We are driving south on the Thruway once again. Heading to New York City for the weekend. Gary will be going to see a Met game with our son on Saturday. I will find ways to amuse myself – not a difficult assignment in the City (in my heart the one and only city :)).
I am struck by the disconnect between my life and the world at large. It is a beautiful day. The green hills of the Catskills are showing hints of color as we approach fall, they still look green and lush. The air is clear, the is sky a cloudless, azure, and the sun is beaming. If I only look at the world right in front of me, it is lovely. But, I know better. If I cast a wider look I think of the tragedies around the world (in Gaza, Israel, Ukraine, etc.), the crackdown on free speech, the unrelenting gun violence in our country, the degradation of our environment that leads to more and more natural disasters, the fear that immigrant families live with, the extraordinary corruption and lack of integrity of Donald Trump. Most of those realities don’t touch me directly. Not yet, anyway. I am fortunate. I can afford higher prices in the supermarket and at the gas pump. I already own a home. Gary and I have savings – hopefully enough to ensure a comfortable retirement. We are able to make these pleasant plans for the weekend.
I look at the cars streaming down the highway, wondering about the inhabitants. Are they like me, heading off to pleasant destinations? If they aren’t faced with serious illness or job loss/uncertainty, are they just taking things at face value, telling themselves, “It’s all good.”
I worry that people like me, who are in my economic situation more or less, can delude themselves that everything is okay. If your immediate family is okay – they are gainfully employed, aren’t married to immigrants, perhaps own homes, if their children are healthy – you can put your head down and ignore everything that is going in the wrong direction. They may not be paying attention to the larger picture. Maybe they don’t need Medicaid, maybe their employment isn’t impacted by federal budget cuts, maybe the confusion around vaccinations isn’t concerning if they aren’t immunocompromised, maybe they assume that since they have resources, their children and grandchildren will be protected.
But life is fragile, and things can change on a dime.
A mass shooting and/or random violence can strike anyone. A natural disaster can unmoor a whole family. Illness can change everything. We don’t have control over these things, for the most part, but when they happen, we hope to have support to get through it. Some things could help minimize the occurrences – gun control (or see my last essay on repealing the second amendment), more mental health services, steps to slow down climate change could help. But even if we can’t stop these things from happening, we can build supports to help us cope and knowing that support is there, can lessen the anxiety. The current attitude, though, is in the opposite direction. Our social safety net is being decimated. Cutting FEMA, loosening environmental regulations, reducing funding for mental health and pulling government resources from medical research are all disastrous policy choices.
More than that, though, the attitude that is allowing all this to happen flows from our president, his callousness, his thirst for revenge, his selfishness. We, the American people, are being led by someone who is a terrible role model, and we are worse for it. We cannot allow his character flaws to become part of our national character.
The danger is that if our lives are largely blessed, or if our vision is narrow, we can pretend all of this is not happening.
I hope your eyes are open. I hope, as we approach the midterm elections, you pick your head up and use a wide lens to look around and then vote accordingly. It’s not all good and if we continue on this road, we will no longer be the United State of America that I grew up believing in, its values established in the Declaration of Independence: We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men* are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.
*I note the archaic use of the term men and understand it to mean all humans.
Lady Liberty still stands in the harbor of New York City, as viewed from Governor’s Island on a recent visit.
Repeal the second amendment! I know that is an inflammatory statement, and maybe unpopular, too, but I need to put it out there.
It would be the ultimate irony if we made progress on gun control after Charlie Kirk’s assassination. My heart does go out to his family, and all those affected by gun violence. Charlie Kirk, though, does not deserve martyrdom. He did a great deal of damage, bringing a message of intolerance and divisiveness to young people on college campuses. I watched a number of videos of him espousing his beliefs. In some instances, I actually agreed with his point (I don’t think Cardi B is a great role model). However, even in those instances, he did it in a disrespectful, one-sided way. I don’t think Britney Spears or Madonna were great role models for little girls either – and for the same reason. We shouldn’t be sexualizing young girls. Why focus only on a Black star? But that isn’t my point, it is just illustrative of the problem with how Kirk approached things. His racism ran deep, and he was oblivious to his privilege. He shouldn’t be lionized in death.
Now back to my main point: we should repeal the second amendment. I welcome arguments to the contrary, but please don’t bother explaining the meaning of the second amendment to me – whether it was intended only for militias or individuals. I don’t care what our forefathers intended, just as I wouldn’t accept the argument that because our forefathers tolerated (supported? profited from? believed in? were indifferent to? – pick your verb) slavery, holds no water today. We know better. We should know better about guns.
For those who require guns to hunt, to protect livestock, to protect us, we can make provisions in law; we can set up mechanisms to allow for that. But, we have to let go of the notion that owning a gun is a God-given right. Some of us don’t believe in God, for one thing, but that aside, even if we can all agree in a common morality – like ‘thou shall not kill’ – I don’t understand how that morality includes gun ownership.
The Bill of Rights protects our freedom. How do guns protect our freedom? I could more effectively argue that owning a car is more connected to being free in this country than having a gun. We don’t believe that owning a car is a God-given right. Someone explain to me, in the context of the world we live in now, how possessing a gun enhances your freedom, or is essential to your freedom.
