[Above photo: A weather front approaching from the west over the Fore River and the Casco Bay Bridge.]
3 April 2022
I was visiting a friend in Boston last weekend and returned to a busy week, so I neglected to write my blog post. Polly has a lovely condo in the North End, smack in the midst of the Italian district. The location is great for walking and eating. Among other things, we walked much of the Greenway, which is an amazing civic project of walkways, parks, fountains, etc. in the midst of a bustling major city. It reminded me of the same in Seoul, which has a [man-made] river running through it. In the summer after work, people pause on their way home, sitting on the side, and dipping their feet in the water to cool them.
She and I went to the annual Academy Awards’ “Nominees for Best Animated Feature”. Poki and I went to that a couple of times 25 years ago and it was cute, imaginative, funny, and entertaining. This time, after one lengthy children’s video of mouse/bird/cat anthropomorphism—“Robin”—there was an ominous notification that there would be a 10 minute intermission to remove all children from the theatre. The warning stated that there would be acts of violence, sex, sexual assault, assault, decapitation, etc. The remainder of the films were incredibly dark and their meaning equally obscure, if well done. We came away unsettled and curious that these were what the Academy chose. They do reflect the times, I fear.
After seeing several houses, I bid on a very sweet one. I offered $100,000 over the asking price. It sold for $140,000 over, 25% extra! Chastened, I’ll revisit another I liked this afternoon and shall likely proffer a hefty bid on Monday. I can afford it. I feel for young families with children who are trying to escape the rental market or move into something large enough to accommodate them. Apparently wealthy New Yorkers and Bostonians are coming in with satchels of cash, snapping up the few available properties. I’m aware of the undercurrent of my own discomfort—uncertainty—with the process of buying, moving, etc.
To add to it, I bought an electric car yesterday. I drove to the Maine Mall to buy new, lighter weight guitar strings. My good friend in the Bay Area, Jon, upon hearing me complain that my grip no longer was sufficient to easily fret my medium weight strings, suggested ultra-light. “It’s just like playing an electric guitar.” They don’t have to project, since I play only for myself. I was also going to buy a rack on which to roast a chicken; my brother and his wife are coming for supper Wednesday. As I passed the Nissan dealership, my car pulled in and parked. I’d wondered about their all-electric car. 2 hours later I drove across the street to Guitar Center and bought the strings, the proud owner of a new Leaf. $9500 in state and federal rebates contributed to my temptation.
It adds to my anxiety, however, as I wondered about running out of electricity on a trip. It’s about 240mi to Harold and Connie’s in Old Chatham, NY; my maximum range is 150mi. I downloaded several apps and realized that with a 40 minute stop for a quick recharge halfway there (and halfway returning) I’ll be fine. When I go to the Island, there is a charging station at the General Store in Brooklin where my daughter lives. I also can charge it slowly overnight at her house using a standard electrical outlet with an extension cord. I took it for a spin and it is impressive. No more antifreeze or oil changes. I never got the roasting rack.
Stopping to recharge will turn a jaunt into a journey, a pause for refreshing and reflecting. “It’s the journey, not the arrival, that matters.” I thought Ram Dass (Richard Alpert) said that. Google says it was T. S. Eliot, but their quote is “The journey, not the destination, matters.” “Destination” is different than “Arrival”. It is also suspect because the quote is dated 2019; Eliot died 57years ago. Perhaps Google has a greater reach than is apparent. When driving more than the car’s range, I will feel a bit like the early pioneers, heading west in their wagons, hoping to find a stream to let the oxen drink. In between I’ll be zipping along at 75mph, however.
When I think about the flux in my life, the small degrees of uncertainty thereby created, and my resultant mild anxiety—with excitement, of course—I feel silly. The Ukrainians are being bombed and killed—as well as shot, raped, and all the other pleasantries of war—, often have no food or water, and their homes and possessions have been looted or destroyed. I feel ashamed to whine to myself, let alone for an audience. And I don’t want geographic distance or lack of media coverage to normalize or minimize for me the ongoing horrific human tragedies in Myanmar, as well. Then there’s Yemen, Eritrea, Venezuela…….
My sister, at 92yo, had a virginal cave experience recently and was enthralled with it. I totally understand, since I am taken with caves, as well. The many caves outside of Hpa An in Myanmar are filled with Buddhist iconography. Hiking through a massive one, around curves and up and down a hill, one exits at the brim of a sparkling, small lake. Stepping into a boat, you are paddled into and through another [but flooded] cave, returning to the sunlight where your taxi driver agreed to meet you. Hiking in Khao Sok National Park, a 50 million year old rain forest, in Thailand last May, my guide and I waded the stream flowing through a cave which burrowed beneath a small mountain. Another remarkable cave was in Halong Bay in northeastern Vietnam. Cruising overnight on a motorized junk through the 1800+ schist islands, we put ashore on one which contained an immense cave. The Vietnamese hid an entire army there centuries ago. When the Chinese invaders passed, the Vietnamese soldiers slipped behind them and dispatched them (I don’t recall where the boats were hidden to allow for this stalking.). For me, going into a cave is a little bit like scuba diving, enjoying a world concealed from our normal view. Fortunately, you can breathe without assistance, a significant advantage.
The Republican’s interrogation of an accomplished and distinguished Judge for our Supreme Court was disrespectful and disgraceful. Mr. Chin continues to try mightily to mass opposition to her confirmation. Is it just because she is appointed by Joe Biden that they treat her so? Or because she is Black? Or a woman? Or what? She seems, judging by her history, her record and her recommendations (national police organizations, other [Republican] judges) to be exceptionally thoughtful and even-handed. She carried herself with poise and grace, not deigning to throw their mudballs back at the boys. I wish they’d stop talking about “the first Black woman on the Court”. She stands on her own merit as an extraordinary legal mind, man/woman/black/white, whatever. I wrote Senator Collins a compliment; generally my notes to her are cautioning. Even in the minority, Judge Jackson will have a salutary effect on this very partisan court. And Clarence and Ginni—-good grief! It is pretty funny to watch DT and Madison Cawthorn self-immolate repeatedly; it’s not laughable that it took the latter spinning tales of GOP Senatorial orgies and coke-binges to evoke any verbal censure from Senators of his party.
Hearing that the UK plans to address their energy needs with windmills and 11 new nuclear power plants, I suspect other countries, including the US, will use the nuclear option as well, as we try to wean off of petroleum. UK is cursed with a lack of sunlight, so solar is not likely a useful option. The potential for a nuclear disaster grows exponentially. We are too damned many on our little orb.
Using my retrospectoscope and having noted the savagery visited on civilians, I now wonder if we shouldn’t have intervened more directly with our planes and missiles in Ukraine. Bullies best understand force. It is playing with nuclear fire, I know. It’s a tough call. Vlad can always arm his ICBM’s if he feels the impulse. He is facile in fabricating his own pretexts for cruelty.
A Psychiatrist in Myanmar 