Category Archives: Prose

There is a second side

Holly Doyne Posted on by 4

Pat brought up a point in response to my post about friends around the world that I really think merits further thought. So many people have become dependent on social media for their relationships that we forget that social media is not always a bad thing, that it may not serve to isolate rather than bring together. It can be a way for those who are isolated, house-bound, disabled to be able to connect with others.

If you haven’t read Tom Standage’s “The Victorian Internet”* I might suggest you borrow it from your local public library and peruse it. He makes the point that our methods of written communication have changed, but Western Society as a whole had a long standing history of communicating in written format. For anyone who reads any fiction at all set in Edwardian, Georgian, or Victorian England, sending notes and letters was just as common a task as managing household accounts. Because of distance, most wrote letters. Your friend from school? You communicated by letter with them over holidays and vacation periods. Announcements? They went by post. Invitations? The same.

We seem to have a natural inclination to want to share thoughts, feelings, and knowledge with others. Mostly by the written word, as it isn’t time dependent on reaching the other person at the exact moment we have the thought. It will be there, waiting for them when they have time. But that element of time has changed as well. When communication was routinely by letter and post, unless you lived city center in a major metropolis (read NYC, London, Rome, Paris, Frankfurt) you did not expect a reply back the same day. If the distances were greater, you automatically added in round trip postal transport time for your letter.

Now? It seems like everyone wants an instant response to whatever method of communication is attempted. Rarely, anymore does anyone pick up the phone. Rather, send off a text or email. I am discounting snapchat, twitter, instagram and Facebook for the moment since those are “toss it out there and see if anyone responds” methods of attempting communication. Personally, I don’t view those as communication methods since they are not really targeted and an answer is optional.

All those years of radio and television which occupied the intervening years between the development of more instant methods of communication and the present did change everyone’s mind set. Rather than actively controlling one’s time, increasingly people became passive consumers of whatever was put out. Watching is not the same as reading. Seeing is not the same as creating character voices and actions in one’s own mind when reading Agatha Christie vs. watching a BBC production.

But those intervening years were hard on those home bound. Yes, entertainment came to them via radio and TV, but it did not come with human interaction. People would pick up a telephone rather than send a note or an invitation. At first this change could be viewed simply as an economic barrier, but it rapidly expanded to the point where, if you could not communicate on a phone, you were going to be excluded. Think of everyone with hearing or speaking impairment, those with mobility challenges such that reaching that phone in a reasonable time was not an achievable accomplishment.

Fast forward (see, a VCR term) to today. There are those who are unable to handle direct human interactions and might well have functioned much better in a society with strict structural behavior norms and codes. But I honestly believe that those individuals are a rarity. Rather, the modern, although occasionally annoyingly immediate forms of electronic communication, while perhaps bombarding us to the point of overload, also provide for some individuals in our society, their only window on the world. The only method by which they may become a productive and self-valued member of society. Amazon (Amazon, Audible) no matter some of their faults, provides a significant amount of customer service through individuals, who by working out of their homes, can have gainful employment. You don’t have to hear to be able to answer a chat, resolve a request for a return of an electronic book or audiobook.

So Pat’s point is well taken. The same methodologies which bombard us with trivia and may push people into superficial relationships also offer others a chance to have friends, to connect, and to live full lives even without the ability to leave home, drive a car, or travel the world.

 

*I referenced a book of his about this time last year when I went on a rant about lawyers, and the total misappropriation of words and misuse in the English Language. Should you be a native speaker of a different language, I am sure that you would be able to find parallels. Not sure why you would try, but there it is

old school typos

Holly Doyne Posted on by 19

long ago, and far away. Ok – more than 50 years and in the middle of the country. Does that sound better than saying….”once upon a time” or “in a galaxy far, far away” or any of the other expressions that seem to lead you to the conclusion that you are about to hear a story. Perhaps a fairy tale, maybe a tall tail, or just a blearily remembered version of a long ago event.

But this is not a story, it is real and many of you may remember exactly the same thing. I am talking about the era before computers, before word procesasors. Back to the days when a terrific high school graduation present was a portable typewriter for anyone headed off to college. Obviously, when you had to write a paper, it was written long hand by one method or another, then typed ONCE. Preferably without error….