Somewhere along the line we got things twisted in this country. There may have been a time when settling the ‘wild west’ or living a pioneer life, folks needed guns for their survival. That time has passed. As time went on, though, the gun became symbolic of something else (of rugged individualism, of strength, of masculinity…) – not just a tool to hunt or even to protect oneself. If we have gotten to the point where every man, woman and child needs a gun to protect themselves, we are lost.
Most Democrats are not willing to say that the second amendment should be repealed. The attachment to guns is too strong, the gun lobby is too powerful (still! – despite the fact that the NRA has been discredited). I believe we need to be bolder. If we start from the presumption that we don’t have a God-given or forefather-given right to have a gun, so much becomes possible. We can still have shooting ranges. People can still hunt, though unless you hunt for food, I don’t understand the pleasure in that – but that is just me. Police and other security-related people can be armed. But it can all be regulated. And, it moves the question of regular folks having automatic weapons off the table – we wouldn’t need a special law to prohibit it. Think how much simpler it would be – we wouldn’t have to argue about what the second amendment actually means! We’d save millions of dollars in litigation costs.
I understand how freedom of speech, assembly, press and religion relate to freedom. It is a direct connection to the way we live our lives. I get why we have the Bill of Rights. Those activities are central, crucial to our liberty. It is not a slippery slope if we were to remove the second amendment. The right to bear arms has not made us more free and won’t make us more free. Hasn’t that point been made again and again over the last 25 years!?
I believe the exact opposite of what Charlie Kirk espoused. The second amendment is not worth the loss of life we as a country have endured. The rate of gun violence is too high a price to pay for the right to bear arms.
Almost two years ago, September 4, 2023 to be exact, I posted a blog entitled “Walking or Hiking?” It recounted an experience Gary and I had at Minnewaska State Park. We took a trail that was more demanding than expected and it was a hot day. We made it, but not without struggle, and not without Gary providing me necessary support. You can read that account here.
This past Friday we went back to the same park with the intention of doing the same trail. When we got to the visitor’s center and asked about the condition of the trail, we were told it wasn’t a wise choice because they had gotten over three inches of rain the day before and that route, which crossed a stream, would have taken a beating. We decided to take a different trail that would end at the same view but would likely be in better shape.
The reason we returned to the scene of that challenge was that some things were different this time around. I am 52 pounds lighter and more fit. I wanted to test myself. I told Gary a few months ago that when I had reached the 50-pound milestone I wanted to try the demanding hike again.
This weight loss journey has been an interesting one. A little over a year ago my bloodwork revealed I was prediabetic. I was not especially surprised given my family history. Diabetes is epidemic in my family. In some ways I knew it was just a matter of time. I hoped the fact that I was always active would stave it off, but the Covid lockdown had added yet more weight to my already heavy body, so I was losing the battle. I needed to do something.
I have done many diets over the years and found some success with Weight Watchers but I had never been able to sustain it. The Covid shutdown, which wreaked havoc with my emotional state and limited my exercise, did me in and I never recovered. It was time to consider a new option. In the past I had always been leery of fad diets, surgery or meal replacement approaches because I didn’t think any of them addressed the root problem. Now the weight-loss landscape has changed with the introduction of medications (GLP1’s). My doctor recommended Wegovy. After much consideration, and consulting with my husband who has hundreds of patients using these drugs, I decided to try it.
The first hurdle was getting preapproval from my insurance company. There were hoops and loops to jump through, but the reality was that I met the criteria, and they did ultimately approve me.
The second hurdle was that it is an injection. That turned out to be a non-issue. The medication is not delivered by syringe, it is a pen. You barely see the needle and it comes pre-measured. It wasn’t particularly painful either. That was a relief.
Next issue, was side effects. This I did have to deal with. When I started, I felt some queasiness, but that resolved. The bigger issue, and this may be TMI for some readers, was constipation. I am prone to that to begin with and this made it worse. Some folks have the opposite problem on these drugs. Anyway, it took a while to work that out – making good dietary choices and generous amounts of Metamucil or sometimes MiraLAX helped. Eventually I got to a tolerable place.
But there were other side effects that built up. I have reflux (heartburn). These medications slow digestion. Again, I have a slow system to begin with. The food sitting in my stomach created more reflux. That is my unscientific explanation for what was happening. For a while this was manageable. As time went on, it became worse. The low point was when I experienced episodes of water brashing, a situation where your glands overproduce saliva not unlike what happens before you vomit in order to neutralize the acid in your esophagus. (My doctor explained this to me when I asked what was happening.) It was very unpleasant. Three weeks ago, I decided to stop taking Wegovy even though I believe I still need to lose weight – at least 15 pounds. But the discomfort was too intense to continue. Thankfully, within a week I was so much more comfortable! I had been on Wegovy a little over a year.
For me, Wegovy was not a miracle drug, even in terms of the weight loss. Yes, I lost 54 pounds and my recent bloodwork showed that I was no longer prediabetic. But it wasn’t magic. Aside from the side effects, it didn’t entirely change my appetite or remove my issues around food. I still wanted more pasta than protein or vegetables. I still have a sweet tooth. And, the impulse to eat for emotional reasons is still present.
