The Great Pyrenee

The Great Pyrenee is a large, beautiful, white dog with a natural tendency to protect and give unconditional love. It is sad to me that such an affectionate, intelligent breed that bonds so well with humans should spend his life with sheep day in, day out. But it is one of their roles in this world. The pups are introduced to the sheep early on and come to understand that it is their job to use their protective instincts to guard the less capable, less intelligent sheep. It is a labor of love that this big-hearted, gentle breed takes seriously. And while the sheep certainly benefit—they’re protected from predators—it’s also true that the dogs give more love than they get most of the time. Great Pyrenees make wonderful pets, but because they are independent-minded and fiercely protective, they need training and socialization. I would get one in a heartbeat if I could.

Grace

David Brook’s “The Road to Character” contains biographies of well-known people from the past who’d undergone changes in their outlook through their life experiences. I wasn’t enamored of it.  Brooks believes that there is no other way to attain grace than to believe that it is God-given. To me, grace can be found in many different ways, through many different experiences. The most peaceful place for me — the place where I feel connected to something beyond myself -- is on a forest path, or in the mountains — somewhere surrounded by the beauty, intricacy, and diversity of nature. It is where I find serenity, and feel humbled and happy, although, to me, grace requires more - something like being in service to others.

An animal protection activist stated recently, “Millions of different creatures manage to maintain a perfect balance among themselves. Man alone has decided that his interests trump all others.”  I agree. Humans are not in balance with nature and haven’t been for a long time. I’m not sure grace is possible until we are in balance, until we think beyond our selfish needs. What will bring that about? Hard to say. There are just too darn many of us.  Finding grace is difficult when one struggles to find water and food, and the freedom to live in peace is beyond one’s grasp. I could also define grace as wisdom, and those who seem to have a better sense of what 'living on this planet truly means' are, I think, closer to a state of grace than those who take their lives and the world for granted. 

Best Friends Animal Sanctuary

 Best Friends Animal Sanctuary http://bestfriends.org is a huge spread in Kanab, Utah where dogs, cats, horses, pigs, goats, rabbits, birds, and other critters live out their lives after they’ve been brought in due to abuse, neglect, injury or some disaster. They've rescued dogs from dog-fighting rings and hurricanes and so many sad situations, and then with vets and volunteers work to either rehabilitate them to be adoptable, or keep them for life.  http://bestfriends.org. They have cabins on the grounds where you can stay and have a dog or cat spend the night with you. :-)  And during the day, guests can volunteer in a number of ways, and be with the animals. The sanctuary is nestled against the red rock hills of Kanab, Utah. (The town of Kanab -- a ten-minutes drive -- has some great restaurants.) Best Friends has grown to an area covering a few thousand acres.
   Dogtown, Cat World, and Bunny House are located in the same general vicinity. Piggy Paradise, Horse Haven and Goat Barn are closer to the Visitor’s Center, although horses live in several areas. There are forty altogether. There’s also Angel’s Rest Pet Cemetery, a beautiful, peaceful place atop a hill with wind chimes, and Angel Village where a few administrative offices are located as well as a cafeteria. There are also lodgings for the fulltime staff, and some of the founders have houses on the grounds in various places. Nationwide, Best Friends has 700 employees.  
   We stayed in one of the comfortable cottages on the grounds with a kitchen, living room and separate bedroom offering a serene view of the horse pastures. We were cautioned to book many months in advance because of their popularity, which we did. A bus tour took us to Dogtown and Cat World where we interacted with some of the animal residents.  In the afternoon we drove back to Dogtown and volunteered by taking three dogs for walks—two together, then one. They were all very sweet, if a bit shy. The dirt trails wandered between the trees, and one dog loved to chase after lizards, which was a problem since he was on a leash. We had a brief glimpse of their individual living spaces. Each large ‘dog house' connects to a large outdoor area where they can run around. Dogtown is comprised of several of these buildings. Dogtown Heights: A Gated Community is home to the puppies,  a puppy pre-school where they learn the manners they need to know to become adopted, and the senior dogs' house. There’s also an animal hospital nearby.
  A guided hike in the hills led to a waterfall. The guide’s grandfather once owned some of the property that Best Friends bought, and relatives still work for the organization. In the afternoon I volunteered at Cat World -- about a dozen bungalows that look like screened-in jungle gyms with ramps, cubby holes, blankets, baskets, perches, beds, toys, and plenty of food and water. Built in two sections—one indoors -- the cats can come and go between them at will.  Each bungalow holds about 30 cats.  I walked 3 adorable felines (separately) in a little closed-in buggy with a mesh covering so that they could see out.  They’d sit up in the buggy and watch everything go by as I traversed the ‘Meowzers Meander’ trails. They all seemed to love the experience.After that I sat with the cats. They swarmed around me, and one immediately got in my lap.  I spent a fair amount of time talking to them, giving them treats, brushing them, playing with them.  If it weren't for my husband's allergies, I would've taken a few cats home right then and there. I'd also name the place Kitty City.
   My husband volunteered at Wild Friends, where rescued birds and other wild animals are cared for.  He changed the ducks’ pond water, and cleaned cages. Then we met one of the founders to talk about the sanctuary and its goals -- mainly to cut down the number of animals killed in shelters every year simply because the shelters haven’t got room for them, and instead promote spay/neuter programs and no-kill shelters. Best Friends Animal Society is in network with hundreds of shelters across the country, and their message is “Save Them All,” even those with special needs.  Maybe especially those with special needs. After lunch we visited Bunny House, which is set up much like the other areas with nice indoor spaces for each rabbit that connects to an outdoor screened-in area.
 We were so impressed with Best Friends, and heartily recommend a visit there. It is clean, organized, and a very well-run operation. It doesn’t cost much to stay in the cottages, and then you’re close to the action and the volunteer possibilities. A car is a must, though, because the property is so spread out. We're on a list for a hypoallergenic dog.