[and you wondered where “typo” came from? No, you didn’t because you remember typing and typewriters. You remember typing as an elective that could be taken in secondary school. And, for the lawyers in the group – you are more than familiar with those yellow legal pads and might even remember the days when lawyer wrote things out and there were actually secretaries that typed them for you.]

There was this funky stuff that came in a small bottle resembling a thickened nail polish. It was called white-out (or correction fluid). If you made a typing error, you carefully rolled the paper up, painted over the error, blew it dry, rolled it down and tried again. Most faculty accepted neither handwritten papers by 1968, nor once that suffered from a serious case of white measles. Several years later a type-over tape was developed. Even later, with the advent of typewriters with a double ribbon (one portion of which was for erasure).

I had one of those portable typewriters. Other than my undergrad thesis which was subject to a number of really strict formatting guidelines, I typed all my own papers.  Hitting return involved not my little finger but a hand/arm motion to move a lever which in turn actually retuned the whole roller carriage to the start point on the right side of the paper. (I imagine that the Mid-Eastern typewriters of their day worked in reverse for the left->right written languages.)

I have no clue as to what happened to that type writer. It must have been given away, lost, forgotten somewhere along my journey after the mid 1970s. I obtained my first computer in 1984 when we moved back to the US from my first Germany tour to attend grad school at John’s Hopkins.  I know it was gone by then.

And what started this whole chain of thought was actually not typewriters, but 3×5 cards. But I will save that for another day.

In other news, for the sixth morning in a row, George has actually had detectable platelets and is now producing white blood cells. None of it is at “going home levels” yes, but that looks like a possibility in the next 7-10 days if this stem cell transplant continues to take hold.

 

Ordering ahead

Holly Doyne Posted on by 11

I remember the old days of shopping. If you didn’t ‘t want to go in person, then you spent hours pouring over pictures in a catalog before filling out a form and mailing it off with payment. And then you would wait. And wait. And wait. It all depending on the store, the shipping warehouse and USPS. Even more so for those of us shopping from APO addresses. The alternative was calling in an order over the phone in the days when most call centers were in country, staffed primarily by unhappy women and strongly resembled this PDX Broadsides Song. But then, I worked as a an answering service switchboard operator on evening shift while an undergrad back in the days of answering services (which was also prior to the days of beepers.)

The development first of the USENET mailing lists and then open lists brought about a change in ordering. Interest groups could pass along information, recommendations, as well as challenges. With the onset of the first website – the whole institution of on-line ordering began.

Over the last thirty years I have watched the change from Penny’s, Sear’s, Vermont Country Store, Herschner’s, Land’s End and other catalog merchants move (or not move and go under) from a sales plan based off printed catalogs to one where a brick and mortar store was really optional and the important points became order fulfillment and managing shipping. This new era includes individuals who can now find countrywide and world wide customers through websites like Amazon, Etsy, and Ebay.

And then we moved on to smart phones and Apps.

I grew up in Minnesota. For any of you who ever listened to the old “Prairie Home Companion” (the link is to Wiki) you may understand that where I grew up, coffee was made on the stove, in a percolator without any of those new fangled electrical connections. The addition of eggshells was +/- and viewed as personal preference (mostly related to whether or not you had Scandinavians in your family.) As the article notes, drip coffee makes had started to spread from the industrial/restaurant sectors (that always tastes burned brew served in every truck stop across the US) to the home.

Fast forward to today. Many of us have become coffee snobs. Perked coffee isn’t good enough, neither is drip. No, it needs to be French Press, or an Americano (take expresso, dilute with boiling water). We buy coffee from Peet’s, Starbuck’s, small neighborhood coffee shops and develop a preference while ignoring exactly how much money we are spending on designer coffee.

I mentioned the Apps, right? Now why would you stand in line when you can order ahead? Not only do you easily specify all those quirks which makes it special to you (frappa, crappa, no whip, skim, extra hot, with a drizzle of…..) but no human interaction required. Just like the old catalog days, only providing even more immediate gratification and less personal contact. And it is different than calling your local pizza parlor for take-away, something that hasn’t changed in decades.

