Monday, August 24, 2020

Coronavirus: LA #18

As always: many of us get too many emails already, even before this pandemic.  
So, if you would like these to stop, please feel free to say so.  (You won’t be the first or second or third to do so.)
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Los Angeles is experiencing a record heat wave.  The radio said it's the worst heat wave in the last 10 to 20 years.  Of course, we should expect it to be hot. After all, this is southern California in August, so what else but hot weather?  Still, this seems unusual.  But consistent from day to day...see the screenshot below from my iPhone on Tuesday, August 18.

The heat saps me of energy. Some days, I don't feel like doing anything at all.  One day recently, took two naps.  We try to take two walks a day, one early in the morning, and one late in the afternoon, when if we choose our route carefully, we can walk mostly in the shade of buildings.  The sycamore trees, of which there are many in Park La Brea, are struggling, many leaves already shriveled and falling to the ground

We have had our two room air conditioners on thru much of the daytime.  Since we only have three rooms (not counting baths), we are fairly well covered.  Still, the A/Cs are struggling to keep up (or should I say keep down).   The background hum of all the A/Cs in our building is continuous.  California has recently experienced rolling blackouts, due to lack of sufficient electric energy; per usual, authorities are pointing fingers at each other regarding who is to blame.  No blackouts yet where we live.

Thank goodness, our pool reopened about a month ago. (The gym reopened also, but was then closed down again two weeks later.  Even if the gym reopens, I won't be going anytime in the foreseeable future; it's an indoor space.)  I can walk "laps" in the lap pool, where the water is up to my armpits, and still keep my mask on.  Limited one person per each of the five lanes.  Water feels great.  I have been doing this exercise for about eight years now.  At first, it seemed boring and I was counting the laps until I could stop; but now it has become a meditative interlude in my day.

I recently have been going to the pool just before 3PM.  The pool is closed from 2 to 3 for cleaning.  So, just before 3, there is a small group waiting to get in.   Going at this time, I can be sure of getting a lane.  At other times of the day, all lanes may be in use, which means a wait, usually just a few minutes.

There is a regular group of  swimmers that show up after 3PM on many days.  One is M, an older lady who really likes men; says she adored her father.  The yenta of the pool, she schmoozes up everyone, but especially the guys, and sometimes dishes the dirt.  When I chatted with M in the next lane a few days ago (masks on), I realized that, aside from Nadine, she was the only other person I had actually spoken with that day.

A dragonfly is usually there every afternoon, flitting above the surface of the pool, mostly at the west end, which is somewhat in shadows after 3PM.  Recently, one was a beautiful reddish-orange irridescent color, circling and circling over the water. 

There are other species at the pool as well, specifically canines.  Saw my second one there days ago.  This is not surprising in LA. Dogs are everywhere: grocery store, restaurants, movies theaters (when they were open), offices, Nordstroms, Pete's Coffee, our (former) synagogue, etc.  

Saturday, at breakfast outside of Toast, a woman showed up with her great Dane, and proceeded to drag a large mattress out of her BMW and put it on the sidewalk, where the dog dutifully laid down while she ate.  All of this done while keeping 6 feet of separation between parties, temp checks before seating, and masks up when the server approaches.

Finally, with the heat, fireseason has come again to California.  This is now a regular annual event.  No current danger where Nadine and I live, in the city.  But many fierce fires in the state, with a big cluster up north where an unusual outbreak of lightning storms triggered many fires.  We have relatives and friends up there.  Some have had to pack up the car, and be prepared to leave home.  Others have had to evacuate, and now await to hear whether their home has survived.

That’s it for now.
Stay as safe and sane and cool as you can.

Coleman


LA 10-day weather forecast, August 18

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August 21 satellite photo of smoke plumes in No Calif, from our son Phil:

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Saturday, August 22, 2020

Coronavirus: LA #17:Final Cut

 As always: many of us get too many emails already, even before this pandemic.  

