Beautiful hawk

I searched “Stephen Hawking” on the web for a free photo and this* is what I got!

It’s been one heck of a week in our world, what with deaths of some good people, firings of others, and a wealth of quotes that range from the sublime to the ridiculous. Here are a few that characterized the week of March 12 to March 19, 2018 in the USA.

About mankind:
“We are just an advanced breed of monkeys on a minor planet of a very average star.”
Stephen Hawking, British physicist and cosmologist, who died on March 14,2018 at the age of 76.

About the British Stephen Hawking:
“I would like to send my condolences to the Hawking family, we lost tremendous asset to our country and EDUCATIONAL system. A GREAT AMERICAN!”
–March 14 tweet by Donald J. Trump, President of the United States

About Andrew McCabe:
“Andrew McCabe FIRED…a great day for Democracy!”
–March 16 tweet by Donald J. Trump, President of the United States

About and to Donald Trump:
“You may scapegoat Andy McCabe, but will not destroy America…America will triumph over you.”
–March 17 tweet by John Brennan, former CIA director

To my friends who voted for Donald Trump:
I know you wanted change, much as some of you previously voted for Barack Obama—for hope and change. My hope is that you are dismayed by Donald Trump’s conduct as president and that you will continue to examine where our democracy is headed under this president and this Congress.
–March 19 note from me.

And on a happier note: a quote that makes me think of Lefty Kreh, one of my fly-fishing heroes, who died last week at the age of 93. I love fly-fishing, even when I don’t catch a thing, and so I love this quote:

“The charm of fishing  is that it is the pursuit of what is elusive but attainable,
a perpetual series of occasions for hope.”
John Buchan

Come to think of it, that is the charm of democracy as well!


*Photo by Quentin Dr via Unsplash

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Catman watching snow leopard

CatmanDeux watching his distant relatives hunting.

This isn’t a shameless bid for more subscribers, only a notice that whatever I post about cats gets gazillions more “opens” than any other blog/essay, no matter how well reasoned, thoughtful and incisive. I would love to dish about last week’s astounding amount of breaking (and broken) news but nothing I say can would be nearly as entertaining as the facts themselves. So on to kitties. Last week Bill and I were watching Planet Earth and there was a segment about snow leopards. These lovely creatures were filmed climbing up and down cliff faces so there was a lot of movement that caught the attention of that our feline child-substitute CatmanDeux, who was watching the documentary intently.

When I posted his picture on Facebook I got lots and lots of  comments from friends old and new.  One of my nieces alerted me to videos FOR, not about, cats. Sure enough, there are hundreds of them listed by Google. I played what I believe to be the most enticing for the Catman—squirrels with twitching tails, chirping birds hopping along railings—but he was quickly bored. But put on a rerun of Planet Earth with David Attenborough’s breathy narration of the hunting strategies of the big cats and he is mesmerized, ears up and tail twitching.  Come to think of it, I’m pretty interested myself.  It’s a welcome break from cable news, Stormy Daniels and the president’s bragging about other kinds of “pussies.”

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trash bin

Emptying the Garbage.

I often spend the previous week thinking about what I will write for this Monday blog. I take a few notes, look up a couple of sources and let things marinate. By Saturday I have a pretty clear idea of what I will write. On Sunday I write the beginning, the end and reshape the middle. It’s kind of fun. However, these past two weeks I am having trouble focusing. Random thoughts appear, then are carried away, only to show up in an altered state. I’m sure this situation will correct itself after I empty the garbage, so come along with me as I sort through the bins.

I am a sucker for Clickbait despite whatever awful things might happen to my computer. A slide show of Twenty Celebrities Who Have Aged Horribly? I’m on it! Ten Flattering Hairstyles for Older Women? Sign me up! This morning I clicked through a slide show about an octopus a family rescued who returned to the beach the next day “to thank his rescuers.” I would like to see a citation (ala Adam Ruins Everything) that an “octopus thank you” is possible.

Who can resist cat videos? My favorite this week is the cat trying to pet a bird. Dogs make good subjects, too–especially the “guilty dog” videos.

Words and Phrases I Would Like to Eliminate From TV News
“Got out over his/her skis”

And by the way…..
“Less” does not mean “Fewer.”
“Literally” is seldom used correctly.

Television Advertisements and PSAs I Can Do Without
Any ad for prescription medication (without the dire warnings, there would be no narrative at all).

