When Imagination is Enough

Juan Valdez died.  Remember when he was on TV for Columbian coffee?  He turned out to be special for me.

A very long time ago I took a weekend class called Silva Mind Control.  The idea was to learn exercises to expand the use of your mind.  One of the exercises involved imagining a "helper" -- someone who would step in when you were in need. Out of the ether came my spontaneous choice: Juan Valdez.

And, "he" did help me a few times.  Once was when I was lost on a road in Arizona.  A real life Juan came out of a little gas station and gave me directions.  Another time an imaginary Juan warned me about a dangerous liaison.  I didn't listen.

His death doesn't take him away.  Imagination is like that.  An expanded mind can go anywhere.

Big Data Sings its Song

Last year my friend Myles gave me an ECHO for Christmas.  I appreciated the gift, but it sat for several months unplugged because I couldn't think of anything I really needed to ask "Alexa" -- the friendly humanoid voice attached to big data.

Then, when the bad reception in my living room made it almost impossible to enjoy my radio, I decided to see what ECHO could do.  Alexa got me connected right away.

I'm sure Amazon was listening too.  A few weeks later I received an offer of three months of unlimited music for $.99.  I fell into the net.

"Alexa, please play Tchaikowsky Piano Concerto with Van Clybourn the pianist."  "I do not understand that request."  I tried another approach.  "Alexa, please play Tchaikowsky."  "Playing Tchaikowsky songs," came the voice.  Immediately the concerto began.  So now I have no trouble asking Alexa for my favorite composers.

Concerto.  Symphony.  String Quartet.  Life is but a song.

Before Black Friday

Before there was Black Friday, there was J.R. Hudson's, the retail palace of my years in Detroit.  So, when I noticed one Thanksgiving that the store was promoting an early a.m. opening on the day after the holiday, I asked the gals if they wanted to do a little shopping and some deli eating after.
We had so much fun that first year that we looked forward to it as a new Thanksgiving tradition. 

Then, as is true of so many commercial ideas, it morphed into a monster.  Families were robbed of their day off.  People fought and grabbed.  Now, it's not even a one day event.

What's wrong with us?  That's what I was thinking as Christmas music was playing in my garage -- a full week before Thanksgiving!

A Timeless Tale

I was chatting with a friend recently who mentioned a man we both know.  "He asked me out,"  she said.  "I mean he asked me to go for a walk and have coffee."  "How did that go?" I was curious.
"He got all romantic and I told him to back off."  "Really?"  I was impressed by her resolve.  Man/woman opportunities don't come up too often in oldster land.

"I don't want any man eventually telling me what to do," she said.  "But then he kept showing up so now I am seeing him.  But not all the time.  No, not all the time."

My mind wandered to the battles of the sexes on the big screen.  Bogie and Bacall.  Tracy and Hepburn.  Rosalind Russell.  These gals knew how to hold their own.

Yes, I've learned that actually the Hollywood studio system kept their stars pretty nailed down.  In a way, they were just as constrained in their lives as were the housewives who loved them.

Still. . .  we don't want anyone eventually telling us what to dream.

Insight on Anger

It's not because for a brief time I was married to her father that I always pause to read Laura Kipnis. She is worth it for her provocative style leading to deeper than the usual insights.  She writes a lot about sex and power.

Today's topic in The Atlantic magazine is about the current explosion of womens' rage.  Never moving from how appropriate that anger is in the face of outrageous male behavior on the casting couch or in the executive suite, she quickly points out that this anger needs a more fundamental focus.

When Kipnis reminds us about "shelling out an exorbitant percentage of your already unequal salary for day care" she is urging us to take hold of this #me too moment and expand its focus.

The moment of rage deserves nothing less than a reordering of priorities directed at womens' lives.

Stepping Up

It was a dark and stormy night and I almost called my friend Jim to tell him I couldn't make it to the book signing.  Boy, am I glad I decided to go.  It was really because of Dave Zirin, the sports writer for The Nation magazine and one of the friendliest "public" people ever.  He was out with his latest book about John Carlos, the track star and one of the Olypians who had suffered for raising their fists from the podium in 1968. 

