The Fourth

John and Kim live in a Sacramento neighborhood that was airlifted straight out of the Midwest and plunked down two or three miles from downtown Sac. The huge trees that line the streets hang over American flags, barbecue grills, flower beds, and handsome manicured lawns. Everyone seems to know everyone. They’re all on the same page of the same book.

Kim organized a parade some years ago for the Fourth. Streets are closed and divided in half, providing a chariot-type race down one side, then back. Only it’s not really a race, unless you’re Kennedy, who wants to win even a non-competitive event. Little girls on scooters, big kids on bikes, parents holding hands of toddlers or pushing carriages vie in rush hour traffic to make the loop, then do it again…and again. Coffee is provided. Marie’s doughnuts quickly disappear. This year Jadyne counted the $192 dollars in donations, adding $8 of her own to round up the contributions, which will go for the parade next year. Below are some of the celebrants.

Ready to roll.

The countdown at the starting line.

Not everyone had the holiday spirit.

Kennedy and friend.

Between the parade and the hundreds of dollars of fireworks, John and Kim’s house and pool was a revolving door of friends, kids, burgers, and hot dogs. Hazel arrived early afternoon, missing the parade, but not the pool.

Ships

ONE

Thoughts and Prayers Dep’t

An overcrowded fishing trawler, carrying a reported 750 people, capsized off the coast of Greece last week, killing at least 82 people and leaving hundreds more missing.

There were more than 100 children on board. According to survivors the vessel’s crew members maltreated the Pakistanis who were below deck when they came up in search of fresh water or when they tried to escape. Greece’s caretaker prime minister, Ioannis Sarmas declared three days of national mourning following the disaster saying "with our thoughts on all the victims of the ruthless smugglers who exploit human unhappiness”.

More. “We can assume that many of these children will have lost their lives, as reports of survivors are so far limited. Our deepest sympathies are with the children’s families, and all those affected by this horrendous event,” Unicef said in a statement.

It made the news here in America. For a day or so. After all, they were just migrants.

TWO

Dozens feared drowned after migrant boat sinks off Spain’s Canary Islands

That headline was from yesterday. Authorities have recovered two bodies, including a young girl, but the true number of those who were on board is not known. A day earlier Spanish maritime services rescued 227 other migrants from four boats. This story didn’t really make the news, at least not on Page 1. I had to search to find it. Not important, though. They were just migrants.

THREE

'Praying for miracle'

Alas, no miracle was in the works.

OceanGate's Titan submersible went missing along with the five people inside on June 18 and the subsequent rescue attempts spanned over four days. The operation, which ended in the revelation that the vessel had imploded, will likely have run up a massive bill A number of airplanes, boats, and submersibles were used in the attempts to find out what had happened to the five who went to see the Titanic wreck. These were contributed by a number of countries including the US, Canada, and  France.

The five who died were not migrants. Each of them paid $250,000 to spend an hour or two to visit the wreckage of the Titanic. Oceangate’s website advertised the adventure as “a chance to step outside of everyday life and discover something truly extraordinary”. They did just that, but they did it as billionaires.

A NY Times reporter, noting that the contrast between the two disasters had fueled heated discussions, added that “status and race no doubt play a role in how the world responds to such disasters, but there are other factors as well.” The plight of the Thai soccer players was one-of-a-kind, while few people knew of the migrants until they died. He adds, “And in study after study, people show more compassion for the individual victim who can be seen in vivid detail than for a seemingly faceless mass of people.” A small dead child washed up on a beach, making his death impossible to ignore. The deaths of faceless migrants are forgotten quickly, as these events are not one-of-a-kind. They happen frequently. What should not be ignored, however, is the indifference by countries attempting half-hearted rescues vs. the millions of dollars spent to save five very well-to-do wannabe explorers.

Snippets

ONE

Jadyne and I just returned from a trip to Colorado to see Jay’s brother and sister-in-law. We were passing time in Glenwood Springs at the Amtrak station while Greg was undergoing an eye exam. The Zephyr, Amtrak’s San Francisco-Chicago train, was due any minute, and we waited for its arrival. A man was waiting in a wheelchair by the tracks with a small dog on his lap, an oxygen bottle on his back, a caregiver by his side. I asked him where he was going, why he was there. He replied, “I live in Carbondale. I have family on the train, and I came down to see them.”

I moved away and waited for the train.

A Zephyr is a “light breeze.” Considering how late the California Zephyr often is, the breeze must have died down somewhere along the line.

As it rolled into Glenwood Springs the doors opened, passengers embarked, and fifteen members of my friend’s family jumped off, ran to his wheelchair, and hugged him. They handed a porter a phone for this.

Ten minutes later the whistle blew, the family climbed back on the train, and the man was left in his wheelchair, his caregiver by his side. his dog on his lap.

TWO

Earlier that day I was waiting for Jadyne at the Glenwood Springs Post Office. I walked over to pet Blanco, a Great Pyrenees dog, and began chatting with her owner. “Are you local?” he asked. “No, we’re visiting family here,” I replied. I paused, then said, “I’m sure you know them. Everybody does. They’re Greg and Sean Jeung.” He responded, “I worked with Teeny. I knew her so well. Such a loss.” At that moment his friend Teri walked up.” She bought Teeny’s house,” he said.

I sent her photos of the house from the early eighties. She texted, “ I LOVE MY HOUSE, and will show it off when it is further along. I had the floors leveled and had wide plank select grade walnut installed downstairs twenty years ago. I put a shower in the downstairs bathroom and tiled everything in white, with white bead board above tile wainscoting on the walls. That was all 20 years ago. It feels good to be working on it again.

It was nice to have met you both, and I look forward to seeing old pictures!!” She sent me the following text, adding that it was from one of Teeny’s friends, who wrote it two days after Teeny was killed.

The friend had photographed a poem that Teeny had on her refrigerator.

I sent her the photos. She emailed. Thank you so much for the pictures. Seeing them has helped me understand why her personality has always outshined her death. What a beautiful lady!  I feel she lives on in this house, and I will certainly continue to welcome her here as I always have. We would have been great friends!  Thank you again! I am ever indebted. What an unusual chance encounter!!

Facebook

A facebook “friend” posted this a couple of days ago:

“Today is one of the saddest days of my life. My eldest granddaughter is graduating from 8th grade. Not only was I not invited to attend the graduation by my estranged daughter (who I had to disengage from in June 2022 upon medical advice due to her toxicity & chronic abuse of me), but the event was kept secret from me by my other children & even my own mother. There is so much more I wanted to say today but I am just too heartbroken to do so. I have done nothing to my granddaughter or even my daughter to warrant such cruelty. This dysfunctional situation is called Grandparent Alienation and involves among other things, lying, brainwashing (of the child), gaslighting, refusal of contact between the child & grandparent, and enabling of the situation by others. At a later time I will speak about this in depth. I am too distraught to do so now. It is considered by experts in the field to be "a severe form of child abuse & elder abuse." I have been allowed to see my granddaughter one time in four years. Congratulations T on your graduation. I love and miss you so very much and am so proud of you. Love, Nonni”

I don’t really know “Nonni.” She is a Facebook “friend”, someone whose path I crossed perhaps forty or more years ago. I taught her brother. Her father offered to stake me when I first began my photography business.