The brand new Public Service Announcements that show a man and woman talking at work, then he pretends to check out her earrings and instead kisses her neck, followed by the caption, “This is Sexual Harassment.” Do men really need such basic instructions? Truly?  I think they know it when they do it.

Have a good week and don’t forget to empty the garbage!

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Pinkish flower

Nobody sees a flower–really…

Nobody sees a flower—really—it is so small it takes time—we haven’t time—and to see takes time, like to have a friend takes time.
–Georgia O’Keeffe

In the past two weeks I have spent time with old friends and it has been wonderful. One was Vivien, my first best friend; we met in Kindergarten 67 years ago and continued our friendship despite starting families, changing jobs and the distance between us (she lives in Switzerland). There was a lot to catch up on and even more to laugh about. I also spent time visiting a friend who was vacationing in Arizona. Bill and I met Joy and her husband, Larry, on a trip to the Galapagos ten years ago. We all got along so well that we took many trips in different parts of the world after that, then last summer Larry was killed by a falling tree and our concept of time changed.

Many of us view time in two contradictory ways. One is that we think we have all the time in the world to do this, go there, learn that. The other is that we feel pressed for time, so much so that we don’t stop to read a book, call a friend or “see a flower.” Not long before he died, Larry told his wife, in a different context, that “we need to ratchet up our hellos and goodbyes.” Nine months later, I think of that as a reminder to treat my friendships as I do my garden–that is, take the time tend to them.


Photo by Tavin Dotson courtesy of Unsplash.

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This past weekend I spent three hours with Photographer David Coleman, learning how to tell a story with a photo. Although I have always tried to do that, it is difficult. Coleman, who considers himself a storyteller, made it seem easy.

Here’s an attempt of mine from the past.

3 puffins on a rock

Three’s a crowd.

In this photo, I see two companionable puffins having a good time while ignoring the guy on the right, who can’t shut up. It takes a leap of imagination to find a story in this photo.

I came to photography late in life—that is, about five years ago. I wanted to share the experience with Bill (an excellent photographer since his youth) and also to give myself something to do while he was taking pictures. It became clear early on that a lot has changed since my first Brownie Starflash. You need to understand and use a lot of tools to take a technically good photo. On photo shoots, I carry with me a cheat sheet that explains how to deal with Aperture, Shutter Speed and ISO. Without it, I would be lost. It is my version of Dumbo’s feather.

Enter David Coleman. Using Henri Cartier-Bresson as an inspiration, Coleman’s method of street photography emphasizes capturing “the decisive moment.” This is something I am good at recognizing but hadn’t been able to capture because I was forever fiddling with the settings and thus missed the moment. Settings still count, but Coleman’s are easy to remember and when the settings and scene align, the results can be very cool. If you want to learn more about his methods and classes, contact David Coleman here.

These are some shots I took yesterday.

Man looking angry.

Is that a camera?

The only story in this photo is that I captured the moment when the fishmonger discovered I was photographing him and I beat a quick retreat.

photo of people talking

Street photograph in Chinatown

In this picture, these folks were enjoying themselves and it was great fun to catch their interaction on a sunny day in Chinatown.

And then there’s this little fella, amusing himself by posing for me while he waits for the parade to start.

Little boy upside down

Hanging around in Chinatown.

Have a good week.


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CLEARING OUT, continued…

Empty closet

One more empty closet.

Readers of this blog know that I have been cleaning out my in-laws’ house. It is a bittersweet experience. The “bitter” part is the reams of paper and items that haven’t been touched for thirty years but never thrown away. The “sweet” part is all the notes and cards from their children, grandchildren and loving friends that have been saved for more than 70 years. It is a daunting and sometimes rewarding task to sort through the accumulation of two lifetimes.

I recently learned that the Swedes have a practice called “Death Cleaning” (surely this sounds better in Swedish). It encourages older people to clean out their houses so that after their deaths, others will not have to sift through a lifetime of unnecessary accumulation. Yes, the culture that spawned Ikea has a similar no-nonsense approach to life: keep it simple, minimal and do not accumulate a lot of stuff. All of this is laid out in Margareta Magnusson’s new book, The Gentle Art of Swedish Death Cleaning: How to Free yourself and Your Family from a Lifetime of Clutter.