The Current Condition

I’ve never been depressed about the state of this country before, but I am now.  Trump’s agenda is so anti people and country - so the opposite of what he states  - that I'm compelled to speak up about his self-serving agenda and vindictive actions. I'm thankful that California has a strong governor. Bracing for an adversarial relationship, the California Legislature selected former U.S. Atty. Gen. Eric Holder Jr. to serve as outside counsel to advise the state’s legal strategy against this administration.  Other states aren't as lucky, and I feel sorry for the many people who believe that their lives will get better under Trump. Because they won't.

Several federal agencies were put under a gag order, prohibiting employees from communicating with the press or giving out any information to the public about what was happening at the agency. The Department of Agriculture was told to stop publishing scientific research. The EPA was ordered to purge any references to climate change from its website. Badlands National Park tweeted, then deleted, climate facts hours after news broke of a gag order on the EPA.

If we are supposedly putting the government back into the hands of the people, why is this administration prohibiting federal agencies from even talking to the public about what they're doing? Why is Trump making it harder for the media to report on the actions of the federal government?

The answer is that, as we know, Donald Trump only says what suits his purpose at the moment. He's not giving the government back to the people -- he's holding it hostage to the whims of his own fact-free reality. And it’s looking as if Republicans in Congress aren't going to hold him accountable.

Steve Bannon, chief White House strategist, claimed that the media is "the opposition party" of the new administration. In other words, he wants a totalitarian state. Journalists need to know that the information presented in press briefings is true - real facts, not alternative facts, as Kelly-Ann Conway called them. Alternative facts are simply lies.

Trump still refuses to release his tax returns. We don't know why or what he's hiding. But it's looking as if he's in violation of the Constitution in several ways. Presidents aren’t supposed to make a profit in the private sector.  But he plans to build 40 new hotels in the US - under his sons’ control - and you can bet he'll reap the profits. The rest of the family is just as self-serving.

A former Bush administration State Department counselor is sounding the alarm about President Donald Trump: "It will not get better," wrote Eliot A. Cohen at The Atlantic. "It will get worse, as power intoxicates Trump and those around him." Cohen's outlook is grim:
"[Trump's presidency] will probably end in calamity — substantial domestic protest and violence, a breakdown of international economic relationships, the collapse of major alliances, or perhaps one or more new wars (even with China) on top of the ones we already have. It will not be surprising in the slightest if his term ends not in four or in eight years, but sooner, with impeachment or removal under the 25th Amendment. And check out:

"http://theweek.com/articles/703687/let-2020-democratic-primary-crazy-freeforall?utm_campaign=newsletter&utm_source=afternoon&utm_medium=06_11_17-article_8-703687

As Paul Waldman says: "Less than five months in, his presidency looks to be a disaster, and there's nothing like a president with approval ratings in the 30s to make opposition politicians think that this would be a great time to mount a campaign. Trump has also lowered the bar for experience, preparation, and temperament so much that any Democrat is sure that as the nominee they'd look spectacular by comparison — heck, compared to Trump, your average Labrador retriever looks like a model of keen intellect and thoughtful decision-making."

