wouldn’t want a lake full of snapping turtles. When I answered that I was ready to present the other side, he looked surprised. “Snapping turtles have to live beside and in water,” I began, “and we don’t. We can live anywhere. We come to this lake because we like it. Turtles live here because it’s been their home for millions and millions of years, and they can’t live anyplace else. If we kill everything that eats what we eat, what will the earth be like? Think of that!” I left out the arguments about controlling snakes and the question of how many fish the turtles actually might eat. But what I said seemed to go over with my dad. “I think I’d like you on my law team,” was all he said. That night Greta and my dad and I went together in the boat to the lake outlet. There we released twenty turtles. Four had already made their escape. They were last seen moving off our beach into my brothers’ fishing water.

You girls have school tomorrow,” she said. “And Greta leaves for the state spelling contest in the afternoon. I think you’d better call it a night.” Suddenly, Greta jumped up. “Oh, I forgot,” she said. “You forgot the contest?” her mother asked. “No, I forgot why I called Lindsay over here.” Then she turned to me. “I won’t be able to look after the owl until I get back--which will probably be pretty quick, since I don’t expect to survive the first round.

See what I brought you?” I said in a soft voice. “You’re going to like these.” I dangled one of the mice in front of the owl, but it pressed its beak into its chest and backed away. When I pushed the mouse toward the owl’s beak, its horns flew up. “Don’t tell me I killed this poor little mouse for nothing! You’d better take it.” The bird showed no interest in my offering. Well, I couldn’t wait all day. I had to get to school. So I left the dead mice in the box and went upstairs. “What happened?” Mr. Mallard asked. “It didn’t take them. I left them in the box.” “It’ll eat.” “When is Greta coming home? Did they call?” “Yep. She’s still in the contest.” That was good news for her, but I sure wished she was around to share my misery over what her dad and I were doing.

He seemed satisfied with what he had made, although he didn’t say anything. He just grinned at my reaction to it. I was so pleased that I jumped up and down, like those people who win prizes on TV game shows. My dad says they are told to act that way, and that it isn’t dignified to get so excited over money. I guess it’s okay to get excited over a great owl cage, though.

Together we watched the little bird climb up and down the ramp, and even saw it eat a dead mouse. That was a first, even for me. It held the critter with its feet and tore off the poor thing’s head. Then after bolting the head down, it picked at the body until there was nothing left of it. All this seemed shocking, especially to Greta, because she hadn’t been through the process of reading books, setting traps, and becoming hardened to what it takes to keep an owl alive, as I had. But I found it hard to watch too. “Well, we eat meat,” Greta finally said. “Only, first, somebody else--the butcher, I guess--has to cut off the head of the chicken or the cow so that we don’t have to see it looking at us.” Greta had a way of putting things.

My dad is going to have to help us with this one,” Greta said. “He’s home all the time now, anyway, so I’ll show him how to do it.” That was the first time Greta had ever spoken to me about her dad’s situation, and I wasn’t about to press her to say more. Instead, I said, “It’s lucky he can help,” which sounded so dumb that I turned red in the face.

I was glad Nutkin was a red squirrel, because I wouldn’t have liked for Greta and me to have to hoe up our yards, looking for buried acorns. We would have done it, though. We would have done anything for Nutkin. She was the cutest baby animal I ever saw, and both of us had fallen in love with her.

We buried the little chipmunk in Greta’s backyard and marked the place with a stone. I said a prayer over its grave. I don’t know if there is a chipmunk heaven, or for that matter, even an animal heaven, but I sure hope there is. Better still, I’d like all animals to go to our heaven. It would make the place a lot more interesting than I usually picture it.

To Rocky, touch was more important than sight. He grabbed everything and he wouldn’t let go! To make him turn loose our shirt buttons, or worse, our hair, we had to carry a stone or a nut in our pockets. Sometimes we could persuade him to let go of what he was clutching and take one of these, instead. But the cutest thing our Rocky Star did was to cover his eyes with his hand-like paws when he was frightened. In this respect, he was like an ostrich that buries its head in the sand. Rocky just didn’t like to look trouble in the face, even though he loved to create it.