You could sum up our relationship in one cartoon

My emphasis centers on the distance my ”friend” and I have in real life. It’s limited to social media.

Go back to her post. She reveals a sadness in her life that begs for understanding and sympathy. And indeed, she received that in the comments that followed her post. At the same time, she exposed her sadness, her vulnerability to all 181 of her “friends”, many of whom, I suspect, have as distant relationship with her as I do. It’s awkward and uncomfortable knowing this. Second, accepting that she has an undesirable family situation, what changes are likely to happen after posting this in a public forum? Her daughter could see this. Her granddaughter could, too. It’s troubling. Nothing good can come of this.

If we were to read her post and ask the question, what did the daughter do to create this abusive relationship? Did the daughter do anything? We’ve only heard from the poster, not the daughter. And then we ask ourselves, why should we be in this position at all? It’s none of our business. Should this go beyond her family, her therapist, her counselors? She could have limited the post to those who need to know, who might be able to provide real help. She didn’t.

A elderly neighbor discovered the death of a friend’s daughter through Facebook so soon after the death that the deceased family hadn’t had the chance to contact caring friends themselves, essentially preempting the family’s right to make the connection. It’s inconsiderate, presumptuous, and disrespectful to pass on such information without consulting the family, who most likely would object. Strenuously. I’ve posted RIPs when I’ve been alerted to someone’s passing, but only when that person is known to all. Last week it was Tina Turner.

I use Facebook. What I do has changed through the years. I’ve always enjoyed the positive responses I’ve gotten from posting photographs. I Like showing my best images. They are meant to be seen, and Facebook provides that opportunity. I like the “likes.” I share meaningful experiences and thoughts. We just returned from a trip to Turkey. For several days I posted images from the trip.

In the past I expressed opinions, from Trump (mostly) to second amendment lovers. I stopped doing that years ago. I wasn’t about to change anyone’s mind. I enjoy reading posts from some of my friends. Some are amusing, informative, reflective, and occasionally quite powerful, not all of which come from my friends.

Here’s one that made me laugh yesterday. I’ve always appreciated irreverence.

Loved that one.

I’ve seen posts by people who’ve shared quotes I was unfamiliar with. A Korean author on NPR last week reported how surprised she was in returning to Seoul and discovering that on every corner there was a skin care shop or beauty shop or shop that catered to those whose purpose is to look good. Appalling. I saw this today from Dame Judi Dench.

Some deal with history, the events that might have occurred yesterday or two hundred years ago. I like that. They often point to another article.

Some of my Facebook “friends” are really friends. There are a handful that in referencing the cartoon, would be at my funeral. Keeping in touch with them, if only through Facebook, is important to me. And keeping in touch with them doesn’t prevent me from in-person relationships.

The dangers of Facebook have been studied, although questions remain. It’s undeniable that the more one interacts with social media the more likely that person will avoid interpersonal interaction. Real people. Someone who is susceptible to symptoms of anxiety and depression may find those symptoms increasing. People who have cut it off for periods of a month or so often find that its place in their lives is diminished.

Younger brains continue to grow. Though they might find some rewards in social media interaction, what is lost is what books they might have been reading, what conversations with friends they’re not having, what skills they might have attained, what music they might have made. And that’s not only true for them. It’s depressing to see adults with children, checking their phones, whether it’s social media or something else, in effect disregarding the immediate connection for the electronic one.

I’m not posting photos at this time. I’m not looking for props. I’m not looking at Facebook much at this time. I’m surviving.

Istanbul Airport

We missed our connection from Istanbul to Frankfurt so we stayed another night. We were told that we were on the 8:30 am direct flight to SF the next morning. We weren’t. We were booked on the 1:15 flight. We hung out at the airport the next day for seven hours waiting to check in. The airport is almost a half mile from one end to the other. I walked it several times, looking at my fellow passengers and shopkeepers, some of whom appear here in my blog. No one is smiling.

The Lie(s)

Jordan Klepper’s followers love his one-on-one interviews at Trump rallies, exposing the hypocrisies, lies, and disinformation that embed their thinking. It’s both sad and amusing to watch, notes the arrogant liberal, who, of course, is fully possessed of facts and unshakeable truths. And it’s the truth part that we didn’t really understand. We thought, or at least I did, that when presented with truths, MAGA would accept the error of their ways and all would be well. How wrong we were. Truth is “Truth Social,” what they want to hear, want to believe, and to hell with that old school definition of truth from Merriam-Webster.

Truth: the body of real things, events, and facts : actuality

: the state of being the case : fact

often capitalized : a transcendent fundamental or spiritual reality

: a judgment, proposition, or idea that is true or accepted as tru

: the property (as of a statement) of being in accord with fact or reality

Jordan Klepper Recalls His Favorite MAGA Comment And It's A Doozy

The Donald Trump supporter was “being completely honest in that moment," said "The Daily Show" correspondent.

Jordan Klepper has endured his fair share of wild moments with Donald Trump supporters during his MAGA field reports for “The Daily Show.”

But one comment stands out, the correspondent recalled in previously unseen footage filmed last week during his stint guest-hosting the Comedy Central program.

Klepper remembered talking to a woman during Trump’s first impeachment for trying to extort Ukraine. The then-president was blocking witnesses, including former national security adviser John Bolton, from testifying.The woman insisted to Klepper that Trump was “innocent,” and said that if he had done anything wrong he’d be trying to hide it.

Klepper asked if blocking testimony would be an admission of guilt. The woman agreed it would. Klepper told her Trump was blocking testimony.

“And she takes this very long beat, she thinks about it, and she says, ‘I don’t care,’” he said.

The woman was “being completely honest in that moment,” he added.

When people’s politics become tied up with their identity it’s almost impossible to change their minds, Klepper noted.

“They don’t give a shit about the new piece of information,” he said.

bing.com/news

The Currency de Jour is The Lie

Donald J Trump, at 2:39 this morning wrote on Truth Social. In effect, he wanted FOX to continue in court “The Big Lie.” He wrote in all caps,

“IF FOX WOULD FINALLY ADMIT THAT THERE WAS LARGE SCALE CHEATING & IRREGULARITIES IN THE 2020 PRESIDENTIAL ELECTION, WHICH WOULD BE A GOOD THING FOR THEM, & FOR AMERICA, THE CASE AGAINST THEM, WHICH SHOULD NOT HAVE EXISTED AT ALL, WOULD BE GREATLY WEAKENED. BACK UP THOSE PATRIOTS AT FOX INSTEAD OF THROWING THEM UNDER THE BUS – & THEY ARE RIGHT! THERE IS SOOO MUCH PROOF, LIKE MASS BALLOT STUFFING CAUGHT ON GOVERNMENT CAMERAS, FBI COLLUDING WITH TWITTER & FACEBOOK, STATE LEGISLATURES NOT USED, etc.”