A Puzzle

Escape Rooms are physical rooms inside buildings that are rigged with electronic puzzles that you need to figure out in order to ‘escape.’  One scenario: A master thief had stolen the Mona Lisa and hidden it in a room with his collectibles. It was our job to find the painting and get it back to the authorities. Not easy! It involved solving a series of puzzles, and each one needed to be figured out before moving on to the next one.  We quickly concluded that a chessboard was part of the solution. But the chess pieces were hidden in cupboards and drawers that opened with codes, magnets and hidden electronics; a typewriter printed out a verse we needed to decipher to open a safe; antique masks had to be hung on the wall in a certain order to reveal a space behind a picture. Once we accomplished all that, a door opened into a separate room. The painting wasn’t in there, either. More puzzles. Once we'd fit the proper coins into a music box, and found a code in an Egyptian treasure case with a magnifying glass, a mirrored closet door would’ve opened with the Mona Lisa inside. I say ‘would’ve' because we got about three puzzles from the end before our time ran out.  If we’d had another hour, I think we might have succeeded.  We’d like to return and try another room, and maybe buy an extra hour to take the pressure off.  :-)

2016 In a Nutshell:

-       Britain voted to leave the EU. Donald Trump was elected president

-       The Ross Sea has been categorized as a Marine Protected Area

-       Mother Teresa was canonized as St. Teresa of Calcutta

-       Pandas are not classified as an endangered species anymore

-       The tiger population has increased for the first time in a century.

-       The world lost John Glenn, Harper Lee, Morely Safer, Gwen Ifill, Patty Duke, Alan Rickman, Gene Wilder, Muhammed Ali, Carrie Fisher, Debbie Reynolds, David Bowie, Prince, Leon Russell, Marni Nixon, George Michael, Leonard Cohen, among many others.

-       Researchers found new genes that might help cure ALS (Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis) or Lou Gehrig’s Disease that causes nerve cells to break down and weakens muscles

-       West Africa is ebola-free and a vaccine is 100% effective

-       Pokémon took the world by storm.

-       Bob Dylan received the Nobel Prize in Literature.

Sun Bears and Orangutans

We arrived at Balikpapan, Borneo, a bustling city of 750,000 inhabitants, and often voted as one of the most beloved cities in Indonesia. It has a high number of ex-patriots, and is known for its nightlife, which is, ironically, minus any alcohol in this part of the world.

We had no opportunity to spend time in the city because we were scheduled for a long tour to Samboja Lestari Rainforest and the Borneo Orangutan Survival Foundation, a survival facility founded in 1991, and the Kawasan Wisata Pendidikan Lingkungan Hidup, otherwise known as the Sun Bear Center. The drive was long. The small bus with narrow seats honked its way through the big city and into the countryside of shady trees and lush foliage. After an hour it turned onto a gravel-and-dirt road that would put any tires to the test. For fifteen minutes we jostled along until we came to a point in the road where even smaller vehicles waited. The pot-holed road was too rough for busses. 

After fifteen more bumpy minutes, we stopped and got out in a large forest, with a moat of reedy, fresh water dividing it. Across the moat a few young orangutans came to watch us, as we watched them. On the other side of the road, we saw a beautiful adult male with a long shaggy copper coat that had been in the circus. He walked upright, with his arms raised in a “don’t shoot” gesture. Very bright, he seemed to tease the onlookers by putting peas in his mouth and smiling so that it looked as if he had green teeth. And he showed us objects that he’d collected. A female nearby had been traumatized by her captors and was very shy. Another nodded her head constantly. These orangutans would stay in the center for life because of their previous, negative interactions with humans. Other younger ones would be rehabilitated and returned to the wild.

The vehicles then drove us to the Sun Bear Center a few miles away. Sun bears are the world’s smallest bear species, and they’re endemic to Borneo. The center is dedicated to saving rescued bears and educating the public about the importance of preserving Borneo’s flora and fauna. The 40 bears seemed content in their four-acre forest environment that included metal ‘houses’ that allowed an escape from the rain. These bears would not be returned to the wild. They seemed very sweet, and eager to interact with us. Many of us wanted to pet them, but the bears’ very long claws hinted that they could do some very real damage if they wanted to and we were told not to touch them. 

