[Above photo: A swish venue for a DT press conference, f/u on the “4 Seasons Landscaping”. ]
13 February 2022
My love affair with slush was brief. Two days ago it was 50F and raining, melting the plowed residue. It is 17F today and the slush is dangerously frozen. The streets are lined with 1-3ft high mounds of grayish ice, fantastically shaped. They are treacherous. Most sidewalks are clear, however, so we can walk safely.
Yes, slush is a scientific curiosity. So is pond scum and other unmentionable, slippery substances. Best enjoyed in a laboratory, I think, if then.
Harold, back from Egypt where he visited ruins with Connie, and I are preparing to brave the wilds of the Carrabassett Valley the second week of March. “We need to be ready to spend a night out in the snow.” “What?!” People do get lost or injured, it is several miles between huts, and the trails are not patrolled. At least there aren’t crevasses, hopefully no whiteouts. The winter Haute Route, which is skied from Mt. Blanc to the Matterhorn, requires being roped together with a skilled guide. A Swiss friend in my Berkeley hiking group did it with her husband some years ago. It was clearly an adventure. I liked the way Linda and I did it, in August-September, on foot, unguided. Only one small blizzard and one drenching rainstorm.
We’ll need to carry a space blanket, a compass, a whistle, a lighter or matches, a map, and plenty of warm clothing. I’ve camped in the snow but that included a tent, a mat, and a sleeping bag. Tales of cold weather survival fascinate me. Shackelton’s intrepid rescue of all of his men after the Endurance was trapped and crushed in the polar ice pack is perhaps the most astounding. Sailing over 700 miles in an open boat through the mountainous waves of the Southern Ocean to South Georgia Island, he and his crew then somehow landed and hiked over a snowy mountain range to the small whaling station where help was available. No Vibram soles, ice axes, no nylon ropes, no puffy down jackets, no fleece, no crampons, just the primitive wool, canvas, and leather garments of the day. They were tough.
I am going to attend my Harvard 60th reunion. My uncle Fran said, “Don’t go to your 50th. It’s awful to see how diminished everyone is.” I am now 5’6”, an inch shorter than I was as a freshman, although I weigh the same. Many more wrinkles, less hair except from my ears. I think it will be amusing and, perhaps, amazing to see classmates after a 60 year hiatus. I don’t expect to recognize anyone. My roommate will be visiting the Shetland Islands with his wife, unfortunately.
I followed the Alumni Association suggestion for renting a room in Cambridge. Scandalous! A room at the Hilton-Doubletree Inn— This is not the Fairmont!—for one with a king-size bed tonight costs $135. On June 2nd, the night connecting the two days of my reunion celebration, the same room will cost $551! We didn’t all become investment bankers or stock brokers or sell an IT startup!! I’m tempted to pitch my REI tent in the Harvard Yard just to see if they’d manhandle or arrest an 81yo celebrant! Thoreau would share it. When Emerson came to visit him in jail, he asked, “What are you doing in there, Henry David?” Thoreau reportedly replied, “What are you doing out there, Ralph Waldo?” Two friends with two quite different perspectives on the world and the workings of government.
I’m reading Clear Light of Day by Anita Desai for my book group. It describes the life of an Indian family around the time of Partition (1947). One of the 4 children is either feeble-minded or severely traumatized and, consequently, non-functional. Which isn’t yet clear to me. All day he plays popular songs of the day on a phonograph: “Smoke Gets in Your Eyes”, “White Christmas”, various Fox-trots, and “Lili Marlene”. Marlene Dietrich, who was a German citizen but came to Hollywood in 1930 to act, was staunchly anti-Nazi. “Hitler is an idiot.” she said on USO broadcasts. The Germans unsuccessfully tried to recruit her as a spy.
“Underneath the lantern, by the barrack gate…” triggers intense memories of love and longing in me; I must have heard it as a child as I associate it with my mother. The power of the mother-child bond is inestimable. Despite my criticisms of my mother, I loved her and admired her with my entire being as a child. I still admire her greatly, the more so because of what she overcame. When I think of Donald Trump attempting to discourage illegal immigration by separating children and families, it is more than infuriating. It also points to how damaged his relationship was with his own mother that he could even conceive of such a thing. Which points us, again, to his lack of true empathy.
Ari’s friend, Sadie, came for lunch today with her son, Wynn. They are heading home after a circuit visiting friends and family that included Burlington, VT, Franconia, and Portsmouth, NH. Wynn is two weeks shy of 1 year and is such an easy, lively, and inquisitive guy. We had red pepper/tomato soup and toasted focaccia with my avocado spread. Mandarins and dark chocolate for dessert. Wynn was yawning by the end of the visit so hopefully he’ll sleep for the 2 ½ hour drive to Brooklin. It was lovely to see them.
I didn’t really have much to say this week, perhaps explaining why I didn’t write this yesterday. I did join a walking group and will start a short story reading class and an instant writing class at University of Southern Maine in March. I am now teaching/supervising 2 mornings a week. Little by little my life self-assembles.
A Psychiatrist in Myanmar 