Happy New Year

 

Imagine all the people

living life in peace

It's My Chance

 

I was thinking about writing this story when Ben Joravsky's column in the Reader sealed the deal.  Several unlikely players are getting a chance to make their presence known in the NBA because covid has taken its toll on the regulars.  

I'm not going to dwell on thoughts of an inferior product.  Instead,  I'm imagining with glee how great these players must feel during their time in the "big time."

Alonzo McKinnie, the Bull of the moment, says this:

“Man, to be honest, it’s the biggest dream come true. I’m a west-side kid. I grew up like ten, 15 minutes down the way. Watched the Bulls growing up. So just being able to compete on the highest stage in my hometown, on my favorite side of the city, the west side, it’s been surreal to be honest. Just putting that jersey on has been everything for me.”

C'mon, doesn't this make you feel a little better?  McKinnie scored 16 points against the Rockets.  Maybe he'll be one of the few who stick.

We Remember Minnie

 

                                                                   

This one isn't just for us oldsters who remember Minnie when he was a star.  And it isn't for the fans who were glad Minnie was there when we won the World Series in 2005. It's for the path Minnie opened when he became the first black Cuban to play in the major leagues. And it was for the Sox!  He was here all alone from Cuba, but we embraced him for his stats and his joy. He kept it going until he was 90.

And now he is going to the Baseball Hall of Fame.

I like to think it was Minnie who lured our wonderful Cuban players to the South Side.  The team established a record when on August 2, 2020, the first four players in the lineup were from Cuba.

I bet there's a future Hall of Fame player right here.

  

Bad Boy...Then and Now

 

Isiah Thomas, former basketball star with the "bad boys" Detroit Pistons, is going to head a cannabis  (formerly called marijuana) operation in Illinois.  I say "boo".  He was the ultimate bad boy when he stormed off the court when the Bulls finally, finally beat the Pistons on their way to a championship. And, "double boo" because these lucrative jobs were supposed to go to people whose lives were wrecked during the drug wars.

Isiah's lack of sportsmanship reminded me of a blog I wrote a few years ago. Here's the point I made writing "Why We Shake Hands."

We shake hands to acknowledge the beauty of engagement.  The winning is sweet because this time it's your turn.  Next time maybe not.

 

Time to Cheer

 

                                                                               Ayo

Know what I'm going to be doing tonight?  And what I have been doing for the last several weeks?  Cheering on the new, loveable, WINNING Chicago Bulls!  If you haven't been paying attention since Michael, or you've put them in the same category as the hapless Bears, it's time to perk up.

My favorite new Bull is Ayo Dosunmu.  I think it's the Grandma in me.  I want to pinch his cheek and give him a big hug.  He was called on to start the other night and he came up big.

At the start of the season Bill said to keep him up to date on how the team was doing.  When they took New York by storm by beating the Knicks and the Nets last week, he got excited too.

They're playing Cleveland tonight.  Take a break from the news.  Being a Bulls fan is fun.

Jobs, Jobs

 

Employment in the U.S. right now is crazy.  Every day I get emails.  To me.  The oldster. "Amazon is hiring.  Great starting salary. College tuition possible."  Or, "Be your own boss.  Sign up for Door Dash, or Uber or Lyft."

Today I was sitting in the drive through when my phone rang. "Grandma, it's me," said a quivering young male voice.  "I need your help.  I've been in an accident."  My heart sank for that instant before I knew this wasn't either of my grandsons. "Can you give me your number so I can call you back?," I said.  Click. Call over.

Later, I thought: with all of the jobs out there that are begging to be filled, why did this somewhat talented young man have to choose one so terrible?  So mean?

Different Yet Alike

 

I am taking a class studying the rise and fall of Mikhail Gorbachev.  We are still at the “rise” part, but, of course, with the perspective that we know how the story ends.  It’s thus even more surprising that — while he did have power — his accomplishments were so profound.

One observation that I keep coming back to over and over is how much the power playing in Russia  is so much like what goes on here at home.  My friend Trudy, who is a classmate, says “Human nature is the same everywhere.”

Last week’s chapter contained an episode that left me laughing.  In 1988, a chemistry teacher named Nina Andreyeva, complained that the debate over the country’s Stalinist past was spreading doubt and confusion among her students leaving them upset.  She vigorously demanded that the country turn away from “repentance.”

