“It immediately looked right.”
It’s been 60 years since the double helix structure of DNA, the key to life itself, was first revealed to the world. The BBC’s “Science in Action” walks the listener along the journey of this discovery with some of the scientific giants of the time. The delight is still there in those voices. So wonderful.
Also clears up some of the debate over the credit of Crick and Watson. Their approaches to modeling and sense of beauty moved the idea forward… through actual base pairing cut-outs!
(h/t Krista Tippett)
“Strength without a sense of direction leads to violence. Strength with a sense of direction is grace.” —Matthew Sanford
For an unusual take on the mind-body connection, listen to our interview with Matthew Sanford, who has been a paraplegic since the age of 13. He shares his wisdom for us all on knowing the strength and grace of our bodies even in the face of illness, aging, and death.
About the photo: A former patient of a Red Cross orthopedic center in Kabul, Afghanistan constructs a prosthetic leg as part of an effort to assist those affected by mobility disabilities, including hundreds of mine victims.
Photo by Kanishka Afshari/FCO/DFID
Very cool experiment by KQED Science and SoundCloud about elephant seal mating.
![theatlantic:
Saturn’s Hurricane Is a Super Storm on Steroids, Even for the Solar System
[Image: NASA]
Too choice not to reblog.](http://24.media.tumblr.com/a49cfb2747e2f6204257672f4e350f8f/tumblr_mm2lse1jvP1qcokc4o1_1280.jpg)
Saturn’s Hurricane Is a Super Storm on Steroids, Even for the Solar System
[Image: NASA]
Too choice not to reblog.
The Museum of Flight by Kazim Ali
What a great poem from therumpus:
Kazim Ali
All boys want to fall
Sent like sun-thunder westwardSense-sure and censured they twist
out of the wings fastened to their backsitching always for more blue
suspended endlessly in space at the moment of fallHere in the sky ward
you can count them:Lightning-struck or hurled from heaven
Panicked or resigned,But all heading in the blue direction,
their fathers always at a loss for words.Here is the disobedient one who willfully jumped
And here the wild one who raced for the sun
Here is the stupid one who lost control of the horses
And here the frightened one who stowed away
on the silver boat bound for the storm.They all raced away from rules like sea-drunk criminals
hopelessly confused about the laws of men and godscaught by gravity, unspooling like bolts of silk across the sky
chattering on and on about infinity and eternitythe whole way down.
“It’s better to find the way out than to stand and scream at the forest.”
~Wolof proverb, as found in Aimee Malloy’s excellent book, However Long the Night: Molly Melching’s Journey to Help Millions of African Women and Girls Triumph. Do yourself a favor and pick up a copy.
Photo by Lucinda Lovering / Flickr (cc by-nc 2.0)
~Trent Gilliss, senior editor
“What we’re doing is praying with our feet, with our bodies.”
Aztec dance instructor Centzi Millia wears chachayotl, the thick anklets of Aztec danzantes made of rattling seed pods during a class. She’s part of a new movement of Catholic Latinos in the U.S. who are turning to the spiritual practices of their indigenous ancestors, such as the Aztecs and other ancient traditions, and finding “a mestizo way of life.”
Read more of Shweta Saraswat’s article, “Aztlan, Anew,” which gives you a glimpse of what’s going on in your neighboring communities that you might not even be aware of.
Ladine, New York. #hair #fashion #instagood #love #photooftheday #beautiful #follow #girl #instadaily #black #dreads
Now this is fierce.
~Trent Gilliss, senior editor
I adore these closing stanzas from this poem by Marie Howe:
For months I dreamt of knucklebones and roots,
the slabs of sidewalk pushed up like crooked teeth by what grew underneath.The underneath —that was the first devil.
It was always with me.
And that I didn’t think you — if I told you — would understand any of this —She is one of those all-too-rare poets who can read her work with a fluidity and a clarity that doesn’t sound forced. It was such an honor to edit and produce this interview with her for On Being.
A Nigerian Easter in the Midwest
From the front door she calls, “He has risen!” Her children respond, “He has risen indeed. Let’s eat!”
I dodged church Easter Sunday this year. My mother Gbeme, however, worshipped at the Baptist church she’s been attending twice weekly for the past 20 years.
Raised Catholic in Nigeria, my mother’s Easter begins the seasonal swap from heavy wools to floral prints and pastels. She wears a beautifully vibrant gele — an intricately fashioned tie around the head worn by Yoruba women — and iro and buba — the matching outfit traditionally worn by Yoruba women — to church. She exchanges compliments with the other congregants about their upbeat clothes and steady health. For two hours the pews fill, the choir sings, and for the larger Easter crowd, the young new pastor delivers an especially rousing sermon. Soon thereafter, church dismisses. Time to eat.
For many Americans, Easter is synonymous with the egg. But in my bicultural household, 
creamy frejon is the signature Easter week delicacy. The bean soup is made of smoothly blended brown beans called ewa ibeji and steeped coconut, then sweetened with cane sugar to taste.
In the mid-1980s, my mother left metropolitan Lagos to attend college in rural Wisconsin — and made necessary modifications to the original frejon recipe. Back then international foods weren’t as integrated. In lieu of traditional Nigerian dishes, my mother observed her first few Easters amid sweet friends, sweet rolls, egg salad, and hearty Midwestern casseroles. After she graduated, she moved from Wisconsin to Minnesota, reuniting her with city dwelling, a dense Nigerian immigrant community, specialty grocers, and Easter frejon.
Read more of Caroline Joseph’s essay on Yoruban Catholic tradition.