The idea of decluttering is increasingly popular—in theory, if not in practice. An unscientific sampling (my friends) revealed that most believe they have too much stuff and are planning to get rid of it. Note that they are “planning,” not “doing.” Only those who have had to clear out their parents’ homes are actively “death cleaning.” A couple of years ago Marie Kondo’s book on decluttering encouraged us to surround ourselves only with things that “spark joy.” I can get a few sparks from some books and clothing, but our vacuum cleaner doesn’t spark anything except gratitude that it picks up cat hair. Obviously, sparking joy is only a guideline.

Back at the house, we are getting closer to completion. While it would have been easier to reach this point if my in-laws had done some “death cleaning” beforehand, there is a sense of closure that, surprisingly, feels as if it comes from them. Not that I believe they know what we’re doing, just that in some ways it feels right to handle items that must have sparked their joy along the way.


Photo by Christian Fregnan, courtesy of Unsplash.

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You Must Remember This


Your brain at work.

Some time ago (I can’t remember when) I wrote a blog about Mindfulness. I do remember that one of the people interviewed for an article about the subject said that to be “mindful,” she tells herself what she is doing. An example of this would be, “I am putting my keys in the outside pocket of my purse, now I am putting my purse on the hall table,” etc., etc. Aside from the fact that the woman’s conversations with herself must be incredibly boring, I have found that the tip about where I am putting my keys does work. Unfortunately, I often forget to practice it and therefore lose them. I spend entirely too much time looking for my keys and my phone, so much so that it worries me.

I worry because my father spent the last 15+ years of his life afflicted with Alzheimer’s Disease. I took a genetic test and discovered that I have the “Alzheimer’s gene.” Never mind that 30% of the population also has that gene; 50% of people with Alzheimer’s also carry it and it scares me. My younger sister and I often compare our ability to remember; my youngest sister is too young to start worrying in earnest (after 65, the odds of Alzheimer’s doubles every 5 years). My brother, on the other hand, says he figures he’ll get it, just like he inherited other genetic traits from our father. I can’t be so cavalier. I am used to watching my body change despite all my efforts to keep things up where they used to be. Sure, I miss my waistline but that’s nothing compared to missing my brain. I consider my brain to be my best feature and to lose its ability to function would be a disaster (though one I probably won’t know happened).

There are a few reasons for hope, as I recently learned from a Fresh Air podcast (1/5/18) featuring British Neuroscientist Joseph Jebelli, author of In Pursuit of Memory: The Fight Against Alzheimer’s. Here are some helpful facts that don’t get into scientific technicalities:

  1.  Take my keys (please!)–it’s a sign of normal forgetfulness to lose one’s keys; it is a sign of something malign to forget what the damn keys are for.

2.  Anything that is good for the heart is good for the brain. Eighty percent of people with Alzheimer’s also have some form of cardiovascular disease.

3 and 4. Exercise “fertilizes” the brain and sleep “cleanses” it. A good amount of both may ward off or postpone symptoms.

5.  Finally, a statistic only an epidemiologist  could love: if onset of the illness can be postponed by five years, it would halve the number of Alzheimer’s patients. Guess why! They’ll die of something else!

Don’t forget to enjoy the week ahead.

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sweaters in a closet

Photo by Annie Spratt via Unsplash

Last week I began an overwhelming task: clearing out the house of family members who died. They had lived in the same place for 60 years and it seems as if they never threw anything away. I have listened for years to my friends’ stories of dealing with their aging parents’ belongings but it was not until now, when I am doing the same thing, that I truly understand what an enormous undertaking it is.

Neither we nor our adult children want or need any more furniture or furnishings. In addition, though some items in the house were expensive (china, silverware, some of the furniture) they are no longer in style and so worth very little. The solution becomes a garage sale, estate sale, charitable donation or a combination. Somehow I can’t tolerate the idea of those familiar pieces laid out on tables in the driveway but the thought of a dumpster is even worse.

The most difficult task for me was to sort through the bedroom closets and dresser drawers. I thought of my mother-in-law when I first met her, clicking around the kitchen in one of the many pairs of high heels she owned. With the exception of Donna Reed, I had never seen anyone doing dishes in high heels. And then there were the purses, the sweaters, the gardening clothes—remnants of a whole life. The smaller the items –tubes of lipstick, bottles of nail polish—the harder to throw in the trash bag.