Sound familiar?

Making it New

 

Maybe it was in the works for awhile but it seems like Facebook knew it was in a jam last week when they decided to change their name to "Meta."

I was definitely in a jam when I first thought of choosing a new name for myself.  I was hurt, sad and frustrated from a divorce . . .  and what I later understood was a yearning for something of my own that included creative achievement.

Did the new name help me turn in a new direction?

I like to think so.

Two at the Top

 

Normally I wouldn’t be interested in reading a New Yorker article about Martha Stewart, but when I saw it was written by Joan Didion, I immediately became interested.  I thought that Didion would write some unique and thoughtful takedown of Stewart.  That was lazy thinking.  Yes, she gives us something novel, something important to chew on, but it is never dismissive.

The enormity of Stewart’s empire is well described.  Didion understands that it is not just about “elevating the role of homemaker” as Stewart likes to say.   Didion does what she usually does as she explains Stewart in the annals of American capitalism. 

The other female phenomenon that came to mind, of course, is Oprah.  I don’t think she inspires as much parody or criticism, but maybe it’s out there and I don’t keep tabs.  Or, maybe I've even avoided it because I like Oprah more than Martha.

I hope I don’t find out that these two capitalists are sheltering their money, paying off politicians or sending rockets into space. If that happens, I’ll wait for Joan Didion to explain.

Still Learning

 

Natalie has invited me to read along with her for one of her college classes.  I ordered the book from the library.  I hope my mind hasn’t wandered too long in the mush of mysteries and relationships.  I’m just going to have to put my teeth back in my mouth so I can chew on the hard stuff.

When I told my friend Gerry about Natalie’s generosity, he mentioned his friend who had just retired as a professor at her school.  Which sent me thinking about academia.  A few years ago, another professor, my ex-husband’s daughter Laura Kipnis, wrote an article about sex wars on her campus.  It created quite a buzz.  Recently, I watched the Netflix show, The Chair. The story seems like it might be the way things are today.

Natalie is organizing a philosophy club.  I told her my favorite philosophers are the stoics.  And Camus.  That seems about right for now.

Water, Water Everywhere

 

After spending her first night at college evacuated from her flooded dorm, Natalie is still having water problems on campus.  Follow her search among the vending machines.

Fiction faces Life

 

                                                                            Elly Griffiths

A few months ago, my friend Trudy suggested I might like a series of books she called The Ruth Galloway Series by Elly Griffiths.   “They’re British mysteries,” she said.  “Ruth Galloway is a forensic archeologist.” 

Thus began my journey through fourteen books solidifying my enduring interest, admiration and love for this remarkable character and those populating her life.

Ruth is a proud, professional, competent, rational woman who is determined to acquire and retain recognition for her academic status and accomplishments in her field. Archeology makes sense of the past through relentless discovery and careful examination.  Layers of reality give us a place to stand.

She fusses over her weight, battles her skepticism about her evangelical parents, forms deep friendships with those who examine the world from many perspectives, and gloriously allows herself to become entangled in the ultimate human story —  the story of love.

The genius of Griffiths’ writing is presenting the value of history that can be unearthed and catalogued even as it stands next to what can only be lived and never fully explained.

That Day

 

It was a gorgeous day in Chicago.  I walked in the park with my friend Ruth.  We were too stunned to have a conversation, just remarks back and forth about how bewildered we were.  Bill and Elsa were in New York.  They eventually were able to rent a car and drove here.

Camille and Phyllis were in Paris.  Their vacation lasted a week longer than planned.  ( Not much of a “vacation” after the 11th.)  I’m going to see her tomorrow and I’m still interested in her story.

Doris’ son worked in one of the towers.  He didn’t go to work that day.  I guess you can lay on many kinds of meaning to that, or randomness as I prefer.

I never thought we should go to war in Afghanistan and Iraq was even more of a disaster.  How come we can understand that now, but those who knew at the right time were so despised?

Natalie wasn’t born yet.  And now she is my hope.

Create or Reflect?