It is interesting to me how this drug has different impacts on people. According to Gary, who has prescribed GLP1s for soooo many diabetic patients, some folks entirely lose their appetite and are unable to eat. They have to stop taking it since it becomes risky. Some folks have no impact on their appetite and experience little weight loss. Others report that the noise in their head about food, the craving or the urges, are greatly reduced or for some is gone entirely. I had the experience of the noise lessening. If there were cookies in the house, they were no longer calling to me, at least not loudly, more of a whisper.
I still had to make choices about my diet. I have heard from some friends that they know people who took Wegovy (or Zepbound, another weight loss drug widely prescribed) and would order mozzarella sticks or some other similarly unhealthy item for dinner, but just not eat the whole portion. In other words, they made poor choices, but lost weight. Or other people who only ate one meal a day. I didn’t do either of those things and wasn’t tempted to. The biggest change for me was in portion size. I am a carb addict. This is where I have my toughest challenge. I love carbs in all their forms, particularly pasta, bread and rice. Potato is low on my priority list, but I still love me a baked potato with butter. Anyway, controlling the amount of intake is a major hurdle for me. This is where Wegovy was most successful. I could have a reasonable amount because I would get full more quickly, I could feel that I was full (before taking the medication, I didn’t necessarily perceive fullness until it was way too late), and I knew that I would be terribly uncomfortable if I continued eating beyond fullness.
In sum, from my experience, the medication helped me to adhere to a Weight Watcher style eating program. I ate what I wanted, more or less, but modestly. Before Wegovy I had a relatively healthy diet, just too much of it, with the added bonus of having a sweet tooth. If it was up to me every meal would include dessert. With medication, since I was feeling full and the noise around cravings had quieted, I was able to control the sweet tooth. That’s how I found success.
When the side effects became too much, I stopped taking it. Now it remains to be seen if I can sustain the good habits. I already am aware of the increase in wanting sweets. I am trying to keep the portion sizes moderate. So far, and it is way too soon to reach any conclusions, I am managing it.
I am continuing to weigh myself. It isn’t hard to weigh yourself regularly when you are seeing weight loss. Other than going to the doctor, when I couldn’t avoid it, I probably hadn’t weighed myself at home for five years or more until I started taking the Wegovy. I was in denial. I can’t let myself do that again. After a week of being off the medication, I had gained two pounds. I freaked out. I told Gary I needed a pep talk. He is very good at that. He said some very useful things.
First, he pointed out that two pounds is a small fraction of what I lost. He told me not to panic; it was to be expected. He reminded me that I needed to give myself more time to adjust – that I had spent a year developing good habits, not only making healthier food choices, but incorporating more exercise (I took up yoga, as I also have written about). Even if I gained some of the weight back, I would still be better off than I was before. He reassured me that regardless of my size, he loved me (yes, he said that, and I needed to hear it). And, he suggested we go to Minnewaska and see how different I felt climbing that mountain.
Last Friday we went. Though we didn’t do the Millbrook Mountain footpath that we had done before, we took the carriage road to another footpath, Gertrude’s Nose, which was higher up and involved fewer streams/creeks. It was a demanding hike that was about 6.5 miles round trip. It was not as hot as it was two years ago, but it was probably longer and certainly as physically demanding with a couple of scrambles. I managed to sweat profusely. We brought more water this time. We reached Gertrude’s Nose, which has a great payoff with a beautiful view, and I was in good shape. I wasn’t winded and my legs were strong. Very different from how I felt the other time.
The view from Gertrude’s Nose
We returned the way we came. We stopped twice briefly to sit but otherwise got back to the car without issue. It was a spectacular hike, and I felt proud of myself. My body was tired, but it should have felt tired.
2025 -I made it2023 – before the climb and the weight loss2025 -My hiking sticks resting. I needed them!
Hopefully the reward of being more fit, of fitting into my clothes and feeling overall better about my body will provide enough motivation to stay on the course.
I am continuing to navigate this path – I have weighed myself and it bounces around. I lost the two pounds I gained, then went up a pound. Maybe these are normal fluctuations. The weight loss wasn’t a straight line downhill either. I am trying to be honest with myself about portion sizes. I am trying to listen to my body to recognize fullness. It isn’t simple. And, I reserve the right to try the other weight loss drug, if I need to (and insurance approves it). Please don’t judge me.
Use of weight loss drugs is a sensitive subject. I see no reason to keep it a secret, but it is something people have opinions about. I could write a whole other essay about that and maybe I will. For now, I will end with this thought: taking care of yourself can be a complicated issue. Most of us struggle with it one way or another. Let’s wish each other well on our journeys. If we have something genuinely helpful to say, great; if not, spare the judgment.
Apparently, I set goals for 2024. Who knew? I didn’t remember that I had done that until Facebook brought it to my attention as a memory. It was interesting to review! It probably helps to keep them in mind if one hopes to achieve them! That is probably the first step in successful goal management – review them periodically. Considering that I didn’t, it is interesting to find that some were met.
So, what were those goals? The first one was to read Moby Dick. Nope – didn’t happen. Totally forgot I wanted to do that. I did read 27 books and the only reason I know that is that I track it on Goodreads. Though I didn’t read Moby Dick, I did get a lot from reading Viktor Frankl’s Man’s Search for Meaning, a very different classic text. As an aside, I also particularly enjoyed Elizabeth Strout’s Abide with Me (I love her books) and The Personal Librarian. I have to admit, I don’t feel bad that I didn’t achieve that particular goal.