We sailed east crossed the Makassar Strait some 310 miles to Parepare on the island of Sulawesi, which, at one time, consisted of multiple islands with many different soil types.  It’s a mountainous area and nomadic people still live in the forests. At this point, we’d crossed into the Southern Hemisphere, and the water depth fell from shallow to over 5000 feet—a shift that demarks “The Wallace Line,” a finite border between the species of Asia and the species of Australia.  Bali is Asian in its species, and Lombok, across the Lombok Strait, is Australian.

Alfred Russell Wallace spent eight years in Indonesia, collected beetles, and wrote a book about his discoveries in the region—birds, leopards, orangutans. He visited Sumatra, Java, and Bali where tigers and elephants roamed freely. He also went to Nusa Tenggara where he found quite different animals—komodo dragons, and birds like the honeyeater. He traveled to Lusawesi to see macaques, tarsees, kuscous (marsupials), and Halmahera and found a new species of butterfly, the Golden Birdwing, and a new species of Bird of Paradise. In New Guinea he found cassowaries, and another bird of paradise—a bird hunted for its plumes. Borneo has fifty-nine endemic species, and Sulawesi over a hundred.

Wallace believed that the two islands were once connected by land shelves—bridges of woodland and savanna.  Animals could easily cross from one to the other when the sea level was lower. This bio-geographic region is still called Wallacia. Because the animals changed once the regions separated, the plants did too.  Long-tailed macaques were important seed dispersers, but the plants on the other side of the ‘line’ adapted to entice different dispersers. Likewise, animals adapted to become a separate species. The sail-fin lizard, also found in Sulawesi, became vegetarian, surviving only on fruits and vegetable matter. A flying lizard, birds like red knobbed hornbills, serpent eagles, several species of king fishers, the satanic nightjar that camouflages itself at night and sleeps on the ground, are all well known, although maleos are scarce because they’ve been hunted. When the eggs, which are buried in volcanic soil, hatch, the baby birds scramble to the surface. Various snakes, dwarf buffalo, frogs, bats, stick insects, jumping spiders, pitcher plants, and all sorts of things exist in Sulawesi. It’s a lively place.

Komodo Dragons

Komodo Dragons—about 3000 in number—inhabit four grassy, tree-filled islands—Padar, Rinca, Gili Motang, and Komodo—that make up the National Park with UNESCO World Heritage status in Indonesia.  These giant lizards—the largest in the world—can reach eleven feet long and weigh two hundred pounds. Like monitor lizards, they have an excellent sense of smell. A forked tongue determines if the smell is coming from the right or left thanks to an organ in the roof of its mouth. A Komodo lies in wait for its prey—maybe a buffalo, monkey, or deer—bites it on the foot or ankle, and then follows the animal as it slowly dies from the anticoagulants in two glands in the lower jaw. Komodos are carnivorous cannibals—quick to eat young dragons if they’re in the wrong place at the wrong time. Luckily, the young ones can climb trees.

Visitors can only see dragons in the company of a park ranger, which was fine with me. Almost immediately, we came across a baby dragon as it marched across the grass. The babies are about the same size as a monitor lizard, its smaller cousin. In fact, it’s hard to tell them apart. Our walk continued along a woodsy path through the forest where several dragons were in residence, including an adult female that chased and caught a young one as we watched. When on a hunt, they move fast. We also discovered little macaque monkeys in the forest—prey for the dragons—and guinea fowl. The experience was worth dealing with the oppressive humidity.

Life and Death

As a hospice volunteer I learned that the dying have a way of teaching us about life -- about patience, gratitude, appreciating little things, understanding what matters.  Death is so personal -- something we do alone -- and to be invited to share in the transition is a gift of love and a profoundly humbling experience.

Lucky Timing

This story began when my husband bounded up the stairs one morning and said, "Houston, we have a problem."  We needed our passports for our GOES interviews (to obtain passes that speed up the process at airports for international travel, and also at security).  And our passports were with the outfit handling our visas for Brazil.  We got on the phone, and thanks to extreme good luck, our visas were back from the Brazilian embassy and in the hands of the visa service company in San Francisco.   All we had to do was leave in enough time to drive into the city and pick up our passports before our GOES interviews at San Francisco Airport.