I don’t think it likes being held by the tail like you’re doing,” she said. “It needs to be supported in two places with two hands, like this.” “Yeah, well, I hope it bites you,” Russell said, still trying to scare us. “It can’t bite me, because I have a grip on its neck. It can’t turn its head to strike at me.” “Snakes don’t have necks,” Russell hooted. “Snakes are all neck.” Conversations with Russell never got anyplace, so I thought we’d better end this one.

Turning her loose made us both feel good. We didn’t worry at all about how she would make out. Snakes can crawl into holes and take good care of themselves. With no regrets, we let her go. And go she did. In a flash she disappeared, fluttering into the underbrush like a striped hair ribbon. “Well, that’s the end of that,” Greta said. “Yep,” I agreed. Little did we know that it was only the beginning. Two days later, Russell knocked on Greta’s door and asked for his snake back. Since I wasn’t there at the time, Greta had to handle the situation by herself. What she told me about their conversation really annoyed me. “He said it was his snake, and he never intended to give it to us, only I had grabbed it away from him.” “Then why did he bring it here?” I asked. “He said he wanted to show it to us.” “Scare us with it is more like it. Well, it serves him right. He must have been surprised when we didn’t scare and you plucked it out of his hands.” We both laughed at the memory of that. “Anyway, when I told him that we didn’t have it, he was furious. You should have seen his face.” “Good! Did you tell him that he was dumb to think the snake was blind?” “No. He was mad enough.

I just got a call from the state Department of Fish and Game,” he began after we had sat down. At these words, Greta’s face went white, and my own began to burn, so I knew it was turning red. We waited for him to say more, but he took his time. Finally, he blurted out, “They have some screwball idea that all wildlife belongs to the state.” “They own it all?” Greta asked with disbelief. “Seems so,” her dad replied, his mouth set in a straight line. “Well then, we should just send them a bill for all the food we’ve been buying for their animals,” she said.

Lindsay, I’m so sorry this has happened to you,” he said. “Both you and Greta have been doing a fine thing for those animals. I know how much work you have put into caring for them. But the law is clear on this matter. I wish it were otherwise.” “Well, I’m not going to obey the law,” I sputtered. “I don’t agree with it. Anyway, Troll and Nutkin and Rocky Star are more important than any law! Besides, who made up such a law? God? No! Just a lot of dumb men who think they have the right to kill animals.” “Now, Lindsay, stop and think a minute. Maybe you don’t like the law, but you still must obey it. What if everyone decided to obey only those laws that they agreed with? We’d be in big trouble then.” Now I knew what my mother meant when she said that it’s impossible to argue with my dad when he puts on his lawyer’s cap. He made me so mad that I began to shout. “You’re not on my side,” I yelled. “You don’t care how I feel or what happens to our animals. You can have your old law. I’m not going to let anyone take away our animals. They’d have to shoot me first.

All that day Greta and I were excited by the thought of the animals being housed in a tree. “After all, that’s the right place for them,” Greta said. “Squirrels and raccoons and owls are supposed to live in trees.” “I just hope that the law enforcement agent, or whoever comes, doesn’t happen to look up,” I said. “We’ll have to distract him so he won’t,” Greta said. “If he starts toward the tree, you pretend to faint.” “What if our animals make noises, like squeals or squeaks or chitterings?” “Then we’ll start talking really loud and drown them out.