 

Naomi Osaka, the tennis champion, had a meltdown on the court at the U.S. Open and lost to her unseeded opponent.  Afterwards, she said she is once again stepping away from the game.  Simone Biles, the Olympic champion, scaled back her participation on the gymnastics team at the summer games.  Michael Phelps, the Olympic swimmer, is on TV advertising therapy sessions.

So far, all have been receiving a lot of empathy.

Do famous athletes create the times or reflect the times?  I was thinking about this as I watched Untold: The Malice at the Palace, the Netflix documentary about the brawl between the Indiana Pacers and the Detroit Pistons.

The riot was very disturbing to watch, but even more unsettling was the attitude of the (overwhelmingly white) sports media world.  The players were universally described as “thugs.” David Stern, the Commissioner,  levied unprecedented fines on the players.  Lost in the coverage was the outrageous behavior of the “fans” who stormed on the court, showered the Pacers with drinks,  and threw a chair.

Yes.  I am a sports devotee.  Games keep me company, and continue to give me so much more to think about than the score.

Out and Up

 

A few blocks south of where I live, there’s a Vietnamese commercial community: nail salons, beauty supplies, several restaurants, and a specialty grocery that attracts lines of cars every weekend.  It all looks very interesting and prosperous.  The local Chamber of Commerce features this as a prime attraction.

As I drove by yesterday, I wondered if — maybe — in several years there may be an Afghan community somewhere in Chicago.  Exotic, vibrant, and featured by the locals as an interesting addition.

Let's Hide?

 

My favorite physicist, Michio Kaku, thinks we should immediately stop sending any signals of our existence out into the universe.  The broadcast of his opinion comes as the government finally acknowledges that there have been sightings of UFOs.

Kaku asks why any advanced entity would want to visit us.  He says there can only be one reason:  to conquer and extract whatever is valuable.  And, Kaku is sticking to that harsh assessment.

I’m going to remain a romantic on the subject.  We are doing enough conquering and extracting right here without any outside assistance.  If there’s an entity out there advanced enough to reach us, I hope they would bring another perspective.  And some help. We could sure use it.

My Olympic Moment

 

As I was walking in the park yesterday I came upon two women athletes who were performing the shot put.  I recognized it from watching the Olympics.  They were twirling just like on TV and landing the ball among a series of cones placed on the grass to measure the distance.

I asked if I could hold the metal ball.  It was really heavy!  I could never imaging throwing it.  And if I dropped it on my foot?  

When I got home I looked up the weight:  8 lb for women, 16 lb for men.  I wonder if that will stay the same now that transgender athletes are allowed to play.

Then and Now

 

Bill — living in New York — warned me.  But it wasn’t enough to keep me from turning on my TV every morning to watch Cuomo tell us how he was fighting the virus and encouraging us to be strong just like the brave New Yorkers, and like him.

It was when I was wiping down everything I bought from the store.  When the shelves for toilet paper were empty and even kleenex was hard to find.  When Trudy was sewing masks and gave me one which became my favorite. When visiting with a friend on a park bench was the highlight of the long week.

So I’m not going to beat myself up for those mornings with Cuomo.  I’m going to let him stay in that moment for what he did then.  And now, if he’s another bad guy who made sure he secured the maximum profit from his time on top, let him suffer in this moment too.

No Escape

 The rich boys have latched on to space as a way to spend their billions. They want to capture for themselves the “nobility” we attach to exploration.  The nobility associated with intelligence, curiosity, invention.  They will soar above the levels of competition and greed that define them and make themselves new.

The space boys’ rockets are taking off at a time of terrible earthbound peril.  Floods. Drought. Heat. Virus. Variants.  We are having a tantrum because the old mantra of “new worlds to conquer” exposes our refusal to live in nature as it is, not what we demand it to be.

Maybe the folly of the boys’ momentary escape will inspire us to make something new of ourselves.  I hope so.

Radio Girl Turns to Podcasts

 An early memory is of lying on the floor next to the big Philco radio in our living room.  Followed by memories of the Detroit Tigers coming into my bedroom on my own radio.  So, when Myles gave me an Echo and I discovered that I could listen to stations near and far, it wasn't too much of a leap to discover podcasts.  They are as numerous now as words in the dictionary, so you can notice when one is mentioned and add it to your list.  I'm sure I have yet to discover more to enjoy.