When we got into the city, the traffic on King Street was backed up for miles and we soon realized that a Giants game had just let out. Our route went right past the stadium and the street was blocked off.  The minutes ticked by as we sat in stalled traffic going nowhere.  Finally, after about 25 minutes, we were able to make a left turn and get around the mess.  My husband stayed with the car while I ran into the building on Montgomery, took the elevator to the 7th floor, got our visas and passports (saving them the mailing fee), and was out the door in two minutes. Getting onto the freeway again took a bit of fuss, as usual, but we both heaved a sigh of relief, realizing that we would make it to the airport on time. In fact, we were early and they were running behind. So we had about a 45 minute wait. The interviews went well, and we decided to celebrate at a restaurant we like in Redwood Shores called Mistral. 

We called the restaurant from the road to see if we needed a reservation. We were told they were packed and we couldn't get a reservation until 7:45, which would've meant a wait time of an hour.  So, we considered other possibilities as we drove. Finally, I said, "Let's call back and tell them we'll take the 7:45 reservation."  We looked at the number again and realized it was an 818 area code.  We'd called a different Mistral in Hollywood, hundreds of miles away. Although the Mistral in Redwood Shores was also very busy, they had room for us and we had a great meal. Had we made a reservation at the Hollywood Mistral, much confusion would have ensued. So, our day turned into a lucky one all the way around. 

A Happy Birthday

Duma Tau camp is located in the private 290,000 acre Linyanti Wildlife Reserve that borders the western boundary of Chobe National Park in Botswana.

The facility is lovely, the staff outstanding, food great. Our guide named “Name” (short for Nametsecha) was friendly, personable, and an excellent tracker. The morning game drive at 6 am came too early, but was worthwhile as we had a rare sighting of wild dogs. They are beautiful animals with brown and tan coloring in a patchwork pattern, and large round ears. We watched them for a while as they played in a mud pool and lounged around. When the alpha male and female left, the others soon followed, and so did we—on the chance that we might see them hunt. Wild Dogs are the most successful hunters of all animals—more so than lions or leopards.  But the dogs weren’t that hungry, so we left them and scanned the horizon for more animals, finding giraffe, zebra, impalas and numerous birds.

In the afternoon a thunderstorm came out of nowhere, and a horrendous gale shot sheets of rain through the screen windows and flooding the inside of our tent, as if someone had lost control of a fire hose. The bed was drenched, our clothes, the floor, everything. The worst of ‘everything’ was my husband's computer, which he’d left open on the desk.  We weren’t the only victims, of course. The whole camp looked as if a hurricane had struck (which it more or less had). Over the next hour I moved us into to an unoccupied dry tent next door while my husband went to the managers to get help for his drowned computer. They filled a box with rice and stuck the computer in the box in the hope that the rice would soak up the moisture.

And after all, how many people can say that their birthday began with a sighting of a leopard chowing down on a newly caught kill? Name tracked a female leopard to a tree where she’d just hauled up a baby impala for breakfast. Impalas are everywhere in the bush. It’s said that if you go on safari and don’t see an impala, you get your money back. And since the babies hang out together, like a pre-school class, they’re extremely vulnerable to predators. The rest of the morning drive included sightings of gorgeous lilac breasted rollers, blue kingfishers, a colony of red and blue Carmine bee-eaters, crimson-breasted shrikes, as well as a huge herd of elephants sloshing through a pond.

Later in the day my husband was presented with a cake—chocolate—and the staff sang Happy Birthday in English, which I thought missed the point of celebrating a birthday in a tent camp in the middle of the bush in Botswana. He received a nice present, though: The power button on his computer functioned again—a step in the right direction.

Living Vicariously

There is a little ham in me.  When I was in 7th grade I announced to the school administrators that I wanted to give a vocal recital to the student body.  I did it, too.  When I'm in a musical (acting, singing) or in a choir no matter how big or small (one year I was in 3 groups at once - a mixed chorus, all-girls' group of 12, and a quartet) I'm a happy camper.  I've sung in several master chorales performing classical works, and a competitive all-female barbershop group. My favorites are Broadway show tunes and old standards. I applaud the invention of karaoke! In another life, I might have had a career on the stage.

Self Love

A friend's ex-husband left her after 40 years of marriage to take up with a 20 year old.  It would not be easy to recover from such a shock when you had the expectation of growing old with someone.  We never know what is around the corner.  And we may not know how we're going to handle it.  The most we can hope for is to make it through with integrity, forgiveness, and love of self. I came across a plaque years ago that read, "The only prison is the prison of self." We can lock ourselves in, or free ourselves.

