Category Archives: Prose

Move, please

Holly Doyne Posted on by  

One of the challenges that I am facing four days a week is BART between Civic Center in San Francisco and North Berkeley. It isn’t that I love riding on a crowded system, but rather it is a better alternative than driving back and forth. Part of the joy involves the basic mechanics of getting to and from the subway platforms. Most of the time the escalators are working, except when they are not. Most of the others taking the system are polite, except for those who are just plain rude.

Let me explain:

  1. there are elevators which most of the time are working, bear no relationship to the main portion of the station, and smell like pee at best;
  2. there are escalators which are usually, but not always, in the middle of the platforms and mostly work;
  3. finally there are stairs which connect the platforms with the main portion of the station; and
  4. there are normally all of the above which connect the main portion of the station with the surface of the local neighborhood.

So to get from one level to another you have to pick one of the options. Leaving out elevators which are to be avoided if at all possible, one has to navigate either stairs or escalators. There is the standard custom in Europe which translates to walk on the left, stand on the right. This convention is observed in almost all non-Commonwealth countries some of which may apply this standard in reverse.

It is not a hard concept. Stay on the right if you are not going to walk up if you are on escalator. There is really no great reason to stand on the left. Reading your phone is not an excuse. Making a play for someone in whom you have interest is not an excuse. Placing your luggage or grocery bags at your side rather than in front of you is not an excuse. Any of these are rude and obstruct the flow of those who want to walk up. Why anyone wants to walk is not a concern or needs a comment. It should be sufficient to recognize that someone wants to get by and to allow them to proceed on their way.

Then we come to the stairs. All of the stairs in the BART system have railings on both sides. The railings are there for reasons of safety. They help those of us who need them to haul themselves up, they provide stability for anyone with an unsteady gate, and they help direct the flow of traffic along the sides. NOT DOWN OR UP THE FREAKING MIDDLE. (Emphasis is obviously mine). I don’t mind someone who needs time to get up or down; in fact I can applaud their strength and courage in tackling stairs. I can appreciate anyone who looks at the stairs as a mountain to climb or a chance to burn off a few calories.

What I don’t understand is anyone who needs to walk up (especially) or down a flight of stairs in the middle. Not holding a railing, not keeping to the side, and effectively obstructing completely the flow of foot traffic in both directions. I am exempting anyone with medical/psychiatric reasons for not complying with normal traffic flow. But your average commuter, fixed on their phone, dragging themselves up the stairs while effectively preventing anyone from getting around them.

This morning it was a well-dressed woman with three bags. Since the bags were held in her left hand, there really was no reason for her to hike up the middle of the stairs. She could have used the railing on the right side. She could have even been obnoxious and walked on the left. Instead, she chose to take more than her ½ out of the middle, effectively blocking anyone from below in getting past her on the stairs and forcing the rare person attempting to get to the platform to play skinny statue to the side.

As you can imagine, I had already navigated down at North Berkeley, numerous stops and crowding on the Milbrae BART followed by a scrum on the first set of stairs up from the platform. So my temper was not the best when confronted with someone who obviously wasn’t paying attention to anyone else. I am older, I have grey hair and simply, I didn’t care what she thought of me.

“Excuse me, I need to get past, please.You are completely blocking the stairs.”

(picture the interruption, the angry look followed by glancing behind to see a mass of people including, but not limited to- big, burly people with bicycles.) She actually pulled over at the intermediate platform and started berating me for being rude and not giving due consideration to her age.

I just thanked her for getting out of the way and dashed up the open stairs, laughing because I obviously had 20+ years on her.

Sept 11

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This is the 18th remembrance of the Twin Towers, Pentagon and Flight 93.

Any of us who were old enough at the time can identify where we were, what we were doing.

For my generation, previously the impact had been President Kennedy’s assassination closely followed by Martin Luther King, Jr. For the slightly younger group, it was the death of Princess Diane.

But in 2001 – the whole world changed in relation to how we felt, how we looked at others. Worse, in how many started treating others actively and discriminatorily simply based on skin tones, facial structure or a panic based not on fact but fear. One of my fellow officers started using his orders and ID card when traveling rather than his passport simply so that he, as an early 40s African-American man, didn’t pulled out of line for a strip search every time he flew. Obviously, that army colonel could be confused with a terrorist.

It changed our view of war from relief of being done with the Cold War to an obsession with asymmetrical warfare with a heavy emphasis on Non-State players. We, the US as a country, reverted to much of the same behavior as we had done in South America in the 1950s and 1960s and were surprised when the results were not exactly sterling. We reaped the results of our covert battles with the Russians in Afghanistan and were stunned when the Taliban turned against us.