Another item on my list was to write almost every day. I noted that I had only written 29 blog posts in 2023. My unstated goal was to update the blog weekly which would mean 52. Well, I wrote 27 in 2024. (Same number as books I read – coincidence?) I seem to be moving in the opposite direction. In fairness, I also suggested on that list that maybe my goal should be to reassess how frequently I put up a new essay. I didn’t do that either. The truth is I can’t decide if it is good to put pressure on myself to produce pieces, or if I am comfortable taking a more freeform approach and write when I feel like it. I go back and forth – feeling kind of guilty when I don’t post for a while and then thinking that there isn’t any particular standard I need to meet. One concern is that I do want to have a readership, and it is likely to be difficult to build and sustain an audience if there isn’t a continuing conversation. I’m not sure where that leaves me. Not surprisingly, I’m continuing to have an internal dialogue on this with no conclusion. Perhaps 2025 will bring a resolution to this! Knowing me, probably not. Let’s be real.
Next on the list was to send 10 query letters to literary agents – this is how I will get my book published. I sent eight and entered one memoir writing contest. I’ll count that as a win. Unfortunately, I literally got zero responses to those inquiries, but that brings me to the next goal: Accept rejection and move onward. Fair to say I achieved that, too. I continue to work toward getting my book published. It is slow going and frustrating, but I haven’t given up. Ultimately, I can decide to self-publish, so one way or another, I will put it out there. I’m not ready to abandon my hope of having an established publishing house pick it up, there are still a lot of avenues to explore. Let’s hope 2025 brings progress on this.
My sixth goal was to stop wanting more. I included a short poem on that topic within the list (https://stories-i-tell-myself.com/2023/12/31/goals-for-2024/). This may be the thing I’ve been most successful with and oddly enough it has happened organically. It wasn’t something I had to work at consciously– something shifted. I let go of some expectations that were not serving me and that was the result of coming to peace with certain realities. Of course that doesn’t mean I wasn’t ever disappointed, but generally I felt more content. I’m glad I reviewed this list and came upon this realization.
I ended my list with two concrete things: plan a trip and sort through the clutter. I’m batting .500 on those. I planned several trips (and loved them) and am continuing to plan more of them. I enjoy both the planning and execution of travel (not the flying part – there is always such aggravation with airports, delays, crowds, etc.), but I continue to love going to new places and they don’t have to be exotic or far away. We took a long weekend to Ausable Chasm, in the northeast corner of New York State, and had a great time exploring (in fact that led to a blog post).
A view from our trip to Ausable Chasm
Sorry to say I made little to no progress sorting through the clutter. I don’t think I’ve added to it, so that is good. I’ve been conscientious about not creating new piles of paper or adding knick-knacks. Gary, with his increased time off, has been cleaning out the garage – can I get credit for that? I’ll take that as a no.
This review was a good exercise, even if it was unplanned. Maybe this should be my approach: make a list of goals for 2025, forget about them and then be surprised when Facebook reminds me. It worked relatively well in 2024.
Do you make a practice of setting goals or making New Year’s resolutions? What works for you?
On July 8, 2024 I posted a blog asking Joe Biden and Donald Trump to step aside. One of them did. On July 21st, President Biden stopped his campaign and endorsed Kamala Harris. Before I published that blog, I sent an email to the White House thanking President Biden for his excellent service but suggesting that it was time to end his candidacy in favor of a younger person. Do you think I can take credit for his decision? Have I become an influencer? I’d like to take credit. I’m kidding, of course, I am not delusional. Without taking undue responsibility, I will admit to being relieved and energized by the turn of events.
Now if only the Republicans would take heed of the Democrats’ success and dump Trump and offer America a good alternative, then we could have a real, substantive contest. We have a close race now, but for many of us the possibility of another Trump presidency is horrifying. He is not a serious person, he is a cartoon character who doesn’t have values or policies; and, more than that, he is dangerous because he is impulsive and ill-informed. It would be better for our country if we could choose between two respectable, intelligent people who simply represent different visions of how the country can achieve success.
I did not watch a lot of the Democratic Convention. I saw snippets and caught up with some of the speeches after the fact. The most meaningful scene that I did watch live was Tim Walz’s speech when his son leapt up in enthusiasm and love and shouted, “That’s my Dad!” How could you not get chills and/or cry seeing that? This moved me on many levels. First, I am thrilled that the Walz family and the campaign saw no need to hide Gus (I don’t know what went on behind the scenes, hopefully campaign advisors had either no say in how this was handled or were supportive of his visibility). Not that long ago, I can imagine that a candidate might make a different choice. Gus may have an observable disability, but that should not be a bar to participating in his family’s moment of pride. He should be there to celebrate and express himself (as long as it was a healthy, positive choice for him). It is important for us as a society to see the full range of humanity.