A Change in Perspective

I was driving toward the farmer's market, and came up behind a car stopped in the middle of the street, not signaling, just stopped.  I waited a minute, expecting the driver to move.  When he didn't, I tapped on the horn and he pointed to the side of the street, as if he was waiting for a car to pull out so he could park.  But no one sat in any of the cars, no backing lights.  By this time two cars were behind me.  I maneuvered around the guy -- an old man in a blue cap with a red plaid shirt -- and as I passed by my expression said, "What are you doing?"  He gave me the nastiest scowl, shouted at me (though I couldn't hear what he said through the closed windows), and gave me the finger.  Yeah. When he was the one being inconsiderate and rude!  Later, when I was walking around the farmer's market I saw the same man pushing a woman in a wheelchair.  His expression was much more pleasant.  What he'd done before was rude and inconsiderate, but I could understand it better.

Normal vs Perverse

If we agree that what one culture sees as strange is another's norm -- i.e. that the "norm is a spectrum that varies from culture to culture" -- where do we draw the line between 'normal' and 'perverse'?  On which side, for instance, does (tribal) genital mutilation fall?  The purpose of the practice, though certainly cultural, is subjugation. Sensation is for men only. Women are baby factories.  The mutilation is done to all girls in the tribe.  If a guy cuts his penis in half, there may well be a 'culture' that regards his mutilation as admirable, but it is not something everyone in his culture is forced to undergo.  And while I might consider his choice strange (and probably an expression of some mental illness), he has the right to do that to himself if he chooses.  But a girl who's mutilated by force, against her will, without even anesthesia, has no choice.  Is this perverse?

A Few Dreams

Dreams ...

I am outside the world looking down on it – seeing the blue oceans and continents from space.  And then I soar towards earth, closer and closer, like a Google map.  Finally, I recognize a large mountain range -- rocky and barren. I fly over it, thinking that maybe it’s the Alps.  I come closer yet until I’m cruising over a quaint village of old-fashioned shops and restaurants with a cobblestone street -- something from 18th century London.  Lights are on, but it’s still dusk. I fly above the streetlamps, feeling happy to be there and wanting to stay.  I continue to drift over the town and wake up, wishing I could go back to the dream.

*            *            *

I am riding a very small horse.  In real life it would be more goat-sized, but he’s a horse in my dream. And I take him on a long ride with obstacles in our path; we’re having difficulty getting back home.  At one point we wade through a stream, and cross a rocky slope. I’m afraid he’ll trip and fall.  We cross an uneven meadow and come to an Eastern monastery with flowing water and attendants and a modern structure where people are filing in.  I get off my horse and lead him up a manmade waterfall and into the building with the other people. It’s serene and peaceful inside.  We pass through and continue homeward.  There’s a large structure, like a bridge overpass, that we can’t get across.  We need to go around, and I’m concerned about the distance and whether my horse will be all right and make it up the slope.  Then I wake up.

I went into a theatre auditorium, which had rows of chairs flat on the floor, not slanted as they usually are in a theatre.  Our seats were in the first row, but since my husband wasn’t there, I went into the lobby to call him. I couldn’t get my phone to work properly.  Every time I punched in a number, something was wrong and I couldn’t get through.  The play began; I heard the actors’ dialogue and wanted to be watching, but I was worried about Ron, and kept trying to call him, getting more and more frustrated that I couldn’t get the phone to work.
I went to the lobby window that faced the sea. In the water was a small fishing boat, and someone had a straining fishing rod in the water.  The line was bowed with the weight, and I wondered what the person had caught.  A rather stout woman in a wetsuit went into the water.  She was evidently wondering what was on the other end of the line too.  (Line, as in phone line??)  As I watched her swim to the boat, the water cleared so that I could see beneath the surface.
The fisherman had caught a black and white pony on his line, and the pony was drowning.  As I watched, the lady in the wetsuit reached the pony, wrapped her arms around him, pulled him to the surface and brought him to shore.  The pony was all right; he’d survived.  I was so overjoyed that when the woman came inside the lobby, I gushed with gratitude and praise, and thanked her for what she’d done: saving the pony.  She looked at me as if I was a nutcase, as if it wasn’t any big deal.  Then I woke up.