I like the idea of shopping locally. Supporting local businesses rather huge chains. But I have to admit I like Peet’s coffee and have gotten suckered in. It is so much easier to order off the app as the N-Judah passes UCSF Parnassus. The Peet’s at Carl & Cole is only two minutes (supposedly) further. By the time I get off the tram and walk ½ way down the block, my beverage is waiting for me. It is labeled. I don’t have to try and get the QRF reader to recognize my phone, nor are there any communication issues with the staff in this tiny, noisy, and extremely busy coffee shop.

As I hike up Parnassus to UCSF, I enjoy my latte. It certainly isn’t the evil brew I remember from childhood, nor the sludge I served in the diner where I worked while in high school. Have I gone over to the dark side? Or am I leveraging modern technology?

Close the door

Holly Doyne Posted on by 8

It was about 0720 and I had my morning all planned. Walk over the SFVA, figure out where to get my flu shot. Get my flu shot. Get coffee if I had time. Catch the shuttle bus to UCSF. Said bus only runs once an hour (at xx36) so if I timed it just right I arrive to spend the day with George right about 0900.

Headed back into Jessica’s downstairs guest room, I pulled the door shut behind me just in case there was a cat lurking. It isn’t that I don’t care for cats. I like cats. But I really didn’t want this particular scaredy cat stuck in with my stuff the whole day. So I closed the door. Gathering up my things, I went to open the door.

It didn’t open. There is no lock on the door, there was no reason for the door not to open. The knob turned, but the mechanism didn’t disengage. Being a modern woman, I sent Jessica a txt to see if she was still home and could open the door from outside.

No. The credit card trick failed, as did wiggling, jiggling, or turning the knob from either side of the door.

Now, this is San Francisco. Of course there was a metal guard over the window as it was ground level. Also being savvy people, there was a padlock on the grate. It took a few minutes, but I managed to pop out the screens, and traded the padlock key to Jessica who was apologizing from her back garden for a screwdriver and hammer. The door hinges were on my side, so it looked like, if we couldn’t get the quite rusty padlock open, I could pop the pins off the hinges and remove the door.

I had just loosened up the second pin when Jessica managed to open the padlock. One side of the metal frame opened. I climbed out the window after passing over my bag and phone. The door should be fixed today.

And, I jogged over the SFVA (1.7 miles – old system) across the park. We will not mention the fact that the hospital is on top of a hill (345 feet = 105 meters according to archived documents I found on line). Nor that going across this small section of Golden Gate Park means that first I drop down a few meters in elevation (to essentially sea level) before starting the grind up the hill. Of course, 2/3 of the trip is up hill. The lovey people at the information desk said that the general medical clinic on the 1st Floor (note, this building is old enough to have a ground floor) was my desired location. I headed up the stairs. After all, what is a bit more climbing? Checking in, the Flu Shot clinic started at 0830. Ok, I would have plenty of time to wait and knit.

No sooner had I turned around than one of the nursing staff called me in. No sense in waiting, she said. I asked about the Walgreen’s agreement to provide flu shots free of charge to Veteran’s. It is working well, she said, but they haven’t included the high dose version (which is exactly what all of us over 65 need). Having just enough time to grab a latte from the lobby’s stand, I caught the 0836 shuttle bus.
For anyone else who is old enough to remember the Stargazers (1995) – and this song – which starts with the words that were running through my head

Close the door, they’re comin’ in the window
Close the door, they’re runnin’ up the stairs
Close the door, They’re hangin’ off the ceiling
Those (Bah-dah-bah-dah-bah-dah) are everywhere

I am providing you two links –

The original recording – Close the Door, they’re comin’ in the window….

And an updated, much funnier version Close the Door, they’re comin’ in the window

words in my head

Holly Doyne Posted on by 11

don’t do me anywhere near as much good as words on paper (which, in today’s world translates to words in an electronic document). I have come to acknowledge that putting off finishing the requirements for the two outstanding incompletes from grad school is not doing me any good. In fact, it more resembles the garbage left too long under the sink. The longer it sits, the more it smells. The more it smells, the less you want to deal with it. At some point, the nose is held (clothespin optional) and the stinking container is emptied, washed, and put back with all good intentions to avoid this cycle in the future.

Then the future rolls around again.

Please understand – I don’t give a flip about grades, all I want it is “met enough work to warrant a pass.” Having said that – it is hard to imagine putting in hours of work researching and writing for no good reason if the end results could possibly be of benefit.