So, if you would like these to stop, please feel free to say so.  (You won’t be the first to do so.)
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First, apologies to my readers.  The edition #17 that I sent out on August 17 was my mistake.  My trigger index finger on the mouse hit “Send” instead of “Save”.
And thanks to those who pointed out some arithmetic issues, which I hope are corrected below.

My last email of this series was in the middle of June.  After that, I seemed to run out of energy and inspiration, and so just stopped.
Now I am back.  Can’t guarantee for how long.  But here goes.

In late June, Nadine and I decided to move. When we first discussed the possibility, I was very negative: “Do you know how HARD that will be?”
“Yes” she said, “it will be hard, but we’ll get thru it and it will be over”.
It was MUCH harder than either of us thought it would be.  The last time we moved, in 2012, I was 76.  Now I am 84, and found out I am not the same man as eight years ago.

Later, I was informed, by my LCSW wife and others, that “moving" ranks right up there with other major causes of trauma, including death of family member, divorce, physical painnatural disasters (think pandemic), and parental abandonment.  I can’t say our move ranked up with any of these, but it was difficult.  But  it’s over and we are back to our “normal” COVID life.

So, you might be asking, why did you guys do it?
Because of the slowdown in the economy, apartment rental rates in this part of LA have declined significantly.  But to get a lower rate, we had to opt out of our old lease, and move to another apartment in Park La Brea.
We are now enjoying a lower rent, and a much quieter environment, especially at night after dinner time, when it’s TV or bedtime for us.  Also, a different view; our old place was on the 3rd floor, at tree-top level.  Our new location is on the 12th floor, looking southwest.

But the move essentially wiped out about six weeks of any other activity in our lives.  
With no garage, by the day we moved, you could hardly find a space to sit down or walk around in our apartment, it was so full of packed boxes with most of our belongings.
Another feature of moving is that it forces you to go thru all your “stuff” and decide what to take with you, and what to get rid of.  This is both physically and psychologically taxing.  And many trips to the Goodwill donation center, after we found one in Hollywood that was open.  At least someone may benefit from our no-longer-wanted items.

One of the things on my chest of drawers is a round box where I put my loose change at the end of each day.  I had put all of the contents into a bag to take to the coin counter machine at CVS.  I estimate from prior experience that it was worth perhaps $30.  I put this bag into the trunk of my car, waiting for the day I would go to CVS for something else also.  But, I think it ended up going with one of the donation piles to Goodwill, so hopefully someone in need got a nice bonus when they opened the bag.  Change is definitely in short supply; went to GroundWorks this AM for coffees, and the 75 cents of change was all in dimes and nickels.

Stay safe, wear your mask, keep your distance….and your sanity (which may be harder to hold onto).

Coleman

Typically, Nadine will buy a bunch of flowers each week for our dining room table.  We noticed that last week’s bouquet lasted quite well, and is sucking up water like crazy.  The word “bouquet" triggered this old song in my old mind (Eddy Arnold, 1948). Hope you like it:
Isn’t it funny how these old melodies and words are still back in there somewhere, just waiting for the right trigger to pop up.

Tuesday, July 28, 2020

Football and Religion at Nichols

Recently, I saw a YouTube interview with an ex-NFL player who talked about the roll of religion in the locker room, both in college and in professional football.  This triggered my memory of the following episode.

I was raised with little religious training or practice.  My mother was a sometimes, any-denomination-will-do Protestant.  My father, the result of a Catholic/Protestant union, was opposed to any and all organized religion.

I entered Nichols School,  a small private boys high school, in Buffalo NY, in the fall of 1951 as a sophomore.  There were then about fifty boys in each class.  Almost all students were required to participate in sports in the afternoon, after classes.

I had played football before in junior high, but was not especially fond of it.  I think my father expected it of me.  I was not particularly interested in the violence, and was somewhat scared of being hurt.  (At Nichols in those days, in the fall, the other option was soccer, which I had never even seen before.)    But I went along with the school's program (and my parents' investment in my getting a good college-prep education. )   I was a stout (or "chubby") kid, and not very fast, so I was assigned to guard position.  In those days, the starters played both offense and defense.