Did you know you can listen to radio programs (NPR) anytime?  And, you can get your cable TV news shows (CNN, MSNBC) as well?  It's all talk anyway so it's perfect for listening.  If you ask, I'll give you a list of my favorites.

I Pulled Over to Listen

 

I was driving around doing errands this morning when Rhapsody in Blue came on.  I didn’t want to miss a minute of it so I pulled over to enjoy it all.  I’ve been so sad about the USA lately.  Yesterday, the 4th wasn’t as exciting as it used to be.

So, thank you WFMT for your morning program devoted to American music, and especially playing George Gershwin’s masterpiece.

I know the familiar is taking a maybe well deserved beating these days, but never Rhapsody in Blue.

A Lotta Love for Lombard

I drove west this morning to renew my driver's license.  I started going to the facility in Lombard when I lived in Elmhurst and I've continued going there even from Chicago.  I've never regretted the trip.  The people are so friendly and make sure the seniors go through the process seamlessly.

It was very crowded but the only wait was about 20 minutes to start the driving test through the side streets with no traffic.  I was in and out in about an hour and a half.

I hope Jessie White enjoys his retirement.  And, I hope that whoever replaces him will continue to provide such excellent service.

My Private Fossil

I went down to my storage locker yesterday.  I wanted to retrieve the inflatable mattress in anticipation of Diego’s arrival next week. I can’t remember the last time I visited the locker.  But then, this story is about “I can’t remember.”

As I was digging through my pile of “stuff”, I was shocked to find a beautiful little rug.  The design is a vivid American Indian one: red, black and white.  The shock was that I couldn’t remember where it came from.  Of course, I brought it upstairs with the mattress.

Slowly, the story of the rug seeped into my consciousness.  It was from the time when I visited Arizona frequently.  I actually rented a little house there once.  I am sure now that I bought the rug at the gift shop in the Heard Museum in Phoenix.  Now I think of it as new, new, new.  A colorful addition to my space.

There are boxes in my locker whose contents remain a mystery.  I think I will unearth the fossils one by one.

My "No TV" Life

 

I watch a lot of TV.  Mostly sports and news shows.  Occasionally I hook up with a program.  Not now.  Not at all.  My cable connection disappeared and the solution is so far undiagnosed and thus untreated.  A technician isn't scheduled to arrive until next week.

And this is my happiest TV time!  NBA playoffs and a hot White Sox team.  But I'm managing to get the news I want to know.  Suns trounced the Lakers last night.  LeBron walked off the court five minutes early.  The Sox staged a valiant come back in the ninth against Cleveland but fell short by one run.  Israel may get rid of the "bad guy" because people of different political persuasions are getting together for the "good of the country." Here, some of us are still lamenting the afterlife of slavery while others demand the hierarchy remain in place.

I am reading a lot and watching movies on Netflix.  Life is good.  Did I miss anything?

The Writer and the Reader

 

Does fiction owe us any fact?  Several years ago I was happily binge-reading the series of books by Walter Mosley featuring  the Los Angeles detective Easy Rawlins.  I just loved Easy.  He was a smart black man determined to bring decency and dignity into his life behind the eight ball.

I was devastated when Mosley killed off Easy.  For no good reason.  Not even a part of any plot.  I vowed no more Mosley for me.

A few months ago I was shocked to see a new Easy Rawlins book featured on Amazon. What?  Easy is alive again?  Just like that?  I was happy to read about Easy in a new adventure, but does an author have a right to kill off a character in one book and then have him appear in another?  

What about the reader and our emotional investment?  Just asking.

Decisions

 

My reading and my TV watching have converged on one subject: those brave public servants who have the courage to make difficult decisions and live with the consequences.  I'm reading Michael Lewis' book on the pandemic: Premonitions.  I've been a big fan of Michael Lewis starting with Moneyball.  I'm not finished with the book but so far I am fascinated with his coverage of one Public Health Administrator in California.  She is unsupported and underfunded, yet called upon to made unpopular decisions as drastic as forced evacuations.