It is the old Tikkun olam. Build the world a better place.

So… the background to today’s public health challenges include the following:

  1. San Francisco is an extremely expensive place to live
  2. The tech boom has resulted in an increase of 100k jobs over the last decade and the loss of 30k in housing in just the last few years
  3. The weather in California is not as bad as many of the other parts of the country
  4. changing demographics have resulted in marginalization of portions of the population.
  5. San Francisco became the mecca for a number of lifestyles starting in the 1960s

 

Now, back tracking to 2008-2009, there were several medical publications that discussed Hepatitis A infections and risks in homeless populations. Those discussions centered, of course due to the standard medical tunnel visions, on immunizing everyone to avoid disease.

So why was everyone in both city governments and public health circles so stunned when an epidemic of Hepatitis A started sweeping through homeless & IV drug user communities (and yes, there can be an overlap between the two). I fail to understand why anyone was surprised. Or, even more stunned to be in a situation where a normally mild disease most often seen in childhood in most of the developing world, various institutions was causing hospitalizations and death. This epidemic was recognized, not because of the obvious failure of the city, the infrastructure and public health to recognize the failure to provide for a vulnerable population but that hospitalization costs were skyrocketing.

The solution? According to the CDC – we should adopt the 2009 recommendations (hello, this is now 2017….) to add homelessness, IV drug use or MSM* to the list of peoples needing HepA immunization.

For those of you who don’t remember the history of Hepatitis A – this was the food/water borne version of hepatitis for which you (as a citizen of a developed country) received a large shot of gamma globulin in a major muscle group (usually gluteus maximus). 5cc is a significant volume, trust me. In 1995, the first versions of HepA vaccine became available. Every military member with a brain in his/her head was more than willing to get immunized. One shot with maybe a booster vs large/painful shot every 3-6 months while deployed? Other than the military, most of the other developed world citizens at risk of HepA were tourists indulging in street food while visiting developing countries. With the usual transmission being the fecal-oral route, it was obvious to everyone concerned that sanitation was as important to breaking the infection cycle as immunization.

We seem to have forgotten that bit of intelligence. It doesn’t matter if you immunize the whole world against a disease. That is one disease. As anyone who has every had noro-virus, salmonella food poisoning or one of the hundreds of other possibilities, the key to not getting diarrheal disease is availability of toilet facilities accompanied by strict adherence to hand washing. Which takes us to a city where there are no 24 hour public toilets, hand washing facilities are limited, no one wants homeless encampments, there is not enough shelter space for those who need it, and serious money is spent on a daily basis on power washing human excrement off the sidewalks.

Yes, we can immunize everyone. But it is not going to solve the sanitation issue.

I am making some basic assumptions. The first is that most people do not chose to be homeless. That they don’t set out to be vulnerable, dirty, and hungry. That, if they had the money to have food and shelter, they would. But San Francisco has teachers in their schools living in cars because they can’t afford a place to live.  I also make the assumption that mental health, substance abuse issues, and physical health issues impact lives to the point where many become homeless. And those problems don’t become better by being without a home.

<two hour break in which I spent digging through PubMed. Surprise, surprise, all the public health people, when discussing issues related to the HepA outbreak mentioned and repeatedly mentioned that sanitation was a serious issue and one of the most difficult to resolve. Having said that – it is no where in any of the CDC guidance. Just immunizations. Go figure>

I finished off the draft memo – sent it on its way, and spent sometime working on a Hitchhiker variation in a lovely yarn color called – magic unicorn.

 

*MSM= men who have sex with men…

 

today? or 18 years

Holly Doyne Posted on by

My children at home were 8, 10, 12 when the Twin Towers fell, when the Pentagon was plane bombed, when I lost friends and colleagues. The repercussions are still with us today. In the Xenophobia & anti-immigrant policies that are being espoused by a certain group that is scared of losing its grip on what it considers its “rightful superiority.” By people who can say, with a straight face (and believe it) that the words on the Statue of Liberty only apply to those with wealth who are coming from white Europe and were never meant to include any other group.

By those who have never served, as I have, in the military along side individuals from multiple nations, from multiple backgrounds, all united for a common cause. Along side those who feel an obligation to the country which gave them opportunity, not those who take for granted that their background and privilege exempt them from the service shown by the military, the fire fighters, the police. All those who risk their lives on a daily basis.