There is a positive side to this sad task. It is a strong incentive to clear out one’s life and keep only those things that “spark joy,” as Marie Kondo says in her popular book,  The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up.  Now when I look at my closet, I imagine my daughter or sons someday wondering why I ever bought those velvet stretch leggings or thought I looked good in brown lipstick.  Goodwill, here I come!


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Ladybird beetles

Ladybugs in the Oakland hills January 2018

Ladybug, ladybug fly away home,
Your house is on fire and your children are gone,
All except one,
And her name is Ann,
And she hid under the baking pan.

(English rhyme circa 1744)

Our house is not on fire, though it is only a few blocks away from site of the massive conflagration of 1991. Our children are gone but not far, we have indeed flown away home, and ladybugs have descended all around us in the Oakland hills, where they are hibernating for the winter.

Yesterday Bill Popik took these photos of some of the thousands of ladybugs who are drawn here annually by the climate and the scent of previous hibernators’ pheromones. The clustering keeps them warm, hydrated and provides a wealth of opportunities for ladybug orgies. Despite their cheerful coloration, most hikers walk right past without noticing the moving red mass only inches from the trail.


Still more ladybugs.

Everybody loves ladybugs. They are gardeners’ best friends because they are voracious eaters of aphids and other plant-eating pests. I have had two close encounters with masses of ladybugs: one when a horrified babysitter opened a box of them I had ordered and in her fright sucked them up with a Dust Buster. I had to leave work to drive home and rescue the poor things. (This may seem callous but I had more sympathy for the ladybugs than I did for the sitter.) The other occasions have been during New England winters when they come into the house and gather up high in the corners inside the house. That isn’t a good thing because you can’t really scoop them up and most die of dehydration. There are always a couple of hardy souls who make it through the winter and are fun to release in the spring.

To my friends and neighbors who are braving the New England winter: keep warm, stay hydrated and remember that spring is only a few months away.

NOTE:  If you want to know more about ladybugs, check out this excellent site: The Ladybug Lady


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New Year's Wreath

Happy New Year 2018!

Here’s hoping 2018 will be a sane and peaceful year around the world.


The New Yorker has published this list of best fiction of 2017.  Happy Reading!

In a year that too often seemed like fiction, my favorite novel was one that felt utterly true to life: “Conversations with Friends,” by the Irish writer Sally Rooney. It tells the story of Frances, a watchful, sharp-witted college student in Dublin and her best friend, Bobbi, who together fall into a risky intimacy with Melissa and Nick, a couple in their thirties with glamorous artistic credentials and a fraying marriage. Like the best coming-of-age novels, it captures the beautiful confusion of being an intelligent young person with lots of ideas about the world and no clue how to live in it. Much has been made of Rooney’s gift for capturing the gab of others, as advertised in her title. But fiction is really the medium of thought, and Rooney, who writes with commanding, unself-conscious lucidity, proves a terrific portraitist of Frances’s mind, with its peaks of humor and insight and troughs of poignant self-delusion. This is the first novel that Rooney has written; I was so engrossed in its world that when I finished it, I flipped back to the first page and read it straight through again. I hope her next book comes soon.

If there were a way to invite the protagonists of 2017 fiction to a lunch in their honor, I’d propose seating Frances next to Selin, the exquisitely awkward heroine of Elif Batuman’s début novel, “The Idiot.” Selin, too, is a college student with a mightily bookish brain and a paucity of knowledge gleaned from experience. Thinking of her shuffling around Harvard’s silent, snowy campus without her gloves on (she lost them again), or in a tiny village in Hungary, where she has gone for the summer to teach English out of severely misjudged love for an elusive math major, makes me laugh even now. On Selin’s other side, I’m tempted to put Christina, from the short-story collection “Sour Heart,” another notable début, by Jenny Zhang. True, Christina, the daughter of Chinese immigrants living in a series of squalid apartments in New York, is only a kid, but she has a startlingly adult way of expressing herself, and so much rude, buoyant energy that she seems to practically bounce off the page; I think her brashness would do Selin some good. I also want to include Z, the mercenary girlfriend-experience prostitute from Katherine Faw’s “Ultraluminous,” which has much to say about the kind of obscene obeisance that certain men want from women, and the lengths that they will go to get it. The novel has a meticulously polished surface and a molten, furious core; I read it a few weeks before the #MeToo revelations began, and it has hung in my mind like a backdrop to everything that has followed since.