The series Philly D.A. on PBS is riveting.  Larry Krasner, a former Public Defender, took over the District Attorney's Office.  He has been determined to change the culture of prosecutions.  What an enormous undertaking.  The series shows how it is met every step of the way with a chorus of naysayers.  The latest episode is about juveniles sentenced to life without parole.  A few years ago the Supreme Court ruled that the practice was unconstitutional based on scientific knowledge of the juvenile mind.  The current Court reversed that decision just a few weeks ago.

Larry Krasner is up for re-election.  We'll see.

Clean Windows

 

John Bachtell, my second favorite Communist (yes, Shelby, you're still No. 1), posted some pix of those brave heroes washing his windows.  It's Spring!  So, the men (so far it's only been men) will also be arriving soon outside my apartment on the 26th floor.

I am in awe of them swaying on their tiny slings.  They will even wave back with their free hand.  It reminds me of the famous photo of the men eating their lunch as they are perched on that slender beam above NY city miles below.

After 9/11 there was a wonderful story on NPR about the tribe of Indians from Canada who sent their members to build the twin towers.  I wonder if my window washers belong to a tribe or a family with an unusual set of genes.  Like the flying Walendas.

No matter.  That's not necessary.  They are wonderful.  I, and everyone who visits me, loves my glorious view. Made even more sparkling because of their amazing visits.

A Promise Finally Kept

 

President Biden's decision to call the massacre of Armenians a "genocide" brings to mind Bill's movie The Promise.  It was a dream of the billionaire Kirk Kerkorian who provided all of the financing.  You could call it his "promise" to the Armenian Community's campaign to secure genocide classification of the mass killings of Armenians by the Ottoman Turks.

I remember being in the car one day with Bill who said he really didn't know much about the massacre until he started producing the film.  I agreed.  

Kerkorian died a few years ago.  It's too bad he didn't live to see this day. I like to think the film helps keep the story alive.

Stolen

 

I'm watching a good documentary on Netflix:  This is a Robbery.  It's about world famous paintings being stolen from a museum in Boston. This reminded me of a story I love to tell.  It was in my book.

Many years ago I was friendly with a man who owned a warehouse on the near south side.  The business specialized in small items stored for short periods of time.

One day a man came in with a package, left it for storage, took his claim ticket and left.  Over time, since no one picked it up, and since the package was sturdy and flat, someone put it next to the coffee machine.  It was a convenient surface for cups and sugar.

A few months later, the FBI arrived.  "We need to search the warehouse."  They found what they were looking for: the Cezanne painting stolen from the Art Institute.  It was undamaged except for a few coffee stains on the packaging.

The Courage and the Burden

 

The Courage and Burden of the Investigative Journalist

I have a friend who is a journalist.  Just starting out.  Just starting to catch the attention of publications around the country.  She is excited, enthusiastic and dedicated to bringing powerful, corrupt people to our attention. 

“These articles require so much research and detective work.  It is really time consuming.

And the pay is so low.  I just can’t quit my job.  I hope I’ll get some free lance marketing work soon.  Maybe that will free me up for my real passion.”

She went on to tell me how victims in this one story were coming forward to her every day.  She felt such a responsibility to them and to telling their truth.

Caught up in admiring her completely, I couldn’t help feeling a little dread.  “Please remember to protect yourself and your life”, I said.  “There are so many victims, so many stories”. 

Liddy and Judy

 

The death of G. Gordon Liddy brought back memories of my friend Judy Wax.  I was intrigued and inspired when she became a writer well into middle age.  Her piece about her son, who had gone to India with a cult, was picked up by the New York Times.  I heard her interviewed by Studs Terkel about her new career, including a poem titled The Love Song of G. Gordon Liddy, published in Time magazine. I still have a copy of her book Starting in the Middle.  Her story spoke directly to me.

She was on her way to a booksellers convention in Los Angeles when she was killed in the plane crash at O'Hare.

Roth Revealed

 

There’s a new biography of Philip Roth.  It has been reviewed both in The New Yorker and in the New York Review of Books and in both articles he's depicted as a difficult man (I’m watering  that down). He was left in constant pain from an Army incident which may explain some of it, but certainly not all.  I loved American Pastoral and The Human Stain, so I’m going to remember him for that.