Then there is the freedom with which Gus showed his emotion. Good for him! Many of us, including women, are much more constrained. We can all learn from that and get comfortable with tears of joy and sorrow. Though it may be more socially acceptable for women to cry, at least in some contexts, it can still be judged negatively. I find it ironic that Trump’s histrionics are ignored, and even celebrated, but Gus’ s tears have been mocked on right wing social media. For folks who make those kinds of comments, the world is upside down. Cruelty is celebrated, signs of strength are seen as signs of weakness, wrong is right…that is Trump World.
It was also heartening to see such a raw, genuine expression of love for his father. It says something important about Tim Walz and his character. After his selection as the nominee, I did some reading about him. Before I knew next to nothing beyond that he is governor of Minnesota and I might not have even known that! The articles I read revealed that he was an exemplary teacher (in my view, excellent teachers share many of the qualities of wonderful parents). Former students have said glowing things about him. If you haven’t read this article, which recounts how his class predicted the Rwandan genocide, I urge you to. It is an example of what fine teachers can do: provide students with an opportunity to think, to analyze and to understand. They participated in an exercise that went beyond learning important dates and names and gave them skills and ideas that will make them better citizens of the world. Here is the link to that article: https://www.nytimes.com/2008/04/23/education/23education.html
This type of teaching makes me think of my dad, who was also a high school social studies teacher who wrote curriculum on the Holocaust, and that is a high compliment. Dad was a great teacher and father.
The more I read, the more I see of them, the more impressed I am with the Harris/Walz team. Maybe, just maybe, we are beginning to turn the corner. I am hopeful that the fever has broken and Trump’s hold on the Republican party and a good portion of America is breaking. There is plenty of room in America for different views of policy without the vitriol, without the ugly threats and negativity, without the fear of devolving into violence. Let’s do our part to turn the page.
Maybe it’s just me, but the political narrative that gets presented in the media makes no sense. I’m listening to a podcast where New York Times columnists are talking about the relatively healthy economy and why people are still not optimistic or confident in it. They are hypothesizing about Covid lag, lingering inflation, negative feelings about Joe Biden. Those things may be relevant, but I don’t think that is what is at play in the poll numbers.
I think the reason the polls show negativity is because, though the survey questions may target the economy, people are pessimistic because the world is going to shit. Everywhere you look, it is scary. I think this view applies to Democrats, Republicans and Independents. Personally, I find the divisiveness in our country, whether it is around Trump’s trials, the war in Gaza, global warming or the issues the panelists were talking about (lingering effects of Covid and inflation), call into question whether we will be able to come together to address the problems. I don’t think I am alone in being pessimistic. We are a country famous, maybe even envied, for our optimism. I’m not sure that still applies.
In fact, just the other day I was at a gathering at my daughter’s house. A friend of hers was talking about his lack of hope generally, that it was hard to find things that inspired confidence in the future. He made the point that one of the few bright spots, something he was grateful for, was the young children of his friends. When he looked at them, their innocence and promise, it made him feel better. The man who was expressing this thought is in his mid-thirties.
Ever since that march in Charlottesville in August of 2017, the Unite the Right Rally where folks were marching with tiki torches, and our President couldn’t condemn it, I have been uneasy. I imagine for some that might not have been as seminal a moment as it was for me, but there have been so many things that have happened since then that make me question whether we live in the same reality. That event hit me hard. I thought I was watching something that happened fifty years ago, not a protest in an enlightened college town. And things have only gotten worse. The chasm has widened.
There is the possibility that we have always been this divided, but we just didn’t know it. People’s ugliest thoughts weren’t broadcast on social media. If someone stood on a soap box in a town square, even Union Square in New York City, and proclaimed that (insert your favorite scapegoats) were the devil, it was likely to fall on deaf ears. Now that person gets support from people across the globe who share a similar warped world view and the idea gets momentum. It also gets overrepresented in the social media narrative because it generates clicks – controversy or outrageousness always does. It is hard to get a handle on how many believers there really are when you have bots and trolls and foreign and domestic agents who benefit from the chaos.
If you ask me that classic question, “Are you better off today than four years ago?” I don’t know how to answer that. My economic situation is about the same, maybe better, but the precariousness of the health of the world, in every sense, affects my response. My feeling has little to do with Joe Biden or his policies. To me it feels like he is working to hold back a tsunami of terrible things – trying to preserve women’s reproductive rights, slowing climate change, bolstering the economy, minimizing inflation, reducing tensions in the Middle East, addressing crime, the list can go on. Some would include the southern border as a crisis. In some ways it is, but in other ways it is a manufactured panic. There are real problems with our immigration system, but some politicians are invested in keeping it a problem rather than making it better. I think Biden is doing a reasonable job against staggering obstacles. He has not created these problems.
No matter how good a job he does, though, it pales in comparison to the challenges. And it is done in the setting of unprecedented division.
I see footage of what is going on at Columbia University and other college campuses where backers of Palestinians have set up encampments to protest United States support of Israel and the universities’ investment in Israel and/or our defense industry that aids Israel. Separate and apart from the rightness or wrongness of the protesters’ positions (a topic for another essay), there is a way to get your message across effectively. If the idea is to win people over to your side, persuade them of the righteousness of your position, it isn’t by shutting down traffic on the Golden Gate Bridge or harassing Jewish students or impeding folks from getting to their calculus class. In most cities, (perhaps all cities – I am not a lawyer) you need a permit to stage a protest or march. There is good reason for this. It goes back to the balancing of different legitimate interests: the protesters and other citizens going about their lives. It is fine to disrupt the routine, to a degree. But you can’t purposely jeopardize public safety. I’ve attended any number of rallies for causes. I believe in showing up to voice my opinion on public policy, but there is a way to do it. Chanting hateful slogans doesn’t help either.