Apparently, it didn’t work. Fox agreed to pay Dominion Voting Machines $787,000,000, confirming by paying out the largest settlement in defamation history that all that they had said, all that Trump had said, was a lie. As is everything that Donald Trump does, says and misspells.

AI

My friend Stephen Dixon posted on FB a link to images taken by two brothers, Jordi and Arnau Puig. Here’s a link to their website, but for brevity’s sake I’ve copied a couple below.

Creative, indeed.

I wrote to Stephen:

You posted the sequence of images that was brilliantly composed by genius photographers using swinging lights, time exposures, mirrors with water, etc. Impressive, but I hate it. My interest and fundamental appreciation of photography is is the ways that truth is revealed through the camera. Look at these.

Lora Webb Nichols Photography Archive

He wrote, “Oh, I like classic photography. At one point in my life I dabbled a bit in it, and was fascinated. I have numerous books that are collections of photographs on one subject or another. But I appreciate creative artistry in almost all its forms. Think how painters and portraitists sniffed at photography as not being ‘a real art’ when cameras were first invented. For quite a long time, actually. Or the film vs digital divide. I am not one given to orthodoxy. I am too fascinated by creativity and invention.”

I wrote, “I didn't say that very well. I belong to several FB photo groups. In "world class landscapes" there are too many composites, too much Photoshop, too much AI, all aimed to make something that was beautiful in and of itself otherworldly spectacular. It's boring, and what I'm seeing is that too much of the computer generated imagery is pushing more traditional imagery aside. (I tried to find the cartoon where Lucy pushing a TV overruns Linus who is reading a book. No luck). I appreciate the creativity. I have no interest in learning how to do those things. For me the joy is in the process of unearthing or discovering. I went to SF last week to see Ansel Adams' 100 photographs. He never set out to "make a photograph." He found them.”

You sent

I'm going to put one up now from Tanzania.

Yesterday at 4:35 PM

Sun 4:35 PM

Stephen

I understand your commitment to purity. But we have to be careful to not be too orthodox. Young men should not have been discouraged from playing Rock and Roll on the electric guitar because of the purity and complexity of Classical music.

Stephen

You know I love your work. I have commented on it often enough. Not every one, because then the praise becomes mundane. But everything you have selected to post is special. And I can’t imagine the work and the artistry it takes to freeze a bird in mid flight.

Yesterday at 5:14 PM

Sun 5:14 PM

You sent

Thank you for the kind words. My attitude, grounded in tradition, is simply a preference. Jadyne has often remarked, “You’re always looking.” And yes, I am. The pleasure of finding is what it’s all about for me. One of my son’s friends was married last Saturday. I was not the “official photographer”, but I had a little travel camera. I’m going to attach a jpeg after this post that I took of the bride at the reception, holding a glass of champagne. A candid, that’s all.

You sent

You sent

We can continue this at the Cincinnati Country Club. I'm looking forward to seeing you.





Stephen

Oh my! That’s like a painting by one of the French geniuses. They are going to love that. They are going to be inundated with regular wedding photos. When they get back from their honeymoon, you all should show it to the groom only. If he puts that on canvas, or something like that, and gives it to her on their first anniversary, she will feel like a bride all over again.

You sent

Again, thank you...I'm always looking...

Today at 5:09 AM

5:09 AM

You sent

Sony World Photography Award 2023: Winner refuses award after revealing AI creation — BBC News

Today at 6:27 AM

6:27 AM

Stephen

I couldn’t open that without downloading some new app. WTF? My iPad must be many generations out of date.

You sent

In short. The guy took first place in the Sony World Photography Contest with an image that he created entirely from artificial intelligence. He refused the award, confessing that he just wanted to “test the waters” and bring up the discussion about the intrusiveness of “new photography” in pushing aside what has been traditional. The judges couldn’t tell the difference.

Stephen

Well that’s troubling. Autotune for photographers. Time for the tech heads to come up with a way to spot the tweaked ones. Why can’t contests insist on a negative? But, oh yeah, many, if not most, are probably shooting digitally now, aren’t they?

You sent

Yes, we all shoot RAW files. I don’t know if they can be modified. If not, that would be one possible answer.

Stephen

If there was a way to identify and cull for anything but cropping, that would be fair, wouldn’t it?

You sent

There are changes in contrast, color balance, lightening and darkening that have been a part of photography since the camera was created. The original negative of Adams’ “Moonlight, Hernandez, New Mexico” went through many changes before the final print was created. The genius was in the visualization, that what he saw with his own eyes could be transformed into what he saw in his mind’s eye. We’re not out to simply record what we see, but how what we see can be turned into something that we can visualize. Besides, every camera and every sensor, every film camera, every film, all reduce a three-dimensional world into two, arresting motion along the way. From the get-go we’re translating, modifying, changing. I accept some changes, reject others. When you have a totally AI created image passing as a photograph you’re in treacherous water. Am going to the gym. Would love to continue.

Write to Stephen Dixon


Kennedy

…is the younger of John and Kim’s two children. He turns nine this month. Like squirrels, Kennedy doesn’t walk. His natural pace is sprint. The rest of him has no trouble keeping up with the energy introduced by his legs.

The Weller Way family had stopped at Costco before a trip, planning to pick up lunch to eat on the road. The Sacramento Costco has kiosks out front for ordering. Kennedy asked to press the buttons to order the meals for the four of them, then pocketed the receipt. Next they joined a fifteen minute line along with other hungry shoppers, waiting for their $1.50 hot dog, drink (with free refills), their chicken bakes, slices of pepperoni pizza. Weller had a tight schedule, made tighter by the length of the line. When they appeared at the front the employee asked for the receipt. John said, “Kennedy, give it to her.” Kennedy turned and said, “I gave it back to you!” John said, “No, you didn’t. You have it.” Kennedy insisted that he had given it back. Kim asked the employee if they could have the food without the receipt, but she insisted that they had to give her the receipt before she could give them their order. “No receipt, no food,” she said. Embarrassed at holding up the line, John and Kim had to decide whether to go back to the kiosk, pay again, then stand in the line for an interminable length of time, time they didn’t have. They left hungry. They left angry.

TJ is in charge of customer relations at Costco. He learned about the commotion at the food court window and looked back at the video. He was able to track down John and Kim and called them on the phone, introducing himself and telling them this: “I looked at the store video. Your son picked up the receipt from the kiosk and threw it into the trash. If there’s anything else I can do for you, please let me know. I’m TJ.” Kim thanked him for the call.

They confronted Kennedy and told him that it was all on video. He stopped, took a deep breath, looked at them and said, “True, I did.” The focus wasn’t on why he threw it away. They focused on the lie, how doubling down made it so much worse.

We’ve all been there. We’ve tried to extricate ourselves from predicaments by making the hole we’re standing in deeper. And we’ve all been there as parents, too, hearing stories denying the justifiable suspicions we know to be true. Growing up takes a long time. More than nine years.