Our behavior on the world stage has not always been that which we can point to in retrospect with pride.

Let none of that hinder you in looking back. Being awed by those, “just doing their jobs,” who responded to the World Trade Center in New York, many of whom gave their lives then or have suffered long term medical impairment since. Those from all the countries who at the Twin Towers that day, visiting, for meetings or currently being assigned to work in NYC. To the family, friends and colleagues who we lost between one minute and the next. Think of the military and civilians who died at the Pentagon where we can only be grateful that the new section was not completely in use. Where the chance to use a new conference room, unknowing to the planners, would result in death. And to those of Flight 93, bringing that fourth plane down in Pennsylvania at the cost of their own lives. Preventing the deaths of hundreds to thousands more hand that plane reached its Washington DC target.

Once again, I commend Exhibit 13 by Blue Man Group to you.

Exhibit 13

Federalist #51

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Since I failed to do it before –

If men were angels, no government would be necessary. If angels were to govern men, neither external nor internal controls on government would be necessary. In framing a government which is to be administered by men over men, the great difficulty lies in this: you must first enable the government to control the governed; and in the next place oblige it to control itself.

(italics are mint)

Is the famous quote from Madison in the Federalist #51 published on Friday, February 8, 1788 and credited to either Alexander Hamilton or James Madison. The complete text can be found in the Congress.gov website.

I am not sure whether to claim I spent the last week thinking too little, or thinking too much. One of the challenges of representational government is that it must represent all of the people. Not just those with the issue of the moment, or those with the most money. I am certain that my grandmother, coming to the US in the early 20th Century around the age of 10 wasn’t as worried about the US government as she was being safe from the pogroms, having enough to eat and perhaps being able to get some education. For her and most of that generation, money was safety, food, clothing and a future for their children. They had faced starvation, death, weapons and sea voyages in steerage. They had no place to which they could return even if they had wanted.

I have seen the effects of hate let loose: in Bosnia where neighbors when after those who had lived next door for decades; in Iraq where blowing up houses, schools, hospitals, convoys became common place without regard for those just trying to survive and protect their families; in Afghanistan where destroying history was paramount and teaching the young allowed only if doctrinal and if those taught are males.

Divisiveness, single issues, fanaticism all take away from freedom. It is easy to say that you “believe in the constitution” when it seems to support what you want but not as clear when those same freedoms have to be allowed to those with whom you don’t agree.

I am hoping we are strong enough as a country to survive the current bigotry, bullying, and white male supremacy and come back to a middle ground where hard work is expected and rewarded, children are fed, medical care is available to those who require it and schools actually teach science.

It shouldn’t be an unobtainable dream.

The weight of law

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Often we have heard various descriptions of law as heavy, weighty. I had always thought of it as perhaps relating to the seriousness of what it meant both to society and the individual. Or perhaps to affects on in dividuals or even the density of words since we all know that it takes lawyers 150 words to be precise where the rest of us might use a simple sentence that starts with either “yes” or “no.”

It isn’t that most of the breed are trying to be obscure, rather they are trying to be totally and completely clear in their obscure way to make sure that there is no question of the exact meaning of anything that they say. Obviously it takes a lot of words to be that precise. In fact there are so many words in many of their documents that loop holes and exceptions wind up occurring. Disagreements as to happenstance, events, opinions keep the rest of them completely occupied in settling disagreements and the court dockets full.

I think that all of us can agree that some rules and regulations are necessary when a population gets above a certain size. The law then becomes that set of rules which we agree govern us. Or, if we don’t agree – still have an effect on what we are allowed to do in public, with our things and to/with others. I can’t be an anarchist since I firmly believe that a civilized society has the responsibility to protect those individuals who, for reasons of health, ability, finance, position, have the ability to protect themselves.

I would like to believe that we have come a significant distance from those Homo sapiens rolling out of Africa and into first what is now Europe and Asia and happily slaughtering Homo neanderthal and the other hominid species on their way to taking over the world. * (If you haven’t read Yuval Harari’s – Sapiens: A Brief History of Humankind – it is an excellent book. Check your public library. I was introduced to this book through Coursera).

All of the above doesn’t explain why I am considering the weight of law.