We live in confusing times. I think the polls reflect people’s general uneasiness, not a judgment of the economy. I wish Biden was more effective at communicating his vision for the future of our country. I do fault him for not showing clarity of purpose and leadership, but I don’t hold him responsible for the sorry state of our union. I believe we are suffering the effects of the cynicism, greed and fear that has become the stock and trade of the Republican party, along with the poisonous influence of social media over the last decade. Add in natural disasters which are increasingly frequent with climate change, seemingly endless wars across the globe and it feels overwhelming. I don’t know what the solution is, but we need to understand and acknowledge what we are dealing with before we can find answers. Polls are not shedding light on the issue. We need to be asking different questions.
Money can be a great thing. Not a surprising a statement. This notion was reinforced by the tour we took of Olana, home of Frederick Church, one of the significant painters of the Hudson River School. Church was born into a monied family. He may have disappointed his father when he announced his plan to be an artist as a teenager, but he had the luxury of making that choice. He was able to pursue and fulfill his dream. He wasn’t under pressure to make money; he could take his family on an 18-month trip to Europe and the Middle East without worrying about where his next dollar was coming from. He could come back inspired by all he had seen, buying knick-knacks and artwork, and full of ideas for building his own home in Hudson, New York. Olana was born at least in part from that trip and thanks to his vision we can enjoy his property today.
Olana, we learned, didn’t just refer to the building – which was the family home; it referred to the whole property including the acres of land surrounding it. Church viewed the whole thing, the land and his home, as a unified piece of art. Church would buy parcels as they came up for sale in order to preserve the views he found so inspiring. Here are two views from our walk of the property:
He painted many landscapes of the Catskills and Hudson River from here. When Church arrived in the area, the land had been clear cut of trees. The property was barren. He wanted to restore its natural habitat. It was the fashion of the time to plant exotic trees and plants, bringing home flora from Europe and the Middle East, but Church didn’t adopt that approach. He used native trees, and he purposely left open spaces to frame vistas. He took an artist’s approach to the project, specifying where the plantings should end so he could have a pleasing view of the mountains, rivers and farms that surrounded his property. We are fortunate that Church was a visionary. He left us a magnificent place to explore and appreciate the beauty that Is the Hudson Valley.
While we were walking the land, our guide pointed out a small cement factory that we could see in the distance. A number of years ago there had been a proposal to build another factory that would have included a 40-story smokestack. The idea was moving ahead until some in the area got wind of it and objected. Ultimately, the plan was defeated. The guide believed that if the plan had gone ahead, it would have ruined Olana. I wondered if that was the case. A view would have certainly been diminished but did that mean that Olana could no longer be a place people would want to visit and hike? Would it literally have ruined Olana? Certainly if the emissions from the smokestack were noxious, it would have. The question is moot since the State rejected the proposal.
After the last of the heirs of Church died, the land and house became a New York State Park. I am in favor of preserving wild spaces, especially for public use. But there is a balance. Economic development is also important. People need to make a living. Many towns in the Catskills have struggled and lost population. Our guide explained that Olana itself is not an insignificant employer in the region. It is a dilemma faced all over the country – the tension between development and preservation; these tensions are regularly encountered in the Adirondacks. I don’t reflexively reject development. I want to understand the implications, the costs and benefits, before coming to a conclusion. Unfortunately, it can be hard to come by good information on that. I think many of us have a knee jerk reaction to these issues. We can be predisposed to believe that any encroachment on nature is a negative thing (especially when it involves our own property or neighborhood), or we may automatically support anything that promises more jobs and tax revenue. Neither of those reactions are useful in effective policymaking.
As we finished our walk of the property, the guide asked us what we thought of the house – meaning the design of the structure. All of us on the tour liked it but saw different things in it. Some were reminded of an Italian palazzo; others saw Middle Eastern touches. It is something of a mish-mosh.
Money does give you options that most of us don’t have. Church found folks who were willing and able to fulfill his vision.
Money can also make people crazy. It can be a trap. Frederick Church enjoyed his largesse. He connected with many of the accomplished people of his day. Prominent people from New York City visited him at Olana. Other folks in that circle were not so fortunate. We learned on the tour of the Wittgenstein family of Vienna, the patriarch was a contemporary of Church, and one of the richest families in the world. Several members of that family committed suicide and the one remaining son gave all the money away. Money does not buy happiness. We can forget that when we are in the midst of challenging times. When we are barely making ends meet, or the ends aren’t meeting, it is understandable to think that having more money would solve all our problems. There is no doubt that money can help with a myriad of issues, but it doesn’t solve loneliness, or bad decision-making. Apparently, Frederick Church did not struggle with those issues and he left us a legacy we can enjoy.