Donald J (Jail) Trump's Indictment

I mined Twitter and Facebook for appropriate memes. I think they tell a better story than I can. The memes begin in 1989 when five young black kids were seen in Central Park near where a 28 year old investment banker was brutally raped and left to die. The five were arrested for the crime, served between six and fourteen years in prison. Following their conviction Donald Trump paid for this ad in the NYTimes.

The Central Park 5 were exonerated in 2002, fourteen years after the attack. The real rapist, whose DNA matched, admitted to the crime. He is serving a 33 to life sentence for raping three women near Central Park and raping and killing a pregnant woman.

Trump never apologized. One of the boys, now men, posted this after the indictment yesterday.

Then came the headlines.

Trump’s rallies in 2016 always included the chant, “Lock Her Up,” directed at Hillary Clinton for made-up crimes that Trump created to diminish her. One can only imagine how she felt after the news came yesterday. And Ms. Cheney?

Time to open a bottle of champagne!

Then came the headlines.

The “Truth Social” post that revealed Trump’s unhappy response, once he learned that he was “indicated.”

And of course, his brilliant son Eric had this to say, echoing what Republican house members are squalling about in the press.

It’s imagined that not everyone in Trumpworld was as distraught as Eric.

A clarion cry from the right wing has focused on this unprecedented act, trying to frighten people with images like the one that follows. And no, Donnie, you’re mistaken. They are after you. But, as the ad says, these ne’er-do-wells are partly correct, too. They would come after us, that is, if we had committed the countless felonies you have.

Mr. Trump is, as the meme suggests, the one man crime wave. They’re only after criminals.

No shortage of pro-law, anti-perp memes. The arraignment is first, but stuff will follow.

And before it does there wil be the finger-printing, the mug shot, the humiliation, the “perp walk,” followed by countless delays and motions. Then a trial. If all goes well Mr. Trump will be assigned the following Monopoly card.

Is this indictment a good thing? Is Trump above the law? Highly unusual, yes, but American at its best.

I’m offering my own opinion, basing it on thje following cartoon appearing in The Washington Post today, April 1st, and no, it’s not an April Fools joke. Trump’s chances of being re-elected?

A Better Way To Kill Children

Tired of watching body parts fly everywhere? Medics are. “I couldn’t even find one of her legs! “ complained Nashville medic John Scally after arriving at Covenant School. “I looked all over the place!” he wailed, scooping up whatever brain splatter he could find.

An AR-15 is a classic case of overkill (pun intended), when a smaller gun, using smaller bullets, will do the job just as well. And a smaller bullet not only will kill but will leave the body intact, saving medics time and money when searching for remains before loading bodies into ambulances. Or hearses.

The much loved AR-15 is an adult gun, meant to be used by adults to kill adults. The Washington Post provides a graphic explanation about what a .223 bullet, one that can cross six football fields in under a second, does to the body. It’s silly to use such a thing on a child.

More Fun Ways To Kill Children

Introducing…

Killing Children For Fun Since 1776!

Medics will appreciate saving time searching for all that icky stuff. Taxpayers will, too, knowing that paramedics run on the taxpayer's dime. Ambulances will spend less time cleaning up after a school shooting. And multiple kindergartners and pre-schoolers can fit in the back of one ambulance, where adults have to go one at a time. Have you ever had to pay for an ambulance? Not cheap, I tell you.

Even the bullets are fun!

Shaped like Hello Kitty, the ammo is the cat’s meow! Hardly drawing any blood, the entrance and exit wounds are almost identical! Even the guns meow as they’re fired.

And hey, wait! You can get a Designer Gun, named after beloved gun lovers! Behold below

The handle is shaped in the form of Lauren Boebert’s body! For shooters of the Boebert Blaster you can

FONDLE WHILE FIRING!

And better, when you run out of Hello Kitty ammo, her empty body and brain doubles as a PEZ dispenser. (Candy Not Included )

New models are in production. The MTGreene Gotcha!, a special edition model. Silent when the ammo misses, but yells “Gotcha!” when it finds flesh. And of course, knowing our 2nd Amendment-Loving Gun-Worshipping GOPers, when your Boeberts and Greenes run empty, you know you GOTTA GETTA GAETZ!

One Hundred and Eighty

When I was teaching I would tell Jadyne about conflicts in my class with a student or two. No doubt the student came home and described the event in his own words to his parents. I was only privy to my own account, but I suspect that the student’s story differed from mine, perhaps so much so that the two accounts never intersected. We were 180° apart.

Currently, Gwyneth Paltrow is being sued and is counter-suing a retired Utah physician following a skiing accident in 2016. Here are some quotes from reports about the case:

“Gwyneth Paltrow says Terry Sanderson 'categorically' crashed into her”

“While on the stand, Paltrow said she "was not engaging in any risky behavior" the day she alleges Sanderson crashed into her from behind on a beginner ski slope.”

“Mr Sanderson insists that the movie star smashed into him after racing downhill in an “out-of-control” manner, according to CourtTV. He claims that she struck him in the back with such force that he was left with “permanent traumatic brain injury, four broken ribs, pain, suffering, loss of enjoyment of life, emotional distress and disfigurement”. In his complaint, the plaintiff argues that Paltrow “got up, turned and skied away” without summoning help, leaving him “stunned, lying in the snow, seriously injured”.

The outcome of the suits is yet to be determined. Their statements reveal either faulty memories (my late uncle called them “convenient memories”), or something worse, a fabrication, a lie, an untruth, deception, fib, a whopper. That we see events through our own unique lenses is hardly surprising, but that they can differ so dramatically, 180 degrees, is a source of wonder.

The Former Guy

Steve Schmidt had this to say about The Former Guy:

“Donald Trump has been the worst president this country has ever had. And I don’t say that hyperbollically. He is. But he is a consequential president. And he has brought this country in three short years to a place of weakness that is simply unimaginable if you were pondering where we are today from the day where Barack Obama left office. And there were a lot of us on that day who were deeply skeptical and very worried about what a Trump presidency would be. But this is a moment of unparalleled national humiliation, of weakness.

“When you listen to the President, these are the musings of an imbecile. An idiot. And I don’t use those words to name call. I use them because they are the precise words of the English language to describe his behavior. His comportment. His actions. We’ve never seen a level of incompetence, a level of ineptitude so staggering on a daily basis by anybody in the history of the country whose ever been charged with substantial responsibilities.

“It’s just astonishing that this man is president of the United States. The man, the con man, from New York City. Many bankruptcies, failed businesses, a reality show, that branded him as something that he never was. A successful businessman. Well, he’s the President of the United States now, and the man who said he would make the country great again. And he’s brought death, suffering, and economic collapse on truly an epic scale. And let’s be clear. This isn’t happening in every country around the world. This place. Our place. Our home. Our country. The United States. We are the epicenter. We are the place where you’re the most likely to die from this disease. We’re the ones with the most shattered economy. And we are because of the fool that sits in the Oval Office behind the Resolute Desk.”

Well, that’s one side.

Here’s another:

One hundred and eighty degrees…I’m leaning towards Steve’s version

The 180 degree difference can be broken down into at least three components—memory, perception, and fabrication.

Memory.