My husband and I were in a taxi driving in a dark part of a city unfamiliar to us.  The car stopped and two men with strange-looking guns pointed at us through the windows.  We were afraid to move.  I thought we might be shot – that they wanted to rob us. Instead, an old man got into the front seat.  His silver hair was long and wavy, and at first he didn’t say anything or turn around to where we were sitting, anxious and afraid.  After a minute, he turned his head and said to me, “I am your grandfather.” Since I’d never seen him before I understood that he was my ‘birth’ grandfather – not my adopted one.  He got out of the car and began to hurry up the street without saying anything more.  So I got out and ran after him, asking him questions.  He wouldn’t answer except to say that he had to leave.
I followed him to a small, old building, with a lobby and adjacent room.  I went through the lobby and saw a group of people sitting on the floor in the room.  They were practicing yoga – each in a different position.  I looked around the corner and saw my grandfather lounging on a raised platform. He had on different clothes – bright-colored satin, and his long, silver hair flowed out around him.  He was smiling and talking; he seemed to be their guru. I decided this wasn’t my scene, so I left to find my husband. He didn’t ask where I’d been.  We walked in the dark street, hunting for a taxi, and came to a store, which was closed. Everything was closed.  In front of the store was a dolly piled with carpet remnants, and a man lay on top of the carpets, asleep.  He appeared at first to be a bum, or a homeless person.  My husband got a shovel and hit the man on the head.  I was appalled. (In real life he would never do such a thing, either.) The man began to mumble things, and I saw that he was very rough-shaved, as if he’d shaved with a dull knife.  There were red marks around his neck and throat.  He also wore a soldier’s uniform. I was shocked that my husband had hit a soldier, and said that I was upset about this man being here, probably homeless and a soldier. Then I woke up.

My husband and I were at a weekend workshop inside a complex of town-house style buildings.  A large group of people was there, and we were to spend the weekend moving from one workshop to the next, all located within the complex.  The first one I learned about was a biology lab experience, and a woman asked me if I had any prior education in biology that would give me the ability to use a computer to keep track of data gleaned from the experiments in the lab.  I said no, but that I was a quick study and was willing to learn, but that I wouldn’t dissect any animals, not one.  She asked me if was more mentally alert in the morning or at night.  I said night, so I was assigned to an evening session.

We continued on our tour of the complex.  While in an upstairs room of one of the townhouses, I looked out the window and saw the building we were in sinking into the ground.  Evidently, there was a threat outside, and this group had devised a method for hiding their buildings in the ground so they wouldn’t be detected.  I was never clear exactly what the threat was.  But at one point, my husband and I were outside when the nearest townhouse dropped slowly into the ground.  We frantically searched for a way inside before it was too late.  Ron made it in, and I tried, but didn’t make it.  So, I went around to the other side of the townhouse to steps that led down and inside.

The room was crowded with people who immediately checked my shoe for an identifying red dot that said I was ‘one of them.’  Some of us hustled to the next workshop, where I saw my husband and told him I’d been assigned the biology night shift, and that I wasn’t happy about it.  We lost track of each other, and I lost the group I was with.  So I followed another group outside and through a beautiful expanse of green mountains and rolling hills. We came to a stone wall, turned left, and before us was a crystal green pool filled with aquatic animals – a large number of green turtles the size of dinner plates, exotic birds I’d never seen, and a mammal that floated on his back and looked something like an otter, except that the fur on his head was much longer. I kept asking what the creature was called.  No one answered me.  But I decided I would much rather be out here in this beautiful, enchanted garden learning more about these animals than working inside in a biology lab. And I woke up.

Anti-communication

The trend in instant messaging, texting, emails allow us to alienate and insulate ourselves from others, and put up barriers to real communication.  At the same time we push ourselves into chat rooms and social networking sites, we invite closeness without being close. The barrier encourages bullies, allows them to be hurtful anonymously. And without face-to-face communication, misinterpretation of words can cause inappropriate to vengeful behavior.  And what about blogs?  People rant on about all kinds of things that could come back to bite them down the line.

A Surprise Ending

The night we attended the San Francisco Opera was not free of incident.  Although we found a place to park on a street very close to the opera house, which I thought was a bit of a miracle, my husband  thought it safer to park inside a nearby garage, and so we did.