When Jim and I spotted Dave at a coffee shop, it was just like him to make room for us at his table.  That's how I got to meet and be with John Carlos.

When athletes talk about "standing on the shoulders of those whose courage came before", they are talking about John Carlos and Tommie Smith and the late Peter Norman, the Australian who stood in solidarity with his two colleagues.

We are celebrating the anniversary today.

Interesting Rides

I love riding the elevator of my condo in the sky.  There are so many opportunities to observe and engage with the parade of people randomly available for a moment of my day.  And, since my building is home to every age and demographic, there's often someone who sparks my interest.

Yesterday, when the door opened, a young man dressed in a suit and tie but wearing athletic shoes and carrying a back pack, was leaning against the wall next to a skateboard.  I joked: "Is that your transportation?"  "Yes! I use it to get to work,"  he offered enthusiastically.  I'm thinking a few blocks, but then he says: "And I work downtown."

Maybe in January I'll see him with snowshoes or skis.  I'll be waiting with interest.

Feeling Comfortable

Yesterday, I decided to attend the Meetup of the Chicago Philosophers Group.  There were a few food-stained, and probably formerly tobacco stained academics; a beautiful young woman with enormously long hair; a Vietnam vet; and enough attractive young men and women to spark my interest.

While chatting with the man next to me, I asked:  "How did you get here?"  (I was thinking: car, train, bus?)  He replied, "In what sense?"

I knew I had found my natural place.

Photo:  Only one guess needed, right?

A 9/11 Story

When my friend Phyllis called, I told her how I remembered right away that she and Camille were vacationing in Paris when the 9/11 attack occurred.  The two were among the many thousands stranded in one place or another as the skies were cleared.  I've heard Phyllis tell about the extra time they spent in France (and the money!). An unforgettable moment.

Today, she added to the story in a poignant way.  During their unexpected stay, Phyllis was determined to track down an artist so she could purchase a poster she loved.  She finally was able to knock on his door and the poster was being secured.  Phyllis said: "What is your name?"  He looked down and quietly said: "I can't tell you."  "Why is that", she replied.  Finally, he whispered: "Because my name is Mohammed." 

"Oh," she cried.  "That's okay.  You must not be ashamed."  And, she gave him a hug.  The next time I'm over at Phyllis' house, I want to take a look at the "9/11 Poster."  It is signed by the artist.

Tomorrow Never Tells

Last week I heard a Nobel prize winning economist remind us that the stories we tell to make sense of life are told only in retrospect.  We can't nail it down as a mystery, tragedy or comedy until it occurs. Only then can we assemble the characters and plot.

And sometimes, even though we are the only species with language to tell our tales, no story can explain.  I'm thinking today of a Chicago story. 

A young man -- working as an Uber  driver --  is hacked to death by a teenager he picked up for the fare.  Now, his mother finds her way across class and race from Winnetka to the southwest side.
She grieves with the other mothers in a support group for the families left behind by the gun.

When murder is the author, we'll never figure out where to place the book on the shelf.

Unexpected Magic

Sunday in the park.  I was sharing a shady bench with an old man when a pretty young girl came by walking her dog.  "Wanna see a magic trick?,"  he asked.  "Sure," she smiled.  He pulled a deck of cards out of his pocket, shuffled, and went into the familiar "pick a card" routine.

I'm sure his card tricks reside on the lowest rung of magic, but they're still good enough to get a smile out of me.

Eventually, I got up and continued my walk.  "Hmmm, he did'nt ask me,"  I thought.  "So what.  I may not be in the center of the action anymore, but sometimes there's magic close enough to enjoy."

Quantum Rudy

Recently Rudy Guiliani made a statement that everyone noticed:  "Truth isn't truth," he said.  Depending on your loyalty to Trump, you probably either rolled your eyes or ignored the quote.

In an entirely different context, the "Truth isn't truth" remark carries some weight.  I'm not going to pretend that I grasp the quantum mechanics view of the universe accepted by physicists except to say that things are not what they seem and defy common sense.  At the sub-atomic level (and I mean really small) the "truth" is hard to pin down.  And, there is a necessary collaboration between the observer and the observed. 