Elizabeth Loftus is a distinguished professor at UC Irvine. She has testified about memory at trials of OJ Simpson, Ted Bundy, Rodney King, Michael Jackson, Bill Cosby, and more recently Harvey Weinstein. She’s unpopular with prosecutors because of statements like this: “False memories, once created — either through misinformation or though these suggestive processes — can be experienced with a great deal of emotion, a great deal of confidence and a lot of detail, even though they’re false.” Rape accusers find themselves accused of having leaky memories.

In another case, Judge Kavanaugh denied Christine Ford’s claims that he raped her when they were teenagers. According to the New York Times, “Judge Kavanaugh has emphatically denied allegations from Dr. Blasey that he tried to rape her when they were teenagers or ever committed sexual assault against anyone. Dr. Blasey and another accuser, Deborah Ramirez, have recounted their alleged incidents with both precise detail and gaping holes.” 180°

Recollection is part reconstruction, The brain, especially after traumatic experiences, engages a selective process that is prone to error. When Jennifer was a little girl she was sitting in a red wagon. I tried to carry them both. She fell onto a gravel driveway, cut in several places. We picked her up, carried her inside, cleaned the cuts, applied band-aids. She was scratched but otherwise okay. Jason, her older brother, said last year that she was injured and covered with blood. His memory of the event was colored not only by time but by the way he saw the world as a little boy. Which brings me to…

Perception

We perceive events through our senses, yes, but also through past experiences. In Jason’s case, age played a role. So did the passing of more than forty years. The Marx brothers line, “Who ya gonna believe, me or your own eyes?” Concerning the blatant disregard of our senses Trump is a master. To veterans he said, “What you’re seeing and what you’re reading is not what’s happening,” 180°

We think we’re all seeing the same thing. We regard it as fact, as truth. When called out for falsehoods Kellyanne Conway, one of Trump’s minions, said, “Our press secretary, Sean Spicer, gave alternative facts to that…” Chuck Todd, who was interviewing her replied, "Wait a minute. Alternative facts? ... Alternative facts are not facts. They're falsehoods." 180° All of this was regarding Trump’s claim that his inauguration crowd was greater than Obama’s, a fabrication easily disproved with aerial photographs. “What you’re seeing and what you’re reading is not what’s happening,”

Why then, do people believe them? IMHO, the deplorables have no interest in what is true, what is false. Truth falls by the wayside when it conflicts with what we want to believe, with what conforms to our own thinking, or what we want to be true, not what is true. Problems arise on the national stage when deplorables are elected to govern, Right MGT? Lauren? Andy? Tommy?

Fabrication

The last stop on the train. Trump knew he lost. He knew the election wasn’t stolen. He created “The Big Lie” out of the knowledge that the deplorables who love him, who follow him, have no interest in truth. Seventy million of them. They wanted him to win, so he simply gave them what they wanted. Sixty judges affirmed what the rest of us all knew. The judiciary told the truth. Deplorables paid no attention.

We fabricate stories for a multitude of reasons. A policeman follows a speeder. The driver pulls to the curb, climbs out of the car and denies that she was the driver. We lie to get out of trouble. We lie to get someone else in trouble. George Santos, the lying congressman from New York, lied on his resumé to get elected. We lie because sometimes the truth is too painful to hear. We lie to hide our fears or cover up our inadequacies.

There are degrees of lying. We use the expression “white lie” to prevent the truth from hurting someone else. If white lies are the bottom of the pyramid, then what the Republican Party, what Donald Trump is doing, represents the top. Trump asked his constituents, “Are you tired of winning?, believing that winning and truth were the same. Of all the insults that Trump can’t accept, losing wins. To lose is inconceivable. Denying loss by claiming it didn’t happen isn’t. Trump knew he lost, but in his mind the loss disappears if he doesn’t acknowledge it. He lied. He’s still a winner. 180°

The last 180° comes from a lady who lives in the Ozarks.


My To-Don't List

From an article in The Atlantic by Arthur Brooks, a “to-don’t” list focuses on what you know to be wrong. It’s the “via negativa”, a negative way of looking at things, then avoiding them, which, in effect, allows for more positivity to enter your life.

Here’s where I started. One, I’ve obsessed about the little bulge above my belt that extends, rises up and out, then curves back, before returning to meet up with the rest of my body. It surrounds five or six very active pounds, that’s all, pounds that go on frequent vacations for a few days, then come home. Then go away. Then return. I’ve spent too much time worrying about them, wondering if they’re safe, whether they’ve picked up any bad habits, knowing that they’ll return, and worse, whether they’ll bring friends with them. Ignoring them altogether makes me happier.

Two. I’ve also obsessed about my 401k. It was so much fun watching it play and grow over the past several years. Like putting a yardstick over your kid’s head and seeing how tall he was last month, now how tall he is today. Growth in some things brings pride and contentment. Not so for investments over the last fifteen months. By ignoring that all-knowing website over the past few weeks, the one that knows exactly how much money I have, I no longer wonder how far it’s tumbled. I don’t know much money I have. And here’s the thing. Whether it was rising or falling, its movement had nothing to do with what I did any day, how I lived my life. Only how I felt. I feel better not knowing.

Three. Real estate. We own two houses. We live in one. Jason, Hawthorn, and Hazel live in the other. A year ago their values were through the proverbial roof. Fifteen months later they’ve lost hundreds of thousands of dollars in value. We have no plans to sell, so we haven’t lost that money. Many years ago, when David Buchholz Photography was a thing, I said to Jadyne, “We lost Healdsburg’s Prom.” That was a big deal, a huge moneymaker for DBP. She replied, “We didn’t lose it. We never had it in the first place.” So, about that real estate thing. It don’t make much no never mind.

Four. There have been toxic people in my life—my former daughter-in-law, my ex neighbor Bob Frassetto, people whose memories conjure up bad feelings. Once these people were unavoidable. Now Jason is divorced, and I know nothing about my former daughter-in-law now, only that her presence, physically, emotionally, and psychically, are gone, and with that. the toxicity. Bob Frassetto, who once said, “You disgust me,” sold his house, married for the third time, and left Kensington and my life. Both absences have brought about presence.

Brooks adds that in trying to find out who you really are, how to bring about the feelings of positivity, “…is to eliminate the things that are not truly you—for example, your career, your money, your looks, your social-media following. Write down items on that list. Each day, recite all of the things you are not, such as “I am not my job title.” You might just find that this via negativa has introduced you to yourself.”

Calla Lily

Costco sells seasonal stuff before the season begins. A week or so ago, in the midst of the constant parade of wintry atmospheric rivers that have beset the Bay Area, I welcomed spring with a helleborus that I planted in the garden, then picked up a calla lily that caught my attention. Here it is on our front deck.

I’ve always loved photographing flowers. The calla lily in the natural light brought on by rainy skies gave me the opportunity to focus on just one. I’ve posted them all on my website, but in my blog I’m taking a few of them and describing the process I use to create these images. Here is the link to the images if you want to skip the blog, which, of course you shouldn’t.