By those who have a problem recognizing that the majority of whites in the US don’t have ties going back centuries, only decades. Who ignore the fact that Spanish were here hundreds of years before most Northern Europeans. That every last person immigrating from Central and South America can trace ancestry in the Western Hemisphere back thousands of years.

I spent more than a minute of silence and reflection. Noting as I was driving George too and from UCSF, that there were flags not at half-mast. I don’t know the custom overall, but when I think of the lives immediately lost, all those who died that day in rescue attempts whether NYC or Pentagon, those who sacrificed their lives which ended in a field in Pennsylvania, and all those who have died since then as a result of their involvement – it is the least we can do for respect.

Be grateful on a daily basis for those in uniform, be it fire, police, military. They all serve our country, putting their lives on the line on a daily, weekly,  monthly basis. They do it out of honor, responsibility, personal obligation.

You could just thank all of them for their service, in remembrance.

Flamingos? I can explain

Holly Doyne Posted on by 5

the whole flamingo thing started in 2003 when this particular set of wind chimes, seen hanging from an internal second floor window here in Berkeley, arrived in the mail while I was serving in Kuwait

flamingo wind chimes

I still don’t have a clue as to why Carmen thought I needed a wind chime. No one ever spent time outside except in transit between trailer, office, mess hall, meetings. I arrived just as we were headed into the warmest part of spring where temperatures often hit 40*C by lunch. It definitely severed  served as a conversation starter, hanging from my ceiling light in the middle of the room.

A bit later in the year, the flamingo was joined by a menagerie of origami animals courtesy of Pat. Unfortunately, I can’t offer a picture as they hid from packing when getting for my move back to Germany in summer of 2004.

Since that time, I have been gifted the occasional flamingo ornamented item, such as birthday candles, dish towels and a pair of leggings. I have, on occasion, also purchased the occasional flamingo decorated socks. Additionally, I have accumulated a number of machine embroidery files, should I really, really need to add a flamingo to something.

If I want to be honest, the whole flamingo thing started in 1978 when George and I received a couple of pink plastic flamingo lawn ornaments for a wedding present. We included them in our house hold goods for years, but some time in one of those transAtlantic moves they were lost.

The single metal flamingo that was standing guard over the lemon tree when we purchased the house is still in its location atop the retaining wall. Looking down, it can see my own flamboyance of flamingos, four with solar collectors to light the night and the other two anchoring both ends of the small area between the patio and front door.

 

D-Day

Holly Doyne Posted on by  

the day (June 6, 1944) in World War II on which Allied forces invaded northern France by means of beach landings in Normandy. Today is the 75th Anniversary. All who served in that war, no matter which side, are now in their 90s. Our memories are short; the further we get from that conflict the easier it is to revise history. To discount the burden on those involved at the time, respect for all those who died, and the impact of post war on the future of more than just the countries directly involved with fighting on their lands. It isn’t just the Holocaust survivors of whom I speak, it is all who underestimate the impact on our politics today. That war, and the follow on Korean Conflict (War) had a huge impact on all of my generation as we grew up in the aftermath with the Cold War. The influence on our parents in turn affected us. And a large number of “us” are today’s politicians.

I headed back to the hotel early last night. Exhausted would have been a polite way of describing my staggering in the door and landing face down on the bed. At 0700 I was back at the hotel, meeting with the rest of the leadership of our working group. (ISTM provided breakfast, so there was a reward for being at a meeting when my body was clearly sure it was 0400). End result, we have a fairly good plan for the next meeting and a potential for joint symposium with a couple of the other special interest working groups. If any of can make a commitment to the regional meetings in 2020, there is a possibility (ick, how German can I get in sentence construction translated into English) of symposium at those meetings as well.

Our Coin

(and a thanks to Miriam. Her logo for our working group has been turned into a very nice coin. Military are all about coins.)

There were a number of absolutely excellent presentations today covering a range of topics from the expected malaria presentation through the handling of emergencies. I should have stayed for some of the evening meetings. Instead, I went back to the Courtyard Marriott to sleep.

(Word from George is that he is stable. Bored out of his mind, but stable).

