Two at 15

Coco Gauff pulled off the big upset at the Australian Open yesterday when she defeated Naomi Osaka.  We started cheering for her last year at Wimboldon and we're going to keep cheering.  She's easy to love.  She's 15!

Gauff certainly has the genes for it.  She comes from a family filled with terrific athletes and coaches.
Her mother was a track and heptathlon star. Her father and uncle excelled at college basketball.

If we go back one more generation, we discover another remarkable teenager.  Another 15 year old star.  For it was Gauff's grandmother, Yvonne Lee, who was chosen in September 1961 -- all by herself -- to integrate Seacrest High School in Florida.  "I wasn't nervous.  I wasn't scared," she says.

The genes for confidence and courage are strong in this beautiful American family.

Thank you Chuck Culpepper for writing about this in the Washington Post.

Burned Away

It’s been warm so far so I haven’t had to wear my toughest fur.  It’s the bulky, long haired one which has kept me comfortable at whatever temperature Chicago has thrown my way.  My beautiful blue fur has a pretty big tear in the back.  I’m not complaining. It’s been so good to me for more than 30 years. As back up, I have my mother’s mink jacket.  I was thinking of selling it recently, but it wouldn’t bring a price worth it’s sentimental value.

When it became a “thing”, I didn’t pay any attention to people who questioned my devotion to my furs.  It was always way down on my list of issues.  But now, when I read of the dead animals in Australia (did it actually say “billions”?), I weep for them and the ones in my closet.  

Do we deserve to be served so well?  We, who ignite the fires?

No One Else to Blame

As I watch Australia burning, I remember a glorious experience a few years back. I wrote about it and included it in my book.  I wonder what the penguins think of us now.  

Who Will Survive

One of my favorite experiences was when Bill, Natalie and I went from Melbourne to Phillip Island.  The lure was the arrival every evening at sunset of hundreds of penguins.  They would emerge from the ocean, cross the beach and climb the slopes to their natural nesting place.

The Australia tourism people -- always in good taste --had erected stands where we could watch the penguin parade but not interfere.  We were instructed politely to maintain quiet and no cameras.  It was magical.

The recent article in The New Yorker about the survivalist billionaires reminded me of this "back to nature" moment.  Despairing of our institutions, or maybe fearing a revolt, they are "getting away from it all" by burrowing down in lavish bunkers in Kansas.  Or, buying up property in remote New Zealand at such a rapid pace that the natives are feeling invaded by nervous Yanks.

I don't know if there are penguins in New Zealand.  But I'm sure there are other sea creatures who eye the shore.  Maybe they see the panicky humans searching for a nesting place. Making sure "I've got mine."  Then, maybe they just turn around and return to the sea.