I set the plant on a stool in front of a sliding glass panel, attached my Nikon D850 with a 105mm f2.8 macro lens to a tripod and just looked. And looked. I rotated the plant, raised and lowered the tripod, moved closer, moved farther away, changed focus, and tried to find images that might strike an emotional reaction. Some photographs were taken wide open, throwing the great part of the image out of focus. Here’s one.

The two white circles on the tip are water droplets.

In our garden that Tim and Lisa Goodman planted in 2008 there are no straight lines. The stone wall in the back of the yard was mistakenly constructed as a rectangle; Tim ordered it rebuilt as a curve. Curves create more than harmony. There’s a satisfying sense of peace and serenity in curves that can’t be matched in straight lines.

And even small depths of field, which bring little sharpness to the image, don’t distract.

Curves prevail

Another technique I use is called “focus stacking.” Several images, say between 10 and 20, are taken from the same position, but each with a slightly different focus. When the images are aligned and blended the combined focal sharpness is revealed. It’s a sandwich. In the next image I wanted most of the flower to be sharp. Ten images, aligned and blended, made that possible. I love the way the light hits just the one flower, the contrast between the colors in it and the green stems of its neighbors.

Same flower. Just misted it.

I added another flower, then in post-processing added a light glow to the flowers. Are we trying to create a two-dimensional exact replica of the thing, or are we creating an image that is meant to evoke a response, an emotion? It’s the latter in this case. I’m also struck by the way the flower at the bottom ties to the other two.

I photographed these over three wet days. This was one of the last. Focus stacking, perhaps close to 20 images. One of the points of attention is at the top, including the way the light on the darkest part of the curling end reflects the light. A second point is midway, the smaller flower. Again, all is curve.

This is the same flower as in the first image. Focus stacking and mist, I hoped the drop wouldn’t drop. I have six more images on my web site, but you get the picture. Get it? You get the picture? Oh, never mind.

Two hours

The kitchen at the Dorothy Day House in Berkeley is undergoing remodeling, so breakfast this morning was cold cereal, milk, a doughnut, packaged fruit slices, and coffee. We served it in the courtyard, where about seventy-five people queued up. Or most of them did.

  • Sandy didn’t. She lay off to the side, screaming almost all the time, removing most of her clothes in the 38 degree weather. Ara brought her donations from the shelter to keep her warm. She threw them off, continuing to scream.

  • The first client showed up, turned down the box and asked that we give her a part of a bagel. We couldn’t do that without tearing apart a box, but she insisted. So did we. She went downstairs to get a bagel A scuffle happened. Someone called 9-1-1. Two police arrived. She filed a report of some kind. The policemen followed her inside. She pointed to a man sleeping under a blue tarp.

  • The mute in the blue jacket stood before me. We gave him two boxes and two containers of milk. Joe gave him two extra doughnuts. Jadyne poured two cups of coffee for him. He wouldn’t move. He just pointed to the boxes, the doughnuts and the coffee. We shook our hands to indicate that he’d had enough.

  • Another man came in and sat down, and began to shoot heroin. Carlos shooed him out, down the driveway and onto the sidewalk. “You’re disrespecting these people who are trying to feed you!” he yelled. “Get out of here.” Sandy kept screaming.

  • The mute came back and stood before us, pointing to the boxes we’d prepared. We shooed him away again.

  • Sandy stopped screaming long enough to walk over to where we were serving breakfast and downloaded Screaming 2.0. She got close to the food carts. Carlos moved the carts away from her, protecting the food by insuring that the window between Sandy and the food was in front of her face. We had already brought her breakfast and coffee. Ara had brought her clothes. She was shooed away down the driveway. Screaming.

  • The Russian lady arrived. I had gone inside to bring back more milk. When I returned she was still there. “You have enough!” Jadyne said to her. She asked for boxes for her “friends.” “Tell your friends to come get their own boxes,” Jadyne said. “You have enough.” Instead of one cup of coffee she wanted us to pour fresh coffee into her thermos, which had a lid smaller than the coffee spout. “We can’t do that,” Jadyne said, “but you can have another cup of coffee.” She wouldn’t leave. She started yelling at me. I covered my ears with my hands and backed away. Once again Carlos came over. Finally, she, too was shooed down the driveway.

  • The Latino man on the bike who had already received several doughnuts returned, wanting more. I gave him three from the top bin, but he wanted one from the bottom bin, which was inaccessible. Angered, he left on his bike.

  • The mute came back.

Later that morning Jadyne, Joe, and I received an email: As follows,

“Hey you three,

This morning was nuts! Sorry I never made it up to the service area, I know the line was tough. Ara was having a hard time and needed support. Then a couple of participants got into a scuffle, and when I returned to my office one of them was on my phone calling 911. 

Then Patrick came in and lost his mind because someone had walked across the fresh epoxy kitchen floor that hadn't set yet. Then a lovely young new volunteer came in for her orientation in the middle of it all and at the end asked if she need to take a self defense class .... do y'laugh or cry??

Anyway, really needed to thank you for all you do. 

xoxo,

Tami”

Segue

Spotlight, a 2015 film, follows Boston Gobe’s “Spotlight” team, investigative journalists that reported on cases of widespread and systemic child sex abuse in the Boston area by numerous Roman Catholic priests. As the credits roll by other dioceses with known sexual predators were listed. Santa Rosa was one such diocese.

I learned about it long after I left my teaching position in 1980. I wrote about it in my blog in 2017.

Last week Dan McNevin emailed me.

“I read a post on your blog from 2017. As you can see below, Fr. Finn has been named in a molestation lawsuit. About the time you were there. Perhaps he actually did harm someone? Hurley gets no pass from me, but things may have been more complicated for them both, and the victims were truth, transparency, and young boys and girls.
I think everybody who has knowledge of what went on, even if the knowledge came late, should speak out to support these victims who now have the strength to speak up. Corroborating stories and insights will help them heal and be believed. Whatever you know, whatever names you've heard, share them. Encourage others to. Not one bishop there cared. The place was, and is, a mess. Because you were there with the awareness of an adult, you might be able to help, just by working to connect the dots.

For what its worth, I'm not aware of one Catholic high school in Northern California that is free of sexual abuse by priests and brothers. Its staggering.”

When I wrote him back he replied,

“I think every believer in a just and moral church, as I was, was naïve. Some (but fewer) still are. The hardened core is in denial and like you say, a bit Trumpian. If we examine Finn's career, he left under some sort of a cloud, and went far away to Juneau, still a priest (I looked him up). That is classic "pass the trash" bishop playbook stuff. I kind of wonder if he even did what he said he did as it related to  reporting to Hurley. Hurley's brother, I think it was, wound up the Bishop in Anchorage. Coincidence? What you might consider is contacting the attorney who is representing the plaintiff in the Finn case and simply offer your memories. Something really small to you might be a corroborating fact that can support the survivor's case. 

I went to Bellarmine, and some classmates (unknown to me by identity) were molested. Their attorneys sent out letters to classmates asking for any memories at all. Some of those no doubt helped our classmates.  You have a unique view, having been at Cardinal Newman. You experienced Hurley's arrogance and you absorbed the clerical culture to some extent. You may know something an outsider doesn't. Plus, you are articulate with no particular axe to grind. That is just food for thought.”