This is why I am concerned

The two hardbacks (rented, not bought) weigh about 1.5 kg each. The paperback slightly under a kilo. Law is just heavy and those that write the textbooks don’t say anything in five words if a paragraph will do. See comments above. I am waiting on the last book to arrive from Amazon. As much as I would prefer to support UC Hastings Student Bookstore, there is no way I am interested in carrying these tomes anywhere other than upstairs to my desk. They are certainly not going back and forth from home to class on McAllistar Ave in San Francisco. Orientation starts on Monday. I am hoping not to have to revise my opinion on book hauling.

Wearing my As Fan Hat –

Fireworks Night

Apparently Chevron and the powers that be assume that Harry Potter is the right cultural reference for a Witches and Wizards Fireworks evening. I have no clue where the “witches” come in since the wizard’s school didn’t seem to discriminate or change nomenclature based on gender. I didn’t get the shiny gold baseball with wings in the center. Duh – as someone mentioned to me – this is baseball’s interpretation of the Snitch from Quidditch.

Who new? Or cared?

A’s won 2:1 in the normal amount of innings.

Minnesota Drivers

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I love Minnesota Drivers. They are polite; they merge flawlessly and without honking horns. They obey traffic signals. Not like the Bay Area where driving can be a cross between a game of chicken and a combat sport. Everyone for themselves and watch out! I can’t blame diversity, transplants or immigrants although we have more than enough of all of the above. The laid back California attitude simply vanishes when someone gets behind the wheel of a car.

Never in Berkeley would someone stop and let you out from a parking spot at the curb simply because you signaled and were waiting for side traffic to clear. Wouldn’t see drivers being careful to always pass on the left. Perhaps Minnesota has a soporific effect on its residents. The politeness and reserve extending to insuring that you don’t interfere with anyone else on the road.

Or maybe it is the long cold winters that instills both a hardiness and a sense of community responsibility. In any case, it was a pleasure driving from the airport to my friends house. Not something I can say often in California.

Do I want to be a student again?

Holly Doyne Posted on by  

8 April 2018 – Do I want to be a student again?

I thought about it this morning. The last time I had to sit in a classroom or deal with grades was 1985. That is right, more than 30 years ago. I still have not touched my post 9-11 GI Bill. All except for Miriam have aged out of eligibility. When she and Noah were eligible, they first were using their VA benefits. End result is that I have up to 36 months of educational benefits which will expire in 2021 shortly after my passport will expire. Not that the two have exactly anything to do with each other but that will be the 10 year mark since I retired from the Army.

Apparently now benefits have to be used in 15 years, but I don’t think that change is retroactive. And in any case, giving me another five years just means that I will be five years older. It is a good change and will benefit those who retired at 20 years with small children in the house. Benefits won’t expire before those children have a chance to benefit.

But me? Do I want to let the whole things go? Or do I want to go back to school. And since I already have three degrees, what do I really want with another degree.

Given all of that, I have been looking at University California, Hastings Law School. No – I have absolutely no interest in becoming a lawyer – one of those in the family is more that enough, thank you. But they have a Masters of Studies in Law program that might be interesting. It is designed for health care, tech and public policy types who need to understand the law (in order to use/abuse it). I applied on a lark,, sort of. Like any other application process it was a pain. Paying the application fee wasn’t the issue, it was working myself up to asking a couple of friends for recommendations and getting copies of all transcripts sent to the school. That is right, all transcripts. Apparently it has something to do with having completed files for accreditation inspections and qualifications. I am not sure how relevant an undergraduate transcript from the late 60s is, but obviously, my opinion on that item wasn’t asked. At least both U of MN and Johns Hopkins can send everything secure electronically and I didn’t have to wait for the mail (and cheaper. Nice.)

They are willing to have me start in the fall. In fact, fall starts are mandatory since they offer certain required courses only in the fall.

This is going to play havoc with both my professional meeting schedule and the fall transatlantic cruise season.

There was an alternative through Hastings-UCSF in Health Policy as an on-line course, but if I am going to do this, I think that in person would be better.

Besides, once I get through, I will help them restructure so that the course is more interning to the working person for whom it is designed. No one who is working full time can take out 1-2 years for a degree. The MBA programs have figured this out and just about all offer night/weekend extended options for the mid-career professional.

Just what I need – a new windmill upon which to tilt!

Rivers and Roads

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The River first: Rio Dulce.

We docked in Guatemala and promptly boarded (ok, more or less promptly. At least they offered the birders a separate group or two) smaller vessels called Pangas

our transport up river

in which to go up the river. As we first traveled along the coast then up the river, there was a significant contrast between the trash

and the very expensive houses.