Sargent portrait – seen at the exhibit at Boston’s Museum of Fine Arts
Historically I am not one to set goals or make resolutions. I think that reluctance stems from the recognition that we mostly fall short and then have to deal with the failure. The other day I was watching, of all things, House Hunters and this guy in the couple made a point of needing to be able to post his annual goals on his bathroom mirror. This was something his wife didn’t especially want to see every day, so they wanted their new home to have separate vanities in the bathroom. I thought the guy was way over the top, but it got me thinking. While goal setting presents risks, it offers real opportunities: to prioritize how I use my time, to remind myself of what is important to me, to feel accomplished when something is achieved. Of course, I don’t need to share them publicly since that adds pressure, but what the heck. What is my blog for if not to take some risks, so here goes:
Read Moby Dick.
[No other story is referenced as often in other books.
It appears on lists of the best American novel.
And yet, somehow, I never read it.
I think it is time.]
Write everyday – or realistically almost every day.
[I only posted 29 essays on my blog in 2023.
My goal has been weekly.
Perhaps it is time to reconsider my goal.
Okay, my goal for 2024 is to reassess how often I want to add to my blog.]
Send out 10 query letters to literary agents.
[probably more]
Accept rejection and continue onward.
Stop wanting more!
[I have enough.
Be more Zen,
Let go of expectations.
Exhale the want.
Inhale the beauty,
Appreciate the gifts,
Even on cold, damp, gray days.
Hear the music: bird calls, the wind in the trees, voices harmonizing.
See the splendor: light, color, richness rendered on a Sargent canvas.
Receive what is given,
Feel the love expressed in a glance, in a gesture.
Let it fill me.
Trust the love.
Trust the relationships.
The child in me still wants…]
Plan a trip.
Sort through the clutter.
[Simplify]
Gary, my husband, upon reading the above, said, “Good luck with that. I thought reading Moby Dick was enough.” Maybe it is ambitious, but I’m going to try. Let’s check back in a few months, meanwhile, Happy New Year! Wishing you all a peaceful, joyful, and healthy year ahead whether or not you set goals or make resolutions.
Alcohol was not part of my consciousness for most of my growing up years. My Dad did not crack open a beer when he watched the Giants play football on Sunday afternoon. Wine was not part of dinner, unless it was a very unusual occasion, like the Passover Seder. I don’t recall a time when either of my parents said, in the midst of a stressful time, “I need a drink!” I didn’t see alcohol in either of my grandparents’ homes. If I did, it was a dusty bottle in a cabinet. It had almost no role in our culture. Our celebrations involved food – that was the reward, that was the comfort. Ice cream or cookies were much more of a celebratory thing than making a toast – even for the adults.
It changed after Mom and Dad took a trip to California with their friends to celebrate their 20th wedding anniversary. When they came back, I distinctly recall that wine or a cocktail might be enjoyed as part of a meal, or as part of socializing with friends. That trip was in the summer of 1974, and I was almost 15. The combination of the influence of their friends, who knew a bit more about wine and liquor, being on vacation and not having their children around, made them open to enjoying the fruits of the vine.
Given how things had been, I noticed this change. In fact, by the time I went to college, two years later, I was a bit concerned that my mother was enjoying wine a little too much. I saw that she had taken to having a glass of wine more regularly – not even on a special occasion, it could just be an ordinary dinner! Or as part of a late afternoon snack with cheese and crackers! I was still not ‘of age’ so I had not partaken, and I wasn’t particularly interested in this new ritual. I wondered whether Mom was headed for trouble.
Then I went to college. My attitude changed somewhat. I appreciated the fact that alcohol could be a good social lubricant, though in my experience, the more I drank the more withdrawn I became. Getting buzzed was good, going further than that didn’t make me feel better and could get me sick. I seemed to have a natural defense to over doing it. I also never developed a taste for beer, which was the cheapest option and the beverage most often offered at college parties. I could enjoy wines, particularly Liebfraumilch (a semi-sweet white wine – Zellerschwarzkatz was especially popular in my day) or sangria; or a cocktail (I loved white Russians – still do). Fortunately for me, though, I did not have that predisposition that some are cursed with to not be able to stop drinking once they start. A couple of glasses and I was done.
When I returned home, I wavered in my judgment of my mother. It made me a little uncomfortable that she seemed to enjoy a glass of red wine so much, or a scotch on the rocks. But, in retrospect, it was also clear that she was capable of limiting her intake on each occasion – I can’t say I ever saw her drunk. My Dad would frequently have something along with her, but he never seemed to be as taken with it. And, I never saw him drunk, or even tipsy, either.
While I was growing up, I thought this attitude toward alcohol was the norm. I had an inkling, through my friendship with Susan, that some families were more liberal in their usage. Her dad offered her a sip of his beer when I was visiting (we were probably ten years old at the time). They had wine with dinner on the weekend. They were Italian. I thought that explained it. Maybe it did, but as I have gotten older, and as my family has evolved, I realize that my experience is not the norm. I think for American Jews of a certain age (I am 63), alcohol was not routinely consumed in their childhood home (perhaps it was part of ritual or part of Shabbat dinner, but not much beyond that). As with anything, I am sure there are exceptions. But, I do believe the incidence of alcoholism was lower among American Jews. I’m not sure that is still the case.