I then wrote to a former student, an active liaison to the school community. At first reluctant to participate, he responded to my entreaty.

When he declined to help I wrote back to him. The following is my text to him: “You wrote, "I know or have come to know way more about the molestation stuff than I care to discuss right now." The statute of limitations on legal proceedings runs out this year. I have no axe to grind. I'm only involved in Dan's quest inasmuch as I can help those (and I don't know any by name) who have been scarred by what you call "hanky panky." If you have firsthand information that might be helpful I simply would provide you with Dan's email. I make no judgements. We do what we think is right. I only wrote to you for the single simple reason that no former student is closer to CN than you. I'm not reaching out to anyone else.”

To that he responded, "Hanky panky" is a poor choice of words but we both know I'm no wordsmith. Please forward Dan's email address I'll do what I can. It's complicated and I'd hate to open old wounds of friends who suffered so very much.”

Stay tuned. The spotlight is still on.

Stuff

A busy week. Had hoped to pick up the Tesla from the body shop on Tuesday, was told that it was ready, then told that someone in the body shop had damaged the rear bumper, so it was to be replaced. Picked it up Friday. Looks brand new. A welcome home coat of wax in order, but it’s too cold today.

Stuff One

Last July my optometrist told me that that the cataract in my left eye had grown to the point that surgery was possible. Met the opthalmologist in September who scheduled the surgery for early December. I couldn’t wait. Apparently Covid couldn’t wait, either. I was struck a week before the scheduled surgery. Postponed to Feb 15th, last Wednesday.

I wrote about it to a friend: “So I started Wednesday with a half banana, a half grapefruit, three slices of bacon, two scrambled eggs, leftover batard bread (toasted), two cups of coffee, and a glass of orange juice.  It was 6:15.  I knew I wouldn’t eat again until dinner.  Five mile hike, then The Brothers Karamazov, tea, and showed up at 2:30 for 3:00 surgery.  At 3:30 left the waiting room, had blood pressure checked (very high), then a check of oxygen, then an iv in my right forearm.  4:00 under the surgeon’s care, constant flow of water over the eye, no vision, just three moving bright lights.  By 4:30 I was out, with clear plastic mask over the eye.  Through the air holes in the mask I could see more clearly immediately than I could in my right eye.  It took two days for my iris, which had been dilated, to come back to earth.  I wear the mask at night now only.  During the day I protect my eye with my reading glasses.  Three weeks no swimming, easy on the exercise, walks okay.  The Brothers Karamazov are sharper than ever.  Reading is easier.  One month I see the optometrist and will no doubt have a new prescription.  So that’s the name of that tune.”

Sleeping with it is no big deal. Years ago I learned to sleep with a night guard in my mouth. After breaking my ankle last April I slept with a boot. A plastic eye patch is nothing. Just one week,.

I know that this is frightening, but the drops used to dilate my left eye left it as large as you see it as this photo revealed Wednesday night. Normal today, Saturday.

More Stuff

I received an email from Daniel McNevin. He wrote, “I read a post on your blog from 2017. As you can see below, Fr. Finn has been named in a molestation lawsuit. About the time you were there. Perhaps he actually did harm someone? Hurley gets no pass from me, but things may have been more complicated for them both, and the victims were truth, transparency, and young boys and girls. 

I think everybody who has knowledge of what went on, even if the knowledge came late, should speak out to support these victims who now have the strength to speak up. Corroborating stories and insights will help them heal and be believed. 

Whatever you know, whatever names you've heard, share them. Encourage others to. Not one bishop there cared. The place was, and is, a mess. Because you were there with the awareness of an adult, you might be able to help, just by working to connect the dots.

For what its worth, I'm not aware of one Catholic high school in Northern California that is free of sexual abuse by priests and brothers. Its staggering.”

He sent me a list of the priests who were under investigation.

I wrote back. “Dan, I didn’t respond to your last email because between then and today I had surgery.  I knew all of the priests.  For three I simply worked alongside of them. Stack was a friend.  I knew he was gay, but I had no knowledge of his being active with anyone, and most certainly not with boys.  I had hoped that his name wasn’t among those listed.  To quote Mr. Trump again, “sad.”

My friend Jerry Stack is one of the accused. I am, as I wrote, sad.

National Stuff

For years FOX news has dominated the TV airwaves. Some years ago they deleted their motto, which read “Fair and Balanced” because, well, they were neither. Millions of Americans believe in FOX news, lionize the broadcasters, lap up what they say, unapologetically embrace their political leanings. In the immediate aftermath of the 2020 election they were the first network to call Arizona for Joe Biden, and FOX promptly lost 25% of their viewers because people listened to them not for the truth, but for the made up “truths” that they espoused, “truths” that dovetailed nicely into viewers’ faux patriotism, racism, misogyny, love of guns, hatred of liberals, and disgust with real truth. Two new conservative newscasts appeared on the scene, willing to pick up the mantle of lies and fraud. As FOX news hosts witnessed the exodus, they panicked.

In private conversations they laughed at, criticized, and complained about the hucksters who were loudly claiming fraud, claiming that the election was stolen, and other lies. They had a choice between preserving the FOX brand and telling the real truth. Money speaks. They chose the former, continuing to propagate the lies, rumors, and hucksters on their shows in a desperate attempt to regain their audience. And if what they knew to be false came out of their mouths, it was a sacrifice they chose to make to preserve their brand and their paychecks.

One of those maligned was Dominion Voting Systems, the company that manufactures voting machines. They are currently suing FOX news for 1.6 billion dollars, bolstering their case with emails, texts, and broadcasts by the FOX hosts who accused them of malfeasance, revealing that the FOX hosts gleefully pulled the wool over the camera lens, pandering to their ignorant audience when in fact, they knew better.

I have no idea how this will pan out, but if I were Rupert Murdoch, the owner of FOX news, I would be looking for my checkbook.





Dogs

Bobi (pictured below) has been certified by the Guinness Book of Records as the oldest dog. Ever. A record exists of Bobi’s birth, and Bobi is still active, living on a family farm in Portugal. Bobi bumps into things. So do I.

Long before Bobi was born, Rawlins, Wyoming made his appearance. Not the city, but the dog. Rawlins was our first dog, purchased in 1970, an AKC basset hound known in heady AKC circles as “Erf.” And why Rawlins? Shortly after Jadyne and I were married we rented a U-Haul van and drove from San Francisco to Cincinnati. Our first night was in Wendover, NV (or Wendover UT, depending on which part of Wendover you were staying.) The next day we headed East, beginning with a forty mile stretch of I-80 that doesn’t bend or curve, rise or fall. Forty miles. I was driving on the misty freeway when at 70 mph I found the van had hydroplaned on the wet surface, and we were now perpendicular to the road, going sideways at 70mph. I turned the wheel the opposite direction, then turned again, then again, not touching the brakes, not panicking, just slowing down. We found ourselves on the shoulder, stopped and facing the road, right side up and safe.