Then of course there are house boats masquerading as sailboats from a variety of European, North American and MidEast origins some of which appear to have been at anchor for a significant number of years.

[this is an aside – skip if you are so inclined. A couple of years ago there was a serious discussion on the ISTM TravelMed server list about a family asking for “advise” before they set out. Family currently of seven – 2 adults and five children ages 11 and below, two of whom were still in diapers. Their plan was to get on their sail boat and go around the world. Obviously they wanted advice. But, as it turned out, they were not really interested – no need for immunizations they said – better our children are exposed to real disease an not to artificial compounds. etc, etc). The nurse practitioner finally got them to agree that setting out with one of the two adults at 28+ week pregnant was not their smartest move. Reading on someone’s blog about their wonderful birth experience in the South Pacific with a local midwife was not the same as having it work out for you. Etc Etc.
This morning, looking at these boats I finally figured out, other than the child endangerment, what was bothering me. I am a physician. I seriously believe that all of us owe a couple of things back to the world. The first is simple: if you have had training and a profession that has been contributed to by the public- you owe something back to that same public. i.e. – don’t train and then not practice. The second is that everyone should contribute to some extent. Taking off around the world with five – six children in tow means that, other than spending some money in foreign ports – you are not contributing anything to the world. You are not demonstrating responsibility to your children and you are tasking advantage of your privileged status to use assets that others might need. This is all part of the “western world has little of the population but uses most of the resources” argument.
If those I had seen on the boats were retired, no complaints – done their share. But most of those whom I saw were of the age of avoidance and escape.]

contrast that to those who are native to the area and live along the river with large families, little money and even less education as every member of the family is contributing (fishing to transporting water, wood, accosting tourists).

And then there were the birds: yes many of the common birds:

pelicans:

egrets, herons, gulls….

About 1130 we docked, had lunch at a “local restaurant” (only tourists) we headed to Quirigua. (queue bus ride) After finding out that I didn’t have to stay with one of the guides, I took off on my own to take a couple of pictures and just enjoy bird sounds, peace and quiet. This site is a Mayan archeologic site and not on the direct tourist runs which meant that it was only our ship overrunning the site.

The bus ride back was a version of “Mr Toad’s Wild Ride.”

All of us were relieved to be back on the ship; the roads were full of holes, the speed was high and passing large lorries around curves and up hills was just routine. All of the buses made it back without incident, but sleeping through those two hours was really a challenge.

I skipped diner in favor of peace and quiet. Seems like every gathering is viewed as an opportunity for a lecture. Thinking seriously, this is not the venue for me. At this point in my life I enjoy the quiet, discovering/learning on my own and not being continuously interrupted with unasked for voices in my ears.

Plus – the food is just meh.

DWS

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and then there is DWA.

When I was young and first had my driver’s license there weren’t many older women driving. This was the 60s and male prerogative was alive and well. Men drove (and managed to get lost because they didn’t navigate) while women sat in the passenger seat, dealt with extraneous issues like offspring, pets and meal service while on the more long distance hauls that were common family vacations in the 1950s and 60s. In fact, when I think about my grandmothers, I am really not certain if either of them had a driver’s license. Certainly, born around the turn of the century both, neither would have been too old to drive. Not if you looked at what the men were doing.

I can remembering driving in certain areas while in Med School and shuddering each and every time I saw the top of a grey head with eyes peering out the windshield through the steering wheel. It didn’t matter the sex of the driver (mostly women) or the ethnic group. In fact, in the eyes of a young person everyone over a certain age seemed to be small, grey, wrinkled and, while worthy of respect, should not be behind the wheel of a car. Ever.

So – Driving While Aged. Also known in German as “Sontags Fahrer” which translates directly to “Sunday Driver.”

If only they would restrict themselves to Sundays. I could deal with that. I would simply avoid driving anywhere on the weekend. I certainly don’t see them on the road at 0500 in the morning when dropping Dani off at work. The deer, as I mentioned yesterday seem more than willing to fill that particular role.

Today I added DWS – which is either Driving While Stupid or Driving While Sleeping. The first includes putting on make-up, fighting, brushing hair, shaving and messing around with a cell phone in any manner (texting, taking fotos, talking on said cell phone). Kind of like “Slug Bug” which we played when young (be the first one to see a VW Beetle and you got a free hit on a sibling), I decided to start counting the idiots on the way back from Martinez this afternoon.