I have had occasion to think about this any number of times over the years. I just finished reading Matthew Perry’s memoir, Friends, Lovers, and the Big Terrible Thing, which details his harrowing struggle with alcoholism and drug addiction. I feel quite fortunate to not be afflicted with the disease. I struggle with my relationship with food, but I still wouldn’t characterize it as an addiction for me.
The question, though, that I still ponder is: what is a healthy approach to alcohol, and since marijuana is now legal, weed? There is a gray area, no? There is recreational use, plain and simple; using it occasionally or even regularly but not where it interferes with anything. Then, there might be a place where one uses too much, but it still isn’t abuse. Or, by definition, is over-use abuse? I imagine there is space between drinking too much and being an alcoholic. Is it a question of reliance, or craving? Is it a matter of how much it changes your behavior? I know people who become belligerent; I also know people who love everyone once they have had more than a few. What does ‘healthy’ use look like? According to dietary guidelines put out by the U.S. government: “adults of legal drinking age can choose not to drink or to drink in moderation by limiting intake to 2 drinks or less in a day for men and 1 drink or less in a day for women, when alcohol is consumed. Drinking less is better for health than drinking more.” One drink is defined by the Mayo Clinic as 12 ounces of beer or five ounces of wine. I’m not sure what that means if you don’t drink daily. Can you drink a week’s worth on a Saturday night?
I don’t know what the answer is. I know for me, I don’t like the idea of ceding control of my behavior to any substance. I like being in command of my faculties – like I said before, a little tipsy, or buzzed is enjoyable – more than that is uncomfortable. I have come to peace with not being the life of the party (that is a joke: I have never been the life of the party, nor wanted to be), though sometimes I wonder if I am just no fun at all! On balance, I’ll take it – it is better this way.
With my one libation at a family celebrationthat is way more beer than Gary usually consumes!
I don’t normally post on Friday, but my schedule has gotten all out of whack! I’ve been working on my book and a first draft is complete, but it has taken energy and time away from the blog. We’ve also been traveling – more on that soon. Thank you for bearing with me.
Does everyone who is lucky enough to have a grandchild see rays of sunshine when they look at them? Do they see sparks of light in the child’s eyes? An aura of yellow joy surrounding their head?
Grandchildren don’t always behave perfectly, I will acknowledge that, but they are sources of delight. Even when they are crying, they are adorable (it is much easier for a grandmother to say that!).
I see and feel my granddaughters’ radiance when I look at them. They are full of energy and curiosity. They emanate light and are full of life.
It is interesting because it seems to be a cycle – there is a feedback loop at play. A newborn baby arrives, you look at him or her with wonder. They in turn do the same. As a Mom or Dad it may take some time to fall in love with the little being – though for some the feeling is instantaneous; an almost chemical reaction upon first seeing the baby. For me it took time. I felt protective immediately, responsible for this vulnerable life, but I can’t say I felt the bond of love as soon as they emerged. That happened over time and grew in intensity. As your love grows, and you shine it on the baby, it seems to be reflected back in full measure. Unfortunately, this may not happen for everyone – if it did in every instance, the world would be a better place. It was my experience, though, and it seems to be happening for my children.
As a grandparent, in some ways, it is simpler. We don’t bear the awesome responsibility. We can simply bask in the wonder and love. Our grandchildren may prefer to be held by their mom or dad, but we get to build a bond, too. The feedback loop of love develops. I think babies know when someone is looking at them with deep love, enjoying, valuing their very existence.
I can appreciate the charm and adorableness of other babies and toddlers. I love my great-nephews tremendously. And I am delighted by my friends’ grands. I have to be honest, though, the phenomenon of light beaming from their eyes and smiles is reserved for my granddaughters. I imagine that is true for other grandparents – they see it in their own but not so intensely when they look at others.
I was thinking about this the other day after one of my granddaughters left after a weekend visit. She spent the weekend charming everyone who came in her orbit – especially me and Gary. One of my daughter’s friends stopped by with her perfectly adorable little one, but I was struck by how I was only seeing that halo of light around my granddaughter. I was thinking about this phenomenon when I had an ‘aha’ moment.
When I was growing up my maternal grandparents lived upstairs from us. I’ve written about my relationship with Nana in many blog posts. I recounted how each day I came home from school, put my stuff in my room, and went up to visit. I was greeted, on a daily basis, by “Hello, Sunshine.” Nana called me Sunshine with such regularity that I thought it was my middle name. My parents named me Linda S. Brody, they didn’t give me a middle name, just the initial (apparently they couldn’t agree on a suitable ‘S’ name; I was named after my father’s grandmother, Lifsha Surah – in Yiddish). For the longest time I thought the ‘S’ was for Sunshine.
I didn’t think of myself as a source of light growing up – I felt I was kind of a sad kid. I think I was dismissive of Nana’s term of endearment. I liked that she called me that, but I didn’t internalize it. It occurs to me now that perhaps my view was distorted. Nana saw something. Now I think I understand it. It gratifies me to reflect on that; to believe that she felt what I feel. I wish I understood this sooner, there is something validating in the realization. But, I guess you know when you know and certainly better late than never.
My granddaughters are my sunshine.
Nana and me – on our front porch in Canarsie – sometime between 1969-71
Stories I Tell Myself 