The van had an engine between the front seats and little weight in the back, so it was unsafe at any speed. We spent the night in Rawlins, Wyoming, giving thanks for our safety. We acknowledged our good fortune that day by naming our dog. And without further ado, here’s Rawlins, Wyoming.

Jadyne thought he should have a companion so we bought another basset. Dillon, Montana. And a third, Bosco, but that’s another story.

And here’s a photograph of Aspen, our golden retriever, born in 1988, the source of much joy and affection by us Buchholzes. We had never intended to get a dog, but in 1988 Jadyne’s beloved sister was killed in an avalanche, and our kids needed something to love.

We started with a rabbit. John named him/her “Snicker.” We went on vacation and left Snicker with the Jovells. When we returned Snicker wasn’t there to welcome us. We suspected that the Jovells ate him.

So then we bought a golden retriever. We wanted the kids to name her. Eight year old John suggested “Pancho Punch,” (not a favorite), then Jason came up with “Velcro” because my brother’s dog was “Buttons”, and they were sort of related. He then came up with Aspen, commemorating Teeny by naming the dog for the place where she died. Here’s Aspen as a puppy. P.S. Not to let John feel slighted we named our 1988 Land Cruiser “Punch.” It was with us longer than either Aspen or Bobi.

Older than Aspen was “Angie,” a toy poodle belonging to my brother Jack and my sister-in-law Barbara. As Angie aged she required medical attention to keep her going, as in $$$ medical attention. It’s tough to know when to pull the plug, when repairing the car costs more than the new one. When Aspen developed sores, open wounds actually, on her legs that the vet said wouldn’t heal, we reluctantly had her put to sleep.

Here’s Angie ca. 1967.

A friend of John and Kim was moving and had to leave Rocky behind. Rocky was a Bernese Mountain Dog without a mountain. An omnivore, he ate little girls’ underpants. I mean, that kind of an omnivore. I brought a bowl of cherries to their house. Rocky ate them all. The same night he ate my white socks. I found one in the yard the next day. A few days later Kim found the matching sock. It was red. We brought chicken for lunch when we were called on to babysit. He ate all the pieces, the bones, two apples, the paper bag, and some of the plastic wrap. Rocky developed a tumor on his leg. When he brushed up against you, he rubbed the tumor on your pant leg. It bled, not your leg, but the tumor. Here’s Rocky.

Totally loveable when he wasn’t bleeding on you.

John and Kim found Huey, a rescue dog. Here he is as a puppy. He’s at the end of his life now, incontinent, but still loved.

Kim comes from a family of dog lovers. In this image we are at her parents’ house. Rocky and Huey are at either end of the sofa. One of the four remaining dogs belonged to Kim’s mother, the others to her two sisters. Maybe one was a stray. It would have been welcomed. IDK.

Jadyne’s brother and sister-in-law have always owned dogs, like a zillion of them. Shorty was all by himself when Sean found him. Unafraid, adventurous, and funny as hell, Shorty was our favorite. Alas, Shorty is no longer with us, except in photographs.

Shorty looking out the window.

One more family dog, image to be added later. Shadow, a purebred mix of about forty-six different breeds was discovered in an ad on Craigslist, then picked up from a woman at a parking lot in Sacramento by Jennifer, Andrew, Isla, and Susanto. My initial dealings with a yet-to-be-included Shadow weren’t so favorable, as she twice destroyed our screen door, urinated freely, (submissive incontinence), jumped on everyone, chased cars, and frightened Hazel. She’s calmer now, loved by the Geens, and no longer frightens Hazel. She’s insane, though, getting her ya-ya’s out enthusiastically biting a steel pole in their backyard. For the record. Shadow can’t be overlooked.

Shadow, 2/17/23

Our friends Chris and Dave Anderson had two golden retrievers that died. They checked out breeders before settling on Brody, who had his own room. Brody was loving and affectionate, and prone to cancer, which left Chris and Dave dogless after a few short years.

Brody had his own room.

“The Boys”, Nick and Russ, lived across the street. They loved poodles and cats. They raised chickens in a coop designed by an architect. Here are Sassy and Marcel celebrating Christmas on our front deck. Nick and Russ went to a New Year’s Eve party one year and came home to discover that Marcel wasn’t going to see in the New Year. Not the New Year that they had hoped.

Our friends Tom and Andrea loved Bono, a chocolate lab. Marrying late, Tom and Andrea found Bono the substitute for the children they would never have. Andrea’s phone opens with a photo of Bono, and it isn’t the time he jumped onto Tom and bit his testicles.

The rest of these images are of unknown dogs that I have come across on hikes, in stores, or on the streets, all doing what it is that dogs do.

My all-time favorite. I had to lie down on a dirty Berkeley sidewalk to meet Haru head on.

Two dogs. Good.

Four dogs. Better.

Seven dogs. Best!

Cooling off dog. Or tired dog. Apple Store, Corte Madera

A wary dog. New York City.

A dog that can’t see. Sea Ranch.

Two dogs that can’t see. Briones Park

A dog in a homeless encampment.

The affection of the homeless for their dogs.

A free ride for two dogs.

A street dog, getting ready to celebrate something.

Many of my Facebook friends are devoted to their dogs. Here are two.

Amy’s best buddies and Ann Reuve’s beloved Chief. I’m Facebook friends with Chief.

We had so many houseplants when we drove a U-Haul to California. I stuffed as many as I could in our refrigerator, knowing that I would have to leave them in Nevada if they were discovered at the Agricultural Inspection Station. Psychologists suggest that bringing the outdoors in connects us to the world of our ancestors, the great great great ones who lived outdoors, accompanied only by each other, nature, and animals. Insert “dogs” here. OK, insert dogs, cats, hamsters, iguanas, guinea pigs, etc., here, if you like.

What is it about dogs? The first ATM opened in 1969 in Rockville Center, New York, eliminating the need to visit a bank to conduct basic financial transactions. One fewer person to see, smile at, or to wish a good morning to. (I know I’m ending that sentence with a preposition. It’s ok.) With the pandemic, the last toll collectors disappeared, replaced by FasTrak lanes as a safety precaution. One more connection, however brief. gone. Going to the Post Office is so old school today. We bank electronically, pay bills online. We can order groceries online, too. They are left in lockers at the grocery store. We don’t have to see or talk to anyone when we pick up the Romaine. At Habit Hamburgers you no longer order from a person. A kiosk replaces the employee, accepts the credit card and sends the order directly to the kitchen, bypassing any human interaction. You enter your phone number and receive a text when the order is ready. We bought six boxes of Girl Scout Cookies without even seeing a single Girl Scout! Online ordering from a granddaughter who this year eschewed even a video seeking support, now reduced to a text. Or was it an email?

Janus, the ancient Roman god of duality, had two faces. The god of efficiency and accuracy is a plus; the absence of human connections is a minus. Psychologists acknowledge that companionship, especially among the elderly, is critical to feelings of well-being. And Amy’s best buddies, Ann’s blood donor doodle, Chief, and Ursula, my friend Gail’s boxer, fill that role.