Which brings me back to Rudy.  His willing collaborators are ready to accept what the rest of us regard as nonsense.  It all gets very squishy, doesn't it?

Am I Lonely?

Recently I was told that I seemed lonely.  "Me?",  I thought.  "I don't think of myself that way. Am I afraid to admit it?  Hmmm.  I'll have to give this some thought".

I didn't live alone until late into adulthood.  Childhood, schools, marriages, children.  That took up a big chunk. And yes, when it came it was a jolt.  Now, I can't imagine having anyone around all the time.  What about my quiet, my routines, my noises, my preferences?  Could I, would I, rearrange any of it to make space?

But what about love? Companionship?  When his wife died, one man I know immediately attached himself to the widow of his best friend.  So far, so good.  Another friend has been able to insist on part time togetherness.  An understood arrangement. Equally appealing to both.

"There are a lot of witty women on the internet," says another male searcher.  My favorite line:  "I still wear the same size necklace as I did in high school."

Alone is one thing.  Loneliness another.  I'll pause at that.

Not So Sweet Candy

Anne, the building manager at my condo, "liked me."  She kept a big jar of candies on her very cluttered desk.  After I took a Butterfinger one day, she began to save them for me. 

I was so grateful to Anne when water damage ruined my bedroom carpeting. When I told her my homeowners insurance didn't cover it (zombie apocalypse?), she said, "Don't worry, I have a discretionary fund.  I'll replace your carpeting out of that."

I was thinking about that fund when reading the letter to all condo owners.  Anne and the assistant manager had been immediately fired for cause, and financial improprieties were being investigated.  Updates to follow.

So, I got the Butterfingers and Anne apparently had sticky fingers.  Sad.

They redecorated the new Manager's office.  She, and the office, are very sleek and professional.  No candy.

Old Age Ugly

No surgery!  No surgery!  Still in a state of euphoria after the orthopaedic doctor recommended other treatments for my very bum knee, I agreed to be fitted for this contraption.  I pick it up next week.
First, Dr. Feelgood gave me a steroid shot.  Walking better already.

I joked with my sports loving friends that my trade value was nil, and now a PED conviction.

The breast cancer industry got it right ... right away. . . with the flood of pink for ladies and the men who love them.  When I asked the knee fitter guy what colors the brace came in, he said black, black and black.

C'mon entrepreneurs.  And, not just for us oldsters.  There was a waiting room full of young, athletic types limping around on their ugly canes and crutches. 

At least my brace will be under the new very wide leg pants I plan to purchase.  Please tell me somewhere, they are still in style.

The Cave Boys of Thailand

As one who sat mesmerized watching the Chilean miners ascend from their captivity, I am fervently hoping I'll get to do the same with the soccer team and their coach trapped in the underwater cave.  But oh, the task ahead.

Here's the plan:  divers, who are the most trained and experienced in the world, are going to gather.  They will train the boys to use the equipment to swim under water.  Then, two divers (one on each side) will guide each boy through the narrow and debris infested waters to the surface.

The alternative is to wait underground for months for the water to subside.  I heard this may not even be possible as more flooding may occur at any time.

One of our favorite thought experiments is: "What would we do if visited by another species from outer space? Would we realize that we are all 'earthlings' and greet them as one?"

I love these moments of promise when we seem to be able to come together.  Last time for the miners, this time for the boys.  Maybe the soccer players at the World Cup will send some encouragement.

A Closer Look

Having recently studied the brain and human behavior, this story really caught my eye.

A scientist was doing research on the brain hoping to identify common characteristics of sociopaths (especially serial killers).  He mapped his brain and his family's along with the "killer" samples to use in the "control" group.  All of the family group was normal except for one "killer" brain -- his own!

Astonished, he went home to tell his wife.  Her response?  "I'm not surprised."  Then, he went to all of his colleagues and friends:  "You're very smart, organized, witty, a great guy at a party.  When it comes to feeling close to you, sorry."

He thought to himself:  "Well, that's interesting."  And, he then realized, "That's the response of a sociopath, all right."