At lunch with my friend Bonnie, I mentioned the Roth articles.  “I met him!”  “I interviewed him and wrote an article about him for The Reader.  He was totally dislikable.”  Here is Bonnie’s column:

https://www.chicagoreader.com/chicago/a-party-for-philip-roth/Content?oid=881554

You’re going to love reading this.  Yes, it’s about Roth, but it is so much richer.  Bonnie perfectly captures a time when booksellers were at the center of the cultural scene.  When a major author appeared, everyone turned up.  Think literature as a Hollywood premiere. 

Great writers deserve the red carpet.

Stitches in Time

 

My knitting years occurred way before the internet and its knitting site Ravelry which is discussed at length in an article in a recent New Yorker.  It was personal then.  The person I’m thinking about is Sis Franklin who held forth in her shop on Wells Street.

Sis was a very large woman who sat (am I only imagining this?) on a raised chair and conducted audiences with her devoted followers one knitter at a time.  While we waited for the great one, we lamented our mistakes to each other.  Some showed off their prowess.  It was impressive.

My big accomplishment from the Sis Franklin experience was a black mohair sweater.  It was gorgeous.  To start, the wool was expensive, then I paid to have it lined (mohair is very picky) and assembled.  You’re probably thinking I could have bought something just as good for the money I spent, but you would be wrong.  It was my triumph.  

Funny how life is. The sweater was discarded sometime that I don’t even remember. But I still cling to a gorgeous mohair coat sweater than I bought in Norway many years ago. 

Today looks like a good day to find it in the closet.

Black and White Together

 

Evanston passed a law offering reparations to African American residents who can prove they, or their ancestors,  have a history of living in the suburb.  This brought back memories both happy and poignant.  Memories of black and white in the 1950’s while attending Northwestern.

We lived at Orrington House.  It was called a “foreign student home.”  It really was several black girls from Chicago who had obtained music scholarships.  And, a few white girls like me who applied too late to obtain housing in a dorm.

I didn’t know what awaited me at college, but I never imagined anything like this. It was magic.  The music girls were so talented.  Every night a jam session could erupt.

When we attempted to go out together for a coffee or a meal, Evanston was unrelenting.  “Sorry, we can’t seat you.”  “We are all full.”  “What kind of a group are you anyway.”  The saddest time was when we showed up for a reservation at the Empire Room in the Palmer House.  We had pooled our money to celebrate a birthday.  Even in Chicago, we were turned away. 

The law in Evanston passed easily.  The city is being hailed as a model to be admired.

 

The Cruelty of Leadership

 

Rebecca Traister is a journalist who I have found to be particularly insightful.  I listened to her last night as a guest on The Ezra Klein Show podcast.  Klein is most recently with The New York Times.  The immediate subject was the career, and now the what appears to be the fall, of Andrew Cuomo.

I was one of those millions caught up last year in watching Cuomo's daily TV appearances as he seemed to be exhibiting great leadership handling the startling covid crisis in New York.  Bill kept warning me about him.  At the time, his warnings seemed besides the point.

What made this discussion extraordinary was when it branched out to talk about toxic white male leadership in general, including observations about Trump, Harvey Weinstein, Steve Jobs and Hillary Clinton's campaign to survive in it.

It ended with a plea: Does it have to be this way?

A New Favorite

 

My new favorite podcast (sorry, Ben) is Stay Tuned with Preet.  That’s Preet Bharara, the former U.S. Attorney for the Southern District of New York.  First asked to stay by Trump and then fired, he is now a frequent contributor on CNN.

On his podcast, he is engaging, funny, and direct.  He is an excellent interviewer. From long experience, he knows how to ask penetrating questions and shares his opinions.  Podcasts are where the people you see for a minute or two on the news get to talk in long form revealing their ideas and personalities.

You can’t stay attached to the news without suffering.  One especially heartbreaking interview was with Bryan Fogel, the Award winning director of the documentary Dissident about the murder of the journalist Jamal Kashoggi.  After outstanding press reviews the film could not find one distributor.  Even Jeff Bezos, who owns the Washington Post where Kashoggi worked, would not put it on Amazon. Everyone was too afraid or too addicted to Saudi money.  It’s just now going to be available on demand.

Do you listen to Podcasts?  If so, what are your favorites?