We walked to a restaurant around the corner with a contemporary decor and casual vibe.  The movie Amelie played on a huge screen, with subtitles, no sound. We had a ‘squashy’ meal - butternut squash risotto, a delicious butternut squash salad with Brussels sprouts, plus sides of diced butternut squash and toy box squash in a tomato sauce.  Everything was excellent, as was the opera,  The Magic Flute -- exquisite voices and orchestra, gorgeous costumes and set.

Afterwards, we walked to a nearby bar that many patrons had for some unearthly reason given a high rating on Yelp. Those folks really need to get out more. I asked for vodka up with olives, and the server brought over a dish of olives and nuts.  I asked for a twist instead and received vodka with a twist AND olives in the same glass.

The night was clear on the walk back to the car. But when we arrived at the parking garage, we quickly realized that it had closed and our car was locked up inside. An über picked us up minutes later, and a lovely gentleman from Alexandria, Egypt took us home at a cost of $150. We retrieved our car the next morning.

In Defense of North America

Roy Beck, American journalist and public policy analyst,  is right when he says immigration can't accomplish the goal of relieving world poverty.  I don't think the government ever stated that it could.  Too bad his message offers nothing constructive, no suggestions about ways to reduce poverty or hunger, or provide aid to these poor countries, or even links to service organizations. In his final comments he says that we should let the citizens of these poor countries, many of them under the thumb of dictators, 'bloom where they are planted.'  Well, it's a little hard to bloom when you haven't any water. Beck leaves the stage, and they're left high and dry as his audience applauds. 

His is an apples and oranges argument, the aim to confuse and obfuscate, and incite fear and anger toward people in this country 'not like us' - i.e. not born and raised here -- who use our resources and take our jobs, never mind that they also produce jobs, or that we've got the room. Even highly populated U.S. cities can't compare to the crowded conditions in Mumbai or Shanghai.

North America IS fortunate. What did we do differently?  We gave priority to education, freedom of expression, freedom of speech, freedom to worship as you please; we wrote the Bill of Rights into our Constitution, championed the democratic process. Women are not oppressed or subservient--at least not at the moment; we have equal rights, reproductive rights and effective birth control methods--at the moment. Our smaller populations demand and consume fewer goods and services. We are provided better health care.

Maybe North America could be called 'lucky.' But other countries like New Zealand, Switzerland, Singapore, Denmark, Finland, Germany, Norway, Sweden, the Netherlands, the continent of Australia, and cities like London and Paris fare well too. The people suffering for one reason or another -- mainly because of an oppressive or corrupt political system, poor industrialization, fewer resources, lack of birth control or women's rights, lack of religious freedom, little education -- will continue to suffer. If they're going to find their way to better lives, education is essential. The hurdles are great, maybe insurmountable, and we, who live in 'lucky' countries, have an opportunity to help. The world is interconnected and interdependent, like it or not. 

Smoking

I confess that I am rather critical of smoking. At the very least, it is an inconsiderate habit when someone feels he has the right to smoke around others whether they like it or not.  My parents were both very heavy smokers when I was growing up.  I'd often get car sick because the car reeked of cigarettes and I was breathing the smoke. To this day, my stomach tightens if I'm in a car frequented by smokers.  Just walking along a street I can pick out a smoker's car, his house, simply by the smell. Eating next to a smoker at an outdoor restaurant? Forget it. I'll move to another table.  Does the smoker care that I do so?  Probably not.  It's his right to smoke outside. Should I be forced inside just so that I'm not ingesting smoke with my food? On a cold day I think:  Look what your addiction is doing to you - affecting your quality of life to the extent that you freeze out here, just because you have to smoke.

But much more than that, I think that an addiction to tobacco is as harmful as an addiction to alcohol.  How many forest fires have destroyed acres of beautiful trees, homes, wildlife habitats, killed firefighters, animals, and used up natural resources like water to control the blaze?  How many homes have burned to the ground, sometimes killing the inhabitants, because a careless smoker fell asleep with a cigarette in his hand?  What about the cancer statistics -- the proven fact that tobacco causes cancer of the mouth, esophagus, lungs?  Non-smokers - people forced to breathe second hand smoke - are at risk of cancer too.  If a smoker doesn't kill himself with tobacco - often prematurely - he may kill someone else, usually a loved one.  How selfish is that? My aunt (my mom's sister) died of lung cancer. She was only in her 50's - and a heavy smoker. My mother was completely devastated, and the family felt the loss for some time. The silver lining was that both my parents gave up smoking on the spot, cold turkey, and never smoked again.  Doing so probably prolonged their lives.