My sophomore year the head coach was Mr Muha.  For my junior and senior years, it was George Stevens, the Princeton quarterback teamed with All-American Dick Kazmeier.

Before each game, the team would gather in a tight group, all hands towards the center.  It seems the more religious kids (or was it just the Catholics?) would recite a prayer, the ending of which is, I now think,  "....pray for us now....and at the hour of our death." 

But what I heard at the start of my first varsity game, as a new boy and in  my first few weeks at Nichols, was "Pray for us now at the hour of our death".  My reaction was "Oh my God, these guys are taking this way too seriously!"

Monday, June 15, 2020

Email re Racism in America

This email has NOTHING to do with coronavirus. 
It DOES have to do with the current furor and commentary about racism in the United States.

First, I/we have come across two items that shed some illumination on the subject for me.

One is the book “White Fragility; Why It’s So Hard for White People to Talk About Racism” by Robin DiAngelo.  It’s #2 this week on the NYTimes Best Sellers NonFiction list, which notes “Historical and cultural analysis on what causes defensive moves by white people and how this inhibits cross-cultural dialogue”. The author is white, and she gives myriad examples of how white Americans are often unconscious of the culture of racism that surrounds us. The book is also available in audio format, 6 hours long.  I recommend it.

The other is a podcast by Sam Harris, "Making Sense with Sam Harris #207 - Can We Pull Back From The Brink? (June 12, 2020)".  Our son Dan is the one who put us onto this podcast, which is almost two hours long, but worth it.
Nadine and I had the pleasure of seeing Sam Harris debate David Wolpe many years ago re god and religion. Both very knowledgeable thinkers, it was like watching a great tennis match.  In the podcast, Harris delves into many facets of the situation with facts and opinions that may startle you (meant to, he says).

I don’t agree with all of the statements and conclusions of these two persons (DiAngelo, Harris), but I found them both interesting, and certainly worthwhile grist for thought about racism in our country and what we can do about it.

Lastly, I have been thinking about what I could do to contribute in a positive way to this situation.  I found a website called “Black Votes Matter”
The purpose of this fund is to encourage more black citizens to vote.  And you can even pick the state where you want your donation to be put to work.  I debated Georgia vs Florida, but finally picked Florida, because of what happened there in the 2000 election (abetted by SCOTUS)
and this seemed to fit the bill for me. Support black Americans now, encourage more voters in general, and maybe swing Florida, which has been on the brink for decades, blue.

I have very mixed feelings about America's current situation, and our future:
On the pessimistic side, I believe that cultural patterns are very slow to change, and racism against many groups, but especially native Americans and black Americans has an old and deep 400+ year history here.
On the positive side, when I see some many Americans demonstrating in an on-going way, and so many young people (even teens) and including so many that are white, I feel hopeful.

Coleman "

Friday, June 12, 2020

On Aging and Retirement

(Response to Peter Imber's latest homemade cartoon)

Not sure why, but many of your homemade cartoons (and really your commentaries following) trigger a response from me.  And while I knew that you were younger than me, the difference is not as much as I had guessed.

I was forced into retirement at age 74, in 2010.  I did enjoy the work I was doing, for which I got a good deal of acknowledgement, and had no driving urge to do anything else, and was somewhat concerned about “out-living” my retirement investments/pension/social security, and so I was reluctant to retire.

Then I had a serious bout of Menieres disease (intense spells of dizziness and nausea), which made it impossible to continue working.  I was very lucky; the aerospace company I was working for had a downturn, and offered all employees of 65 a pretty fat special retirement package, so I grabbed it.

With not much planning for what to do next, over the next year I became depressed.  I ultimately went on an anti-depressant (still on it), and joined a men’s support group, and got some volunteer work going, and things began to turn around.  And since then, retirement has been overall an enjoyable time.  And now, with COVID, I am even more relaxed with less to do (though feeling a little antsy at times).