At the table, I was surprised to see my favorite kind of lasagna being served in a baking dish just like one of ours at home. When I mentioned this, Greta’s mom said that Marie had come over with it and brought some school clothes for me, as well. I guess my folks had just accepted the fact that I had left home for good. It hurt to think they would just let me go like that. I wondered what Marie had told Mrs. Mallard about my fight with my dad. “Tomorrow morning, Greta and Albert and I will leave here at seven o’clock sharp,” Greta’s mom said to me. “I have to open the school office half an hour before the first bell, so we always leave early. Someone will pick you up at seven-thirty and drive you to your school, Lindsay.” “I can walk,” I said. I didn’t want to see either of my parents. “Well, I’ve been told that you don’t have your schoolbooks here. You left them at home. Of course, you will need them tomorrow, so it’s best you go along with this plan,” Mrs. Mallard replied. Her words suddenly reminded me that I hadn’t done my homework. I could see that the next days were going to be hard. Our animals were in grave danger, we were breaking the law, and my parents didn’t seem to care that I’d moved out. I suddenly felt so terrible that a big lump formed in my throat, and I couldn’t swallow the lasagna. I held my glass of milk up to my mouth and pretended to drink, so that no one would notice my eyes were filling with tears. Luckily, I was saved when Greta’s mom mentioned that there was going to be a film about owls on TV. “I think it’s about to start. Why don’t you girls take your plates into the living room and watch it?” I was sure glad to leave the table before I made a fool of myself.

Is this the Mallard residence?” he asked. “Who is it?” Mr. Mallard called from the kitchen. “A conservation officer from the state Department of Fish and Game. I have an order here to pick up some animals,” he called back. Now I was on my own. I was so scared that I thought my legs would give way. And when I opened my mouth to speak, no words came out. Fortunately, Greta’s dad came up behind me. “Is this your daughter?” the man asked him. “No,” he answered. I could tell by the look on the conservation officer’s face that he thought Mr. Mallard was lying. “This order says that your daughter, here, is harboring wild animals in your home.” Then he looked straight at me. “Are you aware that what you are doing is illegal?” “This is not my daughter, I told you. My daughter is in school,” Mr. Mallard said. “What’s your name, young lady?” the man asked. I was still speechless. I guess it didn’t matter, though, because he went right on talking to me, as if I were Greta. “This order says that you have at least two mammals and a bird in your possession, namely, Tamiasciurus hudsonicus, Procyon lotor, and Otus asio. It further says that you have been informed by telephone conversation that holding these animals in captivity violates a state statute, which prohibits unlicensed individuals from harboring wildlife. You were further informed that keeping a migratory bird is prohibited by federal law. You were also ordered to deliver these animals to our headquarters on Saturday, but did not appear. I am now here to confiscate them.” Even if I could have gotten some words out, I was saved from having to do so by Mr. Mallard, who really sounded angry. “First of all, I told you that this little girl is not my daughter,” he said. “In the second place, I don’t know what language you speak, sounds like Greek or Latin to me. This girl and I aren’t versed in those tongues, so you’d better come back with a translator.

I can see recent signs that animals have been fed around here, and I now order you to tell me where they are.” He directed this command at me, and when I didn’t answer, he repeated it. “I order you to tell me what you have done with the wild animals you have been holding here.” I could feel my legs shaking and was trying hard to think of what to say when, suddenly, I heard someone shout, “Don’t answer him, Lindsay.” The voice was my father’s. He had just arrived to drive me to school and was coming up the walk. “Who are you?” the agent asked him. “I am this girl’s father. I am also an attorney,” he answered. “And who are you?” “I am a conservation officer for the state Department of Fish and Game,” the man shot back. “May I suggest to you that it is unbecoming for a state officer to behave in an intimidating manner toward a child? Come, Lindsay, get into the car, or you’ll be late for school.” Never, ever, in my whole life was I so glad to see anybody. My dad gave me a big hug, and I just burst into tears. I wasn’t sad. They were tears of relief. I had been so scared that the officer would find our animals, and it felt so good to be with my dad again. Suddenly, things seemed like they might work out.

