Cool Nights

[Above photo: Gaby and Michael, including their two dogs, sailing the Bay in Blue Onion, their yacht.  I suspect they have more fun and laughter on theirs than Jeff Bezos will on his. One of the dogs, who love to go on the boat, fell in.]

12 August 2022

Summer is winding down. While it is still warm and pleasant during the day, the nights are crisp. I keep the window at the head of my bed cracked so I can enjoy the pure, cool air. That is never the case in the tropics, ever, unless c/o Carrier.

Connie and Harold arrive tomorrow for 5 days. I had a dream last night in which I was running a gathering at Harvard for incoming freshmen (First years?). I was pretty casual about my role until I realized that the meeting had a lot of potential: to assuage anxiety, to alert them to the 4 year banquet before them, to help them to pursue their interests and develop their talents, etc. It amazed me, in my dream, that upon taking responsibility for running the meeting, a flood of useful ideas came to me.

Upon awakening, my associations led me to when I was a freshman, not feeling confident of my intellect and being totally unsure of what I wanted for myself from the experience. I was content to work hard at what I was told to do, not at all the explorer I would later become. It would be helpful, I think, to have a high school class on “The Rest of Your Life” or some such. Some way to catch the attention of the student, to help them develop their curiosity and feel adequate to venture into new territory(s). And to recognize the amazing opportunities offered to an undergraduate. I think the prompt for the dream was because Harold has always appeared to have that intellectual confidence, curiosity, and drive.

Bernard Shaw’s “Education [alternately, “Youth”] is wasted on the young.” [and its corollary, “Wealth is wasted on the old.”] reflects a chronic dilemma. We want to educate our young but many are too young (inexperienced) to appreciate and fully exploit the opportunity.  In a way, the European (and Asian/African) system makes sense. Go to professional/trade/technical school right out of high school. Those who are unready to truly open their minds can learn, follow the rules, master the subjects taught them. Later, they can “develop” themselves more fully. Even as I say this, it sounds like nonsense. In developing countries youth don’t first go to liberal arts colleges before professional or technical schools because it saves a few years of education and moves them into the workforce more rapidly and efficiently.

Beto O’Rourke’s campaigning profile in the Times today was very moving. He has been driving furiously over the vast expanse of red-state Texas to hold campaign rallies in tiny towns in hopes of garnering a few more votes, anticipating the predictable harassment by Trumpers, who constitute the vast majority of the population, clinging to their open carry, AR-15’s, and abortion bans.

Trump’s use of fear to sew chaos and division has been remarkably effective in the American populace. I wonder what de Tocqueville would make of it. “Caravans” of Central American migrants crossing Mexico to “invade” the US. “Scary” Muslims. And so forth, while he cozies up to truly scary dictators and his son-in-law lands a 2 billion dollar investment from the Saudis. And what does MBS expect from Jared, who has little investing experience and almost sank the Kushner real estate enterprise with a previous ill-advised purchase?  Demon rum may be the Devil’s work but Money is truly the root of much evil.

[I am so uninspired that I should probably deep-six this post!]

I had a lovely afternoon yesterday. My distant cousin (the age of a niece) is on the island for a week with her 8yo son, especially to visit her mother who spends her summers here. I offered to take the two of them to Butter Island in Tern, our speedy launch. To get the boat off the mooring I took a tiny (child’s) sit-on-top kayak which I am sure I used last summer for the same purpose. We’d need a vessel at the other end when I’d anchor the boat after dropping them ashore. 10 feet from shore I decided the kayak was too tippy and, confirming my observation, it overturned as I attempted to return to the beach. Soaking, I dragged it ashore and was pleased I had stowed my phone in a small dry-bag within my backpack, although I hadn’t thought to include my wallet.

I carried a more capable plastic kayak to the water and, dripping, retrieved Tern, picking them up at the dock. Hugh steered the entire way and was a model helmsman, paying full attention to the task, avoiding the lobster buoys in our path. Upon arriving at the beach on Butter, I left them on shore, set Tern’s picnic anchor, and paddled the more stable kayak to land. Others were there with small boats, several were swimming, and there were even two who were camping, having arrived by stand-up paddleboard.

We walked the beach and headed into the woods on the marked trail up a hill. Tom Cabot, whose family owns the island and who cruised these waters for years, died in 1995.  A granite bench, inscribed with a likeness of his sailboat, was placed by helicopter on the top of a ridge from which it is possible to view many of the islands of Penobscot Bay.

Before we hiked up, I told Hugh that I had a surprise I thought he’d enjoy when we got to the top. I brought out a parabolic nylon kite and, after a few attempts, Hugh managed to fly it high above us. When we’d had enough we reeled it in, descended, climbed on the boat, and zipped back to our island. Hugh asked, “Maybe someday I can be the boat driver for the island?” I affirmed that he surely could if he wished and if he practiced a lot when he was here.

It was a nice afternoon. Children are the future. Hearing of the floods, fires, and droughts worldwide, I wonder how that will be.