By the time I hit I-80 South from the Cal 4 entry I was out of both fingers and toes. It simply is not safe to be out on the road where there are idiots, large trucks, debris scattered in the road and rubberneckers looking for their own accident. Somehow I was sorry I turned down George’s offer to drive me. No, it would not be independence, but I could knit, read, cross-stitch or play computer games all of which are much more comforting that following a car with no visible driver.

Finally sliding past and seeing a wizened face peering through the gap in the steering wheel, grey hair in no particular style, gender indeterminate, ethnicity the same. But crawling down the road at under 50 km in the second lane from the left (Continental and North American Rules) it seemed to me that DWS = Driving While Senile. Call me evil, but I reported the license plate number to DMV. I don’t want this older person (older than me which is now referred to as longevity challenged….) to kill themselves or take anyone else with them. Hopefully, if I get to that point, someone will do me the same favor.

Dark of the Moon

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It is that time, a scant few hours before down that is absent most life. The vampires are headed quietly to bed. The werewolves are tucked snuggly in their human forms with the full moon a distant future. This only leaves the idiot deer out for a stroll down from the hills. They wander down through Codornices Park and out into our neighborhood at Eunice and Euclid. Not completely stupid, they are trading the hills, picked over vegetation and mountain lions for groomed lawns and gardens.

“Deer in the headlights” is not just an expression. When hit suddenly with light in the pre-dawn hours they freeze followed by a mad dash in a random direction. That direction can and does include straight into whatever car startled them in the first place. Not being a fan of deer as hood ornaments or grill decorations my instinct was to slam on the brakes while hitting the horn. Normally I am not a fan of disturbing my neighbors before 0515 in the morning. But cleaning deer guts off the car is not exactly something I had scheduled into my plans for the day.

Luck was with me. The lead deer veered off at the last minute with the rest of the thundering pests right on his tail. I was left with an excess of adrenalin. Making it the last few blocks up the hill to the house, I parked and climbed out on trembling legs.

I have finally found a positive thing about living on a hill. By the time I had climbed the hill followed by the stairs to the house my shakes had completely worn off. Going back to bed looked really good about then.

words

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written in the middle of the night should not often be shared. They come out of dreams and drip confusingly from fingers stumbling to record them before they fade off into the mists of nightmares. Looking at such thoughts caught between waking and sleeping further devolve into confusion by the helpfulness of the spell checkers on an iPad which can only lead to further confusion about that line between thought and reality. Wakefulness and not – when you are startled awake by something you were sure you heard only to be surrounded by silence, but that light of morning renders most of those words incoherent.

And so it was at darkness time when that line between waking and dreaming left me wondering if I had actually written anything, recorded anything in the dark by touch. Certain that I had found the appropriate meds to put me back to sleep and avoid dream of Parasites (thank you so much Seanan McGuire) or floating poisons in my body looking for new targets and wiping out hapless brain cells out of boredom.

Down memory lane

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last night I finally downloaded the 2007-2015 content from proseknitic.de in preparation for cancelling the site.  Should I bother to tell you how many spam comments I had to kill. I found them, of course after I had done the import so I am hoping that most fell outside the import windows.

Then I took a look at comments from way back when and started following links from all the knitters.

Should I not have been surprised to find most of the blogs inactive for years or that I have lost track of a number of people? Part of it makes sense. The blog[s] drifted away from pretty solidly knitting content only to being more about travel with the occasional opinion rant more than fiber. In other cases, I think various people found that Ravelry was easier to use than posting on a blog where few people ever commented. Feedback is important unless your soul is basically that of a writer, in which case you just need to express yourself and the h* with anyone who can’t take a joke.

Thinking back – April 1998-March 2007 – email list. March 2007 (ten years – that is quite scary in some ways) to the present with more or less consistency running both the blog and an email list that varies in size depending on the subject, the year and the drop of those not interested. The last has been balanced by the gain of new friends.

 
My first mailing lists actually went out from my laptop but through a military server. Use of that server lasted till ~2000 when it finally quit tossing outside emails and implemented some security procedures. After that it was min.net for 10 years till the guys got bored and went out of business. Then there was YahooGroups which I think lasted almost until the UK. At some point the restriction on number of addresses was lifted and I went back to emailing straight. Now? Gmail doesn’t have a problem with a serious number of addressees and cross posting from the blog is pretty much cut and paste along with the occasional editing.
 

At the end of my session with the computer I verified that those pictures which were still on the old blog transferred to the new. Those which seem to have disappeared off that site won’t be found till I dig through my photo archives at home. I knew there was a reason that I backed up everything. I’ll finish PDFing the archives and pages just to have them before pulling the plug on the last three sites hosted in Germany.