As we drove to school, my dad fished a handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to me. “We hope you will come home now, Lindsay,” he said. “We sure miss you. The place doesn’t seem the same without our girl. How about it?” It was hard for me to speak, because I was still crying a little. “I want to,” I managed to say, “but I can’t turn over the animals to that man. He’d kill them. I can’t obey the law, no matter what. I’ll go to jail first.” We were at school by then, and my dad parked the car and turned to me. “Wipe your eyes and look at me, Lindsay. I have something to say to you.” I did as he said. “I’m really proud of you, my girl. You are very young to take a stand against the law as a matter of conscience, but I see that that is what you are doing. The law is not going to excuse you for it, however. People who break laws, even bad laws, must pay the penalty. Yet, sometimes, people of conscience are willing to stand up for what they believe is right, and willing to take the punishment for doing so. As a result, they call attention to laws that need to be changed. Still, they have to pay a price for their belief. Do you understand that?” “I think so.” “Here’s an example. More than twenty years before you were born, African-American people in the South refused to obey unjust laws that said they could not sit in the front of a bus or eat in an all-white restaurant. Well, they defied those laws and sat where they pleased. And hundreds of them were hauled off and put into jails for breaking the law. Well, pretty soon the jails were full, and the entire country had heard about what was going on. Almost everybody sided with the African-American cause and demanded that the unjust laws be changed. So, in the end, the law was changed. That kind of lawbreaking is called civil disobedience.” “Is that what Greta and I are doing?” “I think so. If I have heard you right, you said that you would be willing to go to jail to protect your animals. That’s very brave of you, and I can’t ask you to act against your conscience. Now are you ready to come home again?” At that moment, I loved my dad so much that I couldn’t say anything. I just threw my arms around him and kissed him. Then I got out of the car and went into the school quickly. I needed time to wash my face before going to class.

Fly, Troll, if you are ready,” Greta said over and over. But Troll wasn’t in a hurry. “Stay, Troll, if you aren’t,” I began chanting. It was like picking petals off a flower to “she loves me, she loves me not,” and waiting to see which way it would come out. Then, suddenly, Troll spread his wing feathers wide apart and swooped off, just as Greta said, “Fly, Troll, if you are ready,” for about the twentieth time. We couldn’t hear his wings flap because owls fly silently. And we couldn’t see where he went. It was too dark. But about five minutes later, we heard his laughing sound, a kind of a garble of noise, running down the scale. “He’s saying good-bye and thank you to you girls,” Mr. Mallard said. “Oh, he is, he is,” Greta said, clapping her hands. “Oh, I’m so happy he’s free. Aren’t you glad, Lindsay?” I, definitely, was happy. All our hard work and worry had been worth it for those last minutes with him. I knew I would remember this night all my life. We didn’t release Troll a minute too soon. The next day the Fish and Game officer paid a surprise visit to the Mallards. I wasn’t there, but Greta told me that he searched the place from top to bottom and was mad he didn’t find anything. “Luckily, I had just raked up Troll’s castings,” Greta said. “Otherwise, he might have found them and looked up into the tree.” “Did he ask you what you had done with the animals? What did you say? Were you scared? Did he threaten to arrest you?” “It didn’t make any difference what he asked me. My dad told me to ‘take the Fifth’--in other words, to say nothing.” “I wish I had been there,” I said. Then I wondered--had those words actually come out of my mouth? Only a short time back, I had been scared witless by the state officer. Now I was ready to meet him head on! This was all so confusing that I put it out of my mind. In another two weeks, Nutkin would be ready for release. After that, if we got caught, we would only have the one charge against us of keeping Rocky Star. Meanwhile, we were saving lives. And nothing in the world could be more important than that!

Just to apply for a license, we had to be sixteen years old or more. So much for being legal! When I reported all of this to Greta, she seemed really depressed. “Don’t worry,” I consoled her. “We’ll be sixteen someday. Until then, we’ll just go on being outlaws.” She didn’t answer at first. And, when she did speak, her voice was so low I almost couldn’t hear her. “It’s not just the animals,” she murmured. “What else then?” I asked. There was a long pause. Finally she blurted out, “We’re moving. My dad’s found a job in Bridgeville.” I sat right down on the floor of her living room and rested my forehead on my knees. It felt like someone had socked me in the stomach. I couldn’t utter a word. I just rocked back and forth. “We’ll leave as soon as school is over.” I didn’t look up at Greta. Her voice was quavering, and I was afraid we both might start crying. I didn’t say anything, either. What was there to say except that being a kid is the pits? Kids are powerless and adults make decisions that tear apart our friendships. Adults try to seize our animals and won’t let us take a test we could pass. Being a kid is the pits.