And I totally agree with you, with the “why stop?” comment.  I too have made this to a couple of friends when they brought up the subject of retirement.

Loved your reminiscence about using the radiators at Dartmouth to warm up your Bubbie’s knishes.

And yes, sometimes my body feels like I’m 90+, and sometimes my head feels like I’m 19.

Keep the cartoons coming.

On Compassion In My Life

(from an email to a mediation teacher)

I have wondered for some time, what is the difference between lovingkindness vs compassion, so today’s class was of special interest to me.  Here are some of the thoughts I had.

LovingKindness:
You suggested that we might try extending love and friendship to one of the other persons in the virtual class, all of whom I do not know, except for you.  I find this very hard to do, to extend love or friendship to someone I don’t know. I am, at least in some ways, a rather guarded person.  What if I extend love or friendship to someone I don’t know, and they want to reciprocate that, and then I find out later that I don’t really find them very interesting or lovable, and/or they are very needy?  I just don’t want to take that chance.  Because then, if I were totally honest with them, which I probably would not be, I would have to tell them that I find them dull or bigoted or needy or sad or negative or….fill in the blanks.  There’s probably more to this than what I have just written, but that’s what I am getting right now today.

Compassion:
I found this much easier to dwell in, perhaps due to this experience I had about 40 years ago.  My then wife, named Leslie, had cajoled me into getting into therapy, at first couples therapy, which later migrated to a therapy group (where I later met Nadine, and obviously, the couples therapy did not save that first marriage.)  I was very leery of therapy at first; telling my most innermost thoughts and feelings to a total stranger? or strangers?  

For the first few weeks in group, I was basically silent, listening to others, but not venturing out of myself.  One of the people in the group was a younger woman named Sue Haden.  It turned out, her brother was Pat Haden, who had been a star quarterback at USC, and then went on to play for the Rams.  Sue related that she had been to a Rams game in the Coliseum, and the Rams as a whole and Pat in particular were having a bad afternoon.  The fans around her began riding her brother, with shouts like “get him out of there”!  She knew her brother was trying his best, and she was very shocked and hurt by the anger that she saw being directed at him by these people around her.  As Sue was relating this story, I began to silently tear up, as I felt a lot of compassion for the situation she described.  The therapist noticed what was happening with me, and asked me how I was feeling.  I was able to open up for the first time in that group, and for the first time in a long time in my life, and say how sad I felt for Sue as she told her story.  From then on, thankfully, I was more open about my feelings in the group, and eventually with others in my life. 

As you and we dwelt on compassion today, I did feel some warmth in my body, though I still usually find it hard to experience most feelings much in my body; they are mostly in my head.


Thursday, June 11, 2020

Old-Time Baseball Radio Broadcasts (a la late 1940's)

(From an email to a friend)

I am sending you a recently published book by my friend Don Zminda, about Harry Carey.  Book should arrive next week. Don was born in Chicago, and worked for about 20 years for STATs, a sports statistics company. He is now working on a book about the Black Sox scandal.

On page 22 of the book, he describes a scene right out of my childhood memory.  I'm guessing you are about half-a-generation younger than I am, so I don’t know if you experienced this in person.

In the summers in Philly, after my dad came back from WWII, on Sunday afternoons we would wash the car, a Pontiac sedan (he was a GM man), in the driveway, right next to the house. He would place a radio in the dining room window, and we would listen to the Phillies game be announced on the radio.  If the game was local, of course the announcer would be watching and broadcasting live from Shibe Park.

But if the game was out of town, the announcer would be reading an on-going teletype stream from the other city (only Eastern and MidWest time zones in those days).  He would then add his own color and patter to make it seem that he was seeing the game in person.  As his voice went into the mic, the mic was also picking up the noise of the teletype in the background.  Even over his voice, you could very distinctly hear the teletype clack-click-clack in the background.

When I read this part of Don’s book, these memories of those late 40’s Sunday summer afternoons returned.

Hope you enjoy the book.  I am still enjoying your history lessons.