 

Clock Fractal

I am making progress

15 March 2017

It was that time

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before dawn when the world is still. The air curling in from the window carried coolness and moisture. All the possibilities or none are present in this moment frozen outside time. Too early to rise; too late to return to sleep.

No sounds of trains, traffic or EBMUD to disturb my thoughts. Not even a bird singing, deer rustling or dog barking to make its presence known. No electronics, just quiet.

Anything more would not add to those lovely couple of hours.

a small football

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To actively think about one’s death is to admit to human frailties. An acknowledgement that life ends and while living there are limitations/ It is as if the act of just considering affects the fabric of personal reality. It is thus  I sit with fingers on keyboard in the dark of the night admitting that I will not enjoy today. My trip to Sacramento, to the VA hospital will mark much more than the last week, a defining line in my transition from person to patient.  I could visit an ER, get a CT scan, consult on the phone. But the act this morning of signing into Radiology to have a needle stuck into me for a biopsy changes everything.

It isn’t like I really have a choice. What was even a few weeks ago a “huh?” is now fact that can’t be avoided. It is not that I weigh all that much that I have to wonder how this tumor has managed to successfully  hide itself for so long/. Perhaps it hasn’t been all that long, which brings its own bit of coolness along the spin as a different story, a sooner ending travels up my nerves and into my brain.  If it hasn’t been there all that long, then it is even more rapidly growing than I want to consider and my time left is less than I want to admit.

So today I get to hold still while the radiologist sticks a needle into what used to be my right kidney while i attempt to hold myself together. My original plan has already been foiled by the alien thing inside which apparently is situated such that it simply can’t been excised. Do I care how things are usually done? Not really. I want it gone but am realistic enough to admit I can’t force surgeons into a no win situation; to perform a surgery that they don’t think has even a small chance of leaving them with a living patient rather than a blood bath.

So at 0430 in the morning I lay here quietly thinking. Listening to an audiobook. Letting George get the sleep that he will need in order to drive me to  Sacramento. I’ve spoken with my kids. Tried to reassure them while inside I know that my choices are limiting to a narrow path with an end in sight. I’m not even angry that my 21 year respite from disease is at an end. I am too weary for that. I am simply glad for those years, for family, friends and the travel I have been able to do. Regretful for those things which I had planned that are simply not going to happen. But we all run out of time, no matter how long or short our lives.

Quiet

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Its quiet. The Brits around me are stunned. These are well educated people who are concerned about their future. They are not those who voted for Brexit. They are also quite aware of the fear and anger in the Caucasian  population that see itself becoming increasingly irrelevant as demographics change. They are comfortable ignoring the Irish and Scotts here and would rather not have to deal with the waves of immigration that have arrived from the Commonwealth over the last 30 years. Going back to the 60s is a dream that has long passed.

In the US, segments of our population are perfectly capable of telling themselves stories that don’t include the Spanish settling what is now the US West Coast long before the ancestors of most Western Europeans arrived; They can complete ignore the native populations who “weren’t using the land” as having both been there first and having any rights.

The next four years are going to be interesting. As much as the 60s in some people’s eyes were better than today – we can’t go back. We are in a world economy. What we do affects not just our country but the rest of the world.

America has always been great – we just don’t agree what great means. For me it means education and the ability to better one’s self. To walk in the evening unsafe and unimpeded. To keep politics out of medical procedures and to – as MG Lewis, the CG of 1AR when I was downrange with them in Bosnia, put it –

Dignity and Respect

Procrastinating on a sea day

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It is the last day of this cruise and I am very busy not accomplishing much of anything. I can’t pack early because my laundry isn’t back yet. Even if it was, it is doubtful that I would be packing before tomorrow morning, but that isn’t want we are discussing. What is on the table is my lack of getting anything useful done in the last couple of days – or today at least.

It doesn’t mean that I am still lounging around in pj’s at 1600 in the afternoon. It is more that I have been falling asleep while reading, while listening to an audiobook and knitting. So I must be either bored or tired. It also could be due to a caffeine deficit.

In any case, nothing much happened today – other than making a small bit of progress on my knitting.

 

Yom Kippur 5777

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Its been a tough year in ways that were not expected. I’ve always acknowledged being a bit rigid; it helps actually a lot in dealing with those organizations which are rule run due to massive size and complicated missions. That and an ability to learn rules as well as how to make them work for you rather than against one made surviving in the military for more than 30 years possible, if not always fun. We (the royal “we” here) are totally and completely ignoring the two miserable years I spent in Munich.