 He seized on the intelligent approach: "Well, some sociopaths serve society:  Surgeons.  CEO's.  Maybe scientists." Then he researched his ancestry and found several killers among them...including Lizzie Borden!

So now, our scientist is working on what he decided to do with his newfound knowledge:  He studied the characteristics of empathy and is faking it as best as he can.

Truth and Consquences

Remember the good old days when we had the luxury of contemplating the "end of truth"?  When the physicists were telling us that reality is indeed a collaboration between the observed and the observer?  "Not so fast" we now whine.  As we drown in a sea of lies, we cling to our lifeboat called Truth.  "Please, we need to be saved by truth."

Same for the FBI.  We oldsters remember when Hoover was busy unleashing his band of white male clones.  His targets were the "Commies" among us, the protesters, MLK.  Now we celebrate those men, desperate for their investigation to force things back in place.

It's tough being an observer in this upside down world.

Alone or Not

The legal strategy now allowed in sexual predator cases that nailed Bill Cosby and maybe Harvey Weinstein is permitting the testimony of many women in order to establish a "pattern of conduct." Previously, each woman had to stand alone.

I wonder what will happen if these cases reach the Supreme Court.  Just this week, there was a 5 to 4 decision (hello, Neil Gorsuch) depriving employees of the right to band together to fight the bosses' companywide policies.  And, if I understand it right, each employee -- if they want to get hired --
could be forced to agree to arbitration thus blocking them from the courts and the jury system.

So, again if I understand it right, a woman has a better chance of fighting sexual harassment than a woman or a man standing up to employer harassment.

The guys keep their priorities intact, don't they?

All or Nothing

Sports fans like me are noticing a chorus of complaints from the talking heads.  In baseball, they are lamenting the dominance of either a home run or a strikeout.  "We are losing the great shortstop play, or the exciting throw from third or deep in center," goes the dirge.

In basketball, they point to the three-pointer.  "Not enough action under the basket.  Too many points piled up too fast."  Some have suggested widening the court to make those shots from the corner even more difficult.  Of course, they would have to move back some of the millionaire seats, so it probably will never pass the ownership test.

All this reminds me of what is happening in Washington.  Devil or savior.  Crook or white hat.  The games and the political game have this in common:  lack of contact...lack of engagement.  Too much air between home plate and the stands.  Too much air from mid-court into the basket. Too much hot air on cable.

And I haven't mentioned the arrival of legalized sports gambling.  Everyone is predicting a flood of cash.  Sounds like politics to me.

Why We Shake Hands

After the Sixers' playoff run came to an end when they lost to the Celtics, Joel Embiid walked off the court without shaking hands with the winning team.  Bad sport.  I immediately remembered when Isiah Thomas and the Pistons turned their backs. The Bulls had finally defeated them after so many tries.  He and his team were criticized for being such bad sports.  I never liked Isiah again.

So, I was disturbed when one of my favorite sportscasters, Jemille Hill, defended Imbiid and the ESPN colleagues she was discussing it with seemed to agree. "He was showing his passion for winning.  Showing that he was serious."

Yes, of course we root for our favorites.  But we understand that both sides are serious.  Both sides are passionate.  We shake hands to acknowledge the beauty of engagement.  The winning is sweet because this time it's your turn.  Next time maybe not.

Pointless Points

My bridge playing friends know what the expression "Points Schmoints" means:  there is more than one way to evaluate a hand.  I was thinking about this as my friend David lamented that a computer breakdown had prevented him from getting the "points" he needs for a free donut.

Then I went home, opened my email, and found out that because one vendor considers me a "VIP Customer",  I am entitled to "points(!)" which I can use at times and for purchases that are too complicated to describe.

Walgreens is a little more straightforward.  Seniors get 20% off on the first Tuesday of the month.  Of course, you have to remember the date. But, like bridge, they say memory games are good for your brain.

Target gives 5% discount on everything as long as you use their "Red Card."  I'm sure there is profit in there somewhere.

Facebook probably wishes they were giving "points" for your VIP identity.