And if real, flesh-and-blood people would deign to join this table of make-believe, I’d extend an invitation, too, to Grace Paley, whose short stories, essays, and poems, collected together for the first time in this year’s “A Grace Paley Reader,” were politically and artistically galvanizing to me, and also a source of deep comfort during this bitter year. Next to her must go her fellow West Villager Tamara Shopsin, whose memoir “Arbitrary Stupid Goal” is a paean to her childhood in and around her family’s legendary restaurant down on Bedford Street when Greenwich Village still felt like a village and weirdos ruled the roost. It’s hard to reflect on the lost past with a love that doesn’t dip into maudlin nostalgia, but Shopsin makes it look as easy as pie.—Alexandra Schwartz

At the beginning of 2017, I started working on a Profile of someone who’s secure in his faith (Rod Dreher, an orthodox Christian); at the end, I wrote about a philosopher who thinks we live in a cruel, pointless universe (David Benatar, an “anti-natalist” who argues that we should stop having children). In between, this turned out to be the year in which I read about the meaning of life. Two writers, in particular, helped me navigate the territory between believing in God and becoming a nihilist. The first was Daniel Dennett, the philosopher of mind, whom I profiled in March. I deeply enjoyed his newest book, “From Bacteria to Bach and Back,” but two of his earlier volumes struck me with particular force: the accessible and elegant “Darwin’s Dangerous Idea,” from 1995, and the more academic “Freedom Evolves,” from 2003. In the first, Dennett helps us understand what it means to occupy a branch on the tree of life; in the second, he argues that free will is real, and shows how it could have evolved along with the rest of the living world. You may be bored of Darwin by now, and of the reductive, triumphalist rhetoric that often accompanies discussions about evolution and our place in the universe. That’s not what Dennett offers. I know of no other thinker who so convincingly shows how human life, in all its vivid, soulful richness, might make sense as part of a purely material universe.

The other writer was Anthony Kronman, a professor at Yale Law School whose book “Confessions of a Born-Again Pagan” took me on a parallel journey. (I profiled Kronman, too.) If Dennett seeks to reconcile the existence of the soul with the physical world—to connect bacteria to Bach—Kronman sets out to do something similar in the humanist tradition: he tries to integrate the many contradictory ways of thinking about life that, as modern people, we want to credit simultaneously. Many of us have intuitions about the sacredness of life but also believe in the scientific method, which leaves little room for the sacred; we find it hard to envision a literal afterlife but want to understand how we might matter after we’re gone. Kronman combs through the history of thought, combining Augustine with Wallace Stevens, or Nietzsche with Melanie Klein, and constructing a belief system of his own invention—“born-again paganism”—which he finds satisfying. You don’t have to read all of Kronman’s “Confessions” in one go, and you’re unlikely to find it all convincing. But his beautifully written book is illuminating and inspiring. It shows that all of us can try, in our own ways, to solve the riddle of existence.—Joshua Rothman

I’ve never read as furiously or as gratefully as I did this year, searching for something that would both take me out of myself and return me to myself, the way only books can. I went on some retrospective expeditions—I had a good streak of reading all of James Salter and Nora Ephron in succession—but there was plenty of wonder released in 2017. I loved “The Correspondence,” by J. D. Daniels, a beyond-slim collection of essays (two billed as fiction) that left me feeling drunk and dizzy, like I had been given an injection of a stranger’s soul. I laughed out loud at “Priestdaddy,” Patricia Lockwood’s memoir, which works like transubstantiation: no matter what you think you’re looking at on the page, it’s turning into something else. I have been regularly recommending Alissa Nutting’s horrifically funny novel “Made for Love,” as well as Jenny Zhang’s “Sour Heart” and Lesley Nneka Arimah’s “What It Means When a Man Falls from the Sky,” two collections that use the short-story format’s mix of intensity and absence to knock you out. “Evicted,” Matthew Desmond’s chronicle of Milwaukee poverty, deserved its Pulitzer and then some. “Meet Me in the Bathroom,” Lizzy Goodman’s deliciously over-reported oral history of early-aughts New York rock, was a monument to the scuzzy magic that occurs when youth, hedonism, ambition, and talent coincide. I couldn’t put down Sally Rooney’s “Conversations with Friends” or Julie Buntin’s “Marlena,” both of them début novels about the kind of complicated friendship that determines the course of a young woman’s life.—Jia Tolentino

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