I really don’t appreciate dirty air, poverty, and government corruption. The time I spent in India and Nepal was more than challenging in that respect. I learned, experienced, met some incredible people, but don’t think I will be making a trip back to either location in the near future. The experience also had me dropping a couple of envisioned trips which would have involved huge cities and more polluted air and replace them with a couple of other alternatives that involved rivers and rails rather than roads.

I have ceased watching the news completely, the political situation in the US has become too painful to watch.  We are still in limbo with the house renovation. Five adults and two dogs in one house is more challenge than I had planned on at this point in my life.

So here I sit, on ship contemplating what I should be doing better next year and thinking about the personal apologies I owe. In spite of disavowing pledges, oaths and promises – this coming year is going to be different.

Your knowledge about

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someone in turn informs your attitude toward them.

Sounds obvious, doesn’t it?

That knowledges comes from what you see, what you hear them say, what others say about them. It also might come from what you read, hear or find depending on your use of media and research. But none of this touches who they are. It is who you are that determines which bit of data in that overwhelming tide becomes the key to your attitude.

Sometimes that information is so subtle you don’t realize what you are doing. Other times, it is so obvious that you want to do the head slap since it is a blinding flash of the obvious.

An example:

I am talking to a systems engineer on a recent voyage. He overhears someone’s conversation and then remarks “I don’t know what they are worried about. Everyone knows that we are put here on this earth to have dominion. Besides, there are so few of us compared to the size of the earth that our impact is insignificant.”

I just stood there speechless. It is not that I am member of the Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster and feel a need to repopulated the pirate populations, but each and every creature has an impact on the world. If you don’t believe me, talk to those of us who remember having streets lined with Elm Trees. Or the farmer in Africa who just lost his season’s crops to a hungry elephant and is now facing starvation for his children. Or those of us who live in Northern California and look at the water consumption of the LA Basin (which is provided by our watershed).

To say that man has no impact is, to me, extremely arrogant. Or failing that – naive. The question is what actions does one take? How do you balance your needs and rights against those around you.

My opinion of this particular man has changed. Not just that I don’t agree with his political or religious views. I am not sure that I trust his scientific expertise. If he thinks that whatever he does is fine, has no impact, how does he deal with scientific information in his job? What happens if it doesn’t agree with his current design? How about if it “says” that he has a serious error in the system. What about all other daily decisions? Do I trust his opinion on books, films, tours & travels?

These are the kind of questions that all of us wrestle with on a daily basis, whether consciously or not. Sometimes they are clear: a social science experiment showing random pictures of young men to a group of middle aged women. Who would they trust? Would you be concerned about violence if you met this individual? Not surprisingly, across all ethnic lines, the women were concerned about the young, black men with mid eastern appearing not that close a second. Never mind that several of the young white men in the group were convicted serial killers. Simply race, when all were dressed about the same, was the trigger.

We are a sum of experiences, beliefs, personal knowledge. But it is kind of like being 18 again – if you chose to stay that way – it is on you and no one else. Growth doesn’t stop. Learning doesn’t stop. It is what you know that informs your take on life.

(and yes, I know it is Father’s Day. We didn’t go to the game and I just felt like ranting for a while….

The Sound of Fireworks

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We are not exactly next door to the Oakland Coliseum. There were fireworks scheduled to follow tonights A’s game. I have wanted to go, but it turned out George had tickets to a concert at Freight & Salvage. Tickets in hand trump tickets yet to be bought.  I had tried the “but they are sold out.” Wasn’t true, and the reason was obvious at the concert.

The second half of the concert – The Keith Greeninger Band was excellent. I am sorry to say that I wasn’t in the mood to hang around. They were coordinated, professional and would have been enjoyable.  The first half? Meh. George bought the tickets because two of the singers he had heard as “Blame Sally” several years ago. Those two are good musicians, although I seriously could have done without the one’s drivel at the mike between songs. The lead of this new group, Jill Knight, may have excellent instrumental skills and a good voice, but her songs are dull, boring and repetitive. “Rich in the details of everyday experience?”  Most would want more than the same three lines over and over in their lives.  Plus, please turn down the flipping base – you are supposed to be an acoustic group. Most of us do not want our internal organs vibrated at 6-10 cps. Not good, very not good.

But I did get a nice hike both into town and back.