Another Way

My friend Marilyn recently posted a moving depiction of grief.  It showed how grief's intensity may fade over time, only to be punctured by moments of vivid memory.  We never escape but learn to endure.

The Japanese have added another approach to life's promise of despair.  In this country and culture, you can hire an actor to assume the role of a departed family member.  One man hired a woman to take the place of his wife.  It wasn't a sexual arrangement.  He just wanted his "wife" to be waiting for him when he came home from work.

A distraught mother hired a man to "be" the husband who had deserted the family leaving the daughter behind.  The miserable young girl blossomed after her "father" returned occasionally to care for her.

Japanese weddings are often populated by guests who are hired "members of the family."  The same goes for boyfriends and girlfriends when the need arrises.

Too cold and pragmatic for you?  Too unsatisfying?  Or maybe creative enough to merit another thought.

Natalie Marched

I am so proud of my granddaughter Natalie and her dad who joined the 800,000 at the March for our Lives last weekend.  Here, Natalie talks about her experience.

Q:  Natalie, you participated in what I think and hope was an historic event in American history.  What made you decide you wanted to actually be there with the other students?

  A: I wanted to be part of the March for Our Lives because I really agree that it’s time for a change in our policy, and I know we need as many people as possible to come together to make this change happen. 

Q:  What was it like being part of the crowd?  Could you see and hear?

A:  On the main street the crowd was very tightly packed in the center, and more scattered on the sidewalks. Being in the middle of the crowd was very intense, with barely any room to move.  Since I was taking photos it wasn’t the ideal place to be. There were large screens that were  broadcasting everything going on on the main stage, and being in between two screens caused the audio to become distorted and sound like a continuous echo. Unfortunately my dad and I were in a spot where the voices of the speakers sounded that way for a while, but eventually we moved. As for being able to see, it was surprisingly easy for me considering I’m a little more than five feet tall!

Q:  What were the people around you doing?

A:  Most people were listening intently to the speakers or chanting “ VOTE THEM OUT!”.

Q:  What speaker or speakers grabbed your attention?  Left  the most lasting impression?  Thrilled you the most?

I loved Yolanda Renee King, the granddaughter of Martin Luther King Jr. She is such a mighty little girl, and watching her speak was so powerful. Of course everyone rejoiced when Emma Gonzales came out on stage, including me! Her speech was brilliant and unforgettable, and experiencing the minutes of silence in-person was amazing. Every speaker there had a key role to play in spreading the message that gun violence is a serious problem that must be changed, so really I liked all of them.  

Q:  What about your school in upstate New York?  

A:  My school had a 17 minute long walkout, where about one hundred kids participated. In order to show your support, we were told to wear orange. It was interesting to see which teachers strategically chose to wear an orange scarf or tie. Many teachers in my school supported it, but as a policy they were not allowed to discuss it with the students. After the walkout was over and we all returned to our classes, one of my teachers addressed the class and said “To all of you guys who walked out... I’m proud of you, and to all those who didn’t walk out.. I’m proud of you as well.” Overall it was a very inclusive and safe environment to express your thoughts on current events. 

Q:  Most of the people who read my blog are oldsters. And many marched against wars in the past.  They are hurting now and want some hope.  What can you say to us?

A:  Don’t lose hope! Use your vote to change these policies! Change does not happen in a single day, it happens step by step. Only you can help this country take this journey to a safer future. 

Pictures from Natalie's phone.

Henrietta and Mark

Remember the story of Henrietta Lacks?  She was the african american woman whose cells became an important tool in developing modern medicine.  She was never informed about her cells' use and certainly never shared in their enormous worth.  When her story was unearthed it became a celebrated book and movie.  Maybe a myth for our times.

Mark Zuckerberg is another person whose life has a tinge of myth attached.  Facebook tapped deep into the human spirit where the need to be connected was ready to be explored.  If we bothered to figure out how Facebook made billions by selling our profiles, we didn't seem to mind.

My friend David and I were talking about TV shows. . . and the zombies that frequently appear.  "What is a zombie?"  I asked.  He said it was an undead creature who needs to eat our brains to survive.

That sounded like another modern myth to me.