The Bay as a barrier

Holly Doyne Posted on by  

It most thoroughly was raining when I crept out of the house this morning, down to the car and drove over to North Berkeley BART parking. In fact, I was pretty damp by the time I had dashed the short distance between the back parking lot and the entrance. The only positive thing I was feeling at that point was a bit of relief that there were still a few open seats when I boarded BART.

Disembarking at Civic Center, the sky was overcast but the rain had ceased hours ago. Merchants were setting up for the Wednesday market. The usual overtones of human were absent in the air, instead the scents of coffee and oranges were teasing the nose.

I repeat – it was not raining.

I remember when we lived in Washington DC and experienced the Beltway phenomena. And no, I am not referring to all the bandits (excuse me, contractors) who lurk just outside DC proper just waiting to feed… Rather, I am referring to the influence of the actual physical beltway (think M25 motor way for you UK types) on the weather. It can be raining in DC, you cross under the Beltway on Connecticut Avenue going north and immediately run into a snow storm. The heat of the city plus all those cars create a micro-climate.

I actually made it through to the end of the day without a drop of rain in San Francisco; it would have been nice to have been able to say that as well as I dodged rain drops on my way home.

Entering the New Year

Holly Doyne Posted on by  

Never having been one for New Year’s Resolutions (writ large) I bow to any of you who do so and actually manage to use same to improve life, living and relationships by this method.

Long, fancy way of saying – each of us can improve on what we did and who we are in each succeeding day, week, month, and year. It doesn’t need a special start line with someone shooting off fireworks to get us out of our own heads and looking a bit more closely at the world around us.

 

Stealing our words

Holly Doyne Posted on by  

there are certain words which have definite meanings to us children of the 60s. Those of us who grew up with mainframes, set vocabularies and a sense of humor about the Jaberwok. Not so these modern children who think nothing of co-opting a perfectly well defined term or phrase and standing it on its head.

Tom Standage, in his Writing on the Wall, 2000 Years of Social Media
————->-8 ——–
(did you see what just happened? Rather than just assert something, I went and found a reference that backs up my point in order to give in emphasis and decrease the chance that someone might question it. After all, if someone else said it, it must be true. Meanwhile, I have been totally and completely corrupted. Do NOT under ANY circumstances have anything to do with lawyers, how they think or how they write. You will find yourself totally ruined by the experience. Trust me.)
————->-8 ——–
discusses social opinion, commentary and how opinions change. It is a fun book. But what I am discussing is something slightly different. It is the total and complete stealing of a term of art and changing it beyond recognition.

My disgust and anger today revolve around the degeneration in the use of “HACK.” This is a word that we all know. Whether it is from sports or a glancing familiarity with with axes or hatchets. I understand “hack” and it means to break in, by unauthorized means, through a computer software code or into someone’s computer (mainframe in the era where I started).

Some fool in the 1990s decided to combine two otherwise useful words – HACK and MARATHON into Hackathon. This poor bastard of a word implies a session where a bunch of computer geeks race their bleeding fingers in the pursuit of a software solution against a time clock (and others). Right from the start, there are several problems with this analogy: the first is that a marathon is an INDIVIDUAL (caps intended) race, not a collaboration; the second is that a marathon is a sporting event with specific rules. Back to hacking: the only rules in hacking are that you don’t give away your tricks in cracking into places that your are not supposed to be and you don’t rat out your fellow hacker. Seriously, comparing a group of nerds (present party included) who traditionally fuel on caffeine and Cheetos with seriously physically fit athletes is ludicrous.

So now we have “hackathons” most of which should be much more properly named “brainstorming sessions.” It isn’t computer people any more, the term has become wide spread and used by just about any group that wants a catchy idea for its symposium. All of this leads to what set me off in the first place.

A group of lawyers. Seriously, a group of lawyers – the field isn’t relevant but it was NOT related to tech or software – had a Hackathon in the student lounge at Hastings. They are sitting there in rows listening to various speakers, nodding their heads (those that weren’t taking notes or busy with their smart phones). There is not work-group space in sight.

Brainstorming? Conference? Working group? (well if a group has over a hundred participants). And, I repeat LAWYERS! who normally are extremely precise about their word usage. But there they sit, happily holding a hackathon.

I rest my case.

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?

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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.