It was on that hike back that I heard what I first assumed to be thunder in the distance. It is only partly cloudy with city lights reflecting off non-threatening skies. Ok – looking at my watch – the game should be over. Fireworks in Oakland at the Coliseum. Looking at Google Maps – it is 12 miles (20 km) to the Coliseum by the most direct route and a crow would probably fly a bit less.

The distance was too far with trees and buildings in the way for my height on the hill to be any advantage. I supposed if I had run down toward the Marina and arrived prior to the end of the display I might have been able to see the final burst in the distance.  Hiking up Eunice which most nights seem to be a mountain rather than just a hill, I met a springer spaniel out walking her human. No, fireworks didn’t bother her but all the wonderful smells in the neighborhood had turned what he had hoped would be a quick outing into a 15 minute happy waddle.

The house was empty when I let myself in. I left on the lights, unlocked the door then got back up to let George in when he knocked….

 

Reading Memoirs

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I don’t often read memoirs/autobiographies. Mostly I see them as a way for the author to figure out her/himself what happened when. Or why they did what they did, or as a way to justify/explain decisions made at various points in life.

There seems to be a serious trend by more than just the occasional public figure to write about their life. The celebrity thing I understand but don’t really get. As for everyone else, to me it seems that the retrospection and access to what someone now thinks what caused something else then means that the facts are still interpreted through a lens changed and marred by time.

Perhaps it is because I am more interested in what is going on now; what I am doing now than what I did then or what is already over. I draw from the idea that one goes forward with life. You can try and explain what has happened – but it doesn’t change the fact that time passes and not all the presents that life hands us are ones that we would have wanted to experience.

Or maybe the naval gazing writing is the providence of 70+ year old women and so I am spared having not yet reached that exalted age. Add to this the fact that I don’t think anyone at all would be interested in how I see my life backwards so I find a bit of hubris in those who do make that assumption.

What took me down this path was two fold. The first was George being handed a chapter out of a memoir in progress which covers part of the time he was in Berkeley at Law School, worked for the Sierra Club and was the treasurer for a candidate for the EBMUD (East Bay Municipal Utility District). Admittedly, I appreciated her campaign poster – the current board photo (five elderly white males in three piece suits photographed well in a library type setting) vs Helen who was barely over thirty with a wild head of hair.

(yes, she was elected and served ~20 years)

The other is reading Diane Rehm’s (no relation to my George) On My Own where she talks about the time during her husbands terminal illness, dealing with long-term care, and then surviving life as a widow. Most of it is pretty blunt but there is quite a bit that is whining, self-serving and frankly like she is the only one who has ever had to face life’s serious challenges. At 78 (when she wrote the book) she was still employed full time, financially secure and with children and grandchildren. Yes, she has her issues, yes she will have to face retirement.

Wah.

Go check your public library. Check out electronic books. You can read different things without spending money. Sometimes you strike out, other times you will find fantastic things to read.

Not Funny

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except for maybe 1-2 skits involving dial-up menu options.

The venue? Freight & Salvage, a Coffee House institution in Berkeley.

The Show? Apparently their 23rd Annual Year in Review.

The audience? About 90+% senior citizens defined as mid-sixties and above. It was obvious that most of the crowd were regulars and less than discerning.

The performers were six “comedians” – four men/two women only one of which wasn’t white which pretty much matched the audience if you substitute Asian in the audience for Hispanic on stage.

This was not a performance I would recommend to anyone. Most of the skits had nothing to do with reviewing the past year – and it isn’t like one can’t find a huge amount of political fodder for subject matter…. and more to do with in-jokes, Berkeleyisms and various items that the performers seemed to find hilarious with more than the occasional audience puzzled look. The ethnic/gender related jokes weren’t either new or funny. Consistency was lacking – and more than once the performers spent more time addressing each other than the audience. The miking was abysmal with the volume completely out of control. It makes more sense to let people adjust their hearing-aids than to blast the rest of us who are within 10 rows of the theater back. Head mikes are the standard and can be properly set up ahead of time. Passing around a hand held mike is – as was demonstrated more than once – a recipe for extraneous noise, thumps and variability in understanding difference voice ranges of the performers.

I wasn’t the only one who raised my hand when one of the “entertainers” asked “who is here for the LAST time.”

We left at the intermission. Out side there were a few small huddles of smokers including a couple of obvious fans telling one of the organizers that “this was the best show yet!” Which leaves me feeling that the standard here isn’t very high.

Think more than once about comedy and insider shows here. Stick with the Coffee House music performances by known musicians. Otherwise – avoid this venue like the plague.