I've Been Reading for This

Many of my friends know that my favorite author is Dick Francis.  I cried when I turned the last page of the last book (there were more than 40 of them).  But, of course, after a little time away, I started reading my favorites all over again.

Why such devotion?  I connected to his heroes who were mostly the same in a different story each time.  Difficult childhood.  Time spent alone.  Mental agility in chaotic situations.  A stoic approach to life.

The Dick Francis stories take place in the world of British horse racing.  Many of the heroes are jockeys.  When they fall and need lots of stitches and are covered in black and blue, they pick themselves up and go on solving crimes.

Bonecrack sounds like a good title to start reading again.

A Knock on the Head

Yesterday, after a lovely afternoon at the Chicago Symphony, I was walking down Wabash Avenue by the Palmer House when I tripped and fell.  Here's one sound I've never heard before:  my head hitting the sidewalk.  My friend Gerry was helping me when two young men rushed over.  A few seconds later, one of them was handing me a bunch of napkins to press against my face and stop the blood.
And, right after that the security person from the hotel came out.  He called an ambulance.  How did you know I fell and need help I asked him.  "A young man came and found me."

So now I am home with six stitches and a big bruise over my eye.  And because my mind goes there, I am thinking about the randomness of life.  The fall was painful and cruel.  The two young men were beautiful.  And that is the essence of the unexpected.

My Private Olympian

My friend Lisa has a high flying approach to life.  She recently managed to become a certified personal trainer while holding down a very full time job as a senior producer at a major ad agency.  And now, when she goes to Arizona in a few weeks, she is going to learn trapeze moves from a former Cirque du Soleil professional. C'mon now, that's some serious stuff!

For the rest of us who are crouching low on our couches, using the Olympics to distract us from the snow and cold, I say let's cheer her on!

Roger Deserves My Love

I have come to love Roger Federer.  Finally, and with no regrets or reservations.  And, I'm not going to attribute it to his being, for this generation of tennis greats, the "last man standing."  I am not going to say I love him after I've already tossed a lot of my love to the sexy Spaniard and the commanding Serb.  He deserves his own place. I love Roger for being that "other guy" who captures your heart in the end.

How long can the champ with the steadfast wife and two sets of adorable twins keep it going?  I say as long as he wants.  And I'll be cheering for him.  I admit I didn't get up at 1:30 a.m. to watch the entire final.  But I did turn on in time to see the decisive fifth set.

Too Long?

The long running series Longmire kept me company during those freezing days when I was grateful I didn't have to go anywhere.  So maybe it was just the thaw yesterday that allowed me to be so annoyed with the show when I got around to watching the final episode.

Walt, Vic and Henry are such well drawn characters.  My disappointment is with the writers who didn't give them what they deserved.  This comes up frequently.  Maybe there should be a cut off date for how long a series should run. 

Of course my friends who watched every episode of Seinfeld, Friends and Sex in the City (and are still watching reruns) would disagree.

My friend Barb says I might enjoy reading the Longmire books.  When I checked I discovered there were sixteen of them.   

I think I'll reluctantly say goodbye.

The Sound and the Fury

I went to see "Molly's Game" yesterday. About halfway, the sound track went all fuzzy and cracked so my friend and I decided to accept the refund and leave.  Please don't tell me how it ends because I intend to go back and see it again soon.

Which reminds me of my great "movie interruptus" story.  It was the day after Thanksgiving at a small theater in Detroit.  The film was "The English Patient" and the place was packed.  Just at the crucial scene of the girl left in the cave, the sound sputtered and died.  People started to hiss and boo.  The manager asked everyone to be "patient."  Some left, some stayed.

Shortly, a man stood and said: "As long as we're waiting, why don't I tell a few jokes?"  His wife(?) pulled at him: "Seymour, no one wants to hear your silly jokes!"  The audience disagreed and gave him a big cheer.

Years later I got to meet Anthony Minghella.  I tried to tell him the story but he was definitely not amused.  I should have known better. No matter how many awards you win, you never want your great creation to be disturbed in any way.

Never Give Up

Imagine All The People

Living Life in Peace

Happy New Year