Summer Loneliness, Summer Friends

There's an ancient loneliness that accompanies the end of seasons. The weather starts shifting, presaging the next phase of the year. In the Midwest, where I grew up, there would be hot, humid days in August but this deep into the month, it sometimes would start getting cold, and the first leave stems would weaken and drop.

Here it's 93.3 degrees this afternoon and cloudy. Very humid. Very weird.

The occupation of our neighborhood by the water department continues, but in this heat, they've knocked it off already and are kicking back with cold beers.

Rarely will you find humidity in San Francisco, but today just walking 20 feet out of my front door to my car caused me to break into a sweat.

A languid wave of boredom washed over me this week, alternating with peaks of stress worrying about my kid's first week in high school, my ongoing struggles to obtain meaningful insurance, and the ever-constant money worries.

One thing I'm over is any feelings like envy or jealousy in my life. For example, everybody I know, practically, is on or has taken a nice vacation this year. From a pragmatic point-of-view, that is not an option for me. But one consequence of sticking to a strict regime of lower consumption means I spent most of my time alone in my apartment or garden.

Still, random encounters boost my commitment to stay the way I normally am -- friendly toward strangers. A few days ago, a lovely young woman asked if she could talk to me about what's going on in the neighborhood.

Sure, c'mon in.

She explained she had just moved her from the Philadelphia area, and was attending graduate school, studying journalism. Her assignment that evening was to find out some leads to stories in the Mission.

Well, she came to the right guy. Many of the past 20 years, I might even have been her professor, since I often taught at the school she's attending, though not in later years; I've not been invited back since 2003.

I gave her about 50 leads and told her to stay in touch. My daughter said, "she's nice" after we'd finished the interview and I'd held the door for this smart, friendly, young African-American woman to leave.

I've always loved helping students. It seems like such a simple thing to do, but I've known others (including professors) who seem to resent student requests after perhaps too many years on the job.

There are jerk students, of course, as in any phase of life, but the great majority of students I've known are not only polite and grateful for whatever help I can give, they truly need that help. Navigating through our educational systems is nowhere as easy as it should be, IMHO.

Speaking of helping students, I may have helped my own high-schooler today by calling his counselor. Technically, he does not qualify for Honors Physics because he sometimes is frustrated by Math, which is, of course, quite important in Physics.

I was a tad pushy, asking the counselor, "Isn't there any way around this requirement? He's a strong science student and he had a great science teacher in middle school."

She thought about it a bit, and then checked some schedules. "I could place him in Honor Physics if he drops Spanish and takes Art." Then, I realized the Honors Physics teacher is the one teacher at the school I've met, and he is fantastic!

Hopefully, this will all work out for the best.

Also recently, a very nice Chinese-American student approached me for help on a paper. She's a senior at another local college. She didn't seem to have much confidence in her writing ability, but as we discussed the topic, which was comparative religions, what impressed me was the originality of her thinking.

"You're very smart," I told her. "I think you can do this." A week or so later she showed up at my door beaming. She handed me her paper, I read it and we high-fived. "You've nailed it," I told her.

She only got a B+, which puzzled me, until I remembered that her prof had graded her earlier papers as B+s, also. "Your very first paper in a course has to be your best effort," I told her, "Because the professor slots you as a C+, B, A- (or whatever) student and will fairly automatically give you the same grade from then on."

Not always, some are much more rigorous, and some students also improve or fall off in the quality of their work quite dramatically. But in general it is true that once a B+, always a B+ is the more likely outcome in a class. It's just professorial habit.

So, yes, I miss teaching, but students keep finding their way to me, which makes me happy, and that's a good thing, especially in these lugubrious days stuck in a late summer's past.

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Inside the Beast's Belly

The occupation of our neighborhood continues. They've switched the sign from "Road Work Ahead" to "Utility Work Ahead."

Apparently, that makes them sound more important.

Their enormous, aged backhoes moved creakily about, flattening enormous piles of tar and other gunk onto the shattered street below.

The workers, loud as ever, amble about at will, rarely noting whether a car is coming. Our cars tend to be so small here, and the workers are so big, I'm not certain which would get the worst of it should they collide.

Rarely have I ever seen people work day after day in slow-motion, but that is the case here.

The sounds are less ear-shattering since they moved (slightly) around the corner. I guess that's progress.

Still, no one seems to know why they came here or what exactly they are doing. The guy at the corner store is really bored because nobody stops by there anymore. You can't park anywhere nearby. I don't think he's even getting deliveries because the trucks can't get close.

Inventory is low.

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From Barack Obama

I have received this email message from our President:

david -- Michelle and I were heartbroken to learn this morning of the death of our dear friend, Senator Ted Kennedy. For nearly five decades, virtually every major piece of legislation to advance the civil rights, health and economic well-being of the American people bore his name and resulted from his efforts. His ideas and ideals are stamped on scores of laws and reflected in millions of lives -- in seniors who know new dignity; in families that know new opportunity; in children who know education's promise; and in all who can pursue their dream in an America that is more equal and more just, including me. In the United States Senate, I can think of no one who engendered greater respect or affection from members of both sides of the aisle. His seriousness of purpose was perpetually matched by humility, warmth and good cheer. He battled passionately on the Senate floor for the causes that he held dear, and yet still maintained warm friendships across party lines. And that's one reason he became not only one of the greatest senators of our time, but one of the most accomplished Americans ever to serve our democracy. I personally valued his wise counsel in the Senate, where, regardless of the swirl of events, he always had time for a new colleague. I cherished his confidence and momentous support in my race for the Presidency. And even as he waged a valiant struggle with a mortal illness, I've benefited as President from his encouragement and wisdom. His fight gave us the opportunity we were denied when his brothers John and Robert were taken from us: the blessing of time to say thank you and goodbye. The outpouring of love, gratitude and fond memories to which we've all borne witness is a testament to the way this singular figure in American history touched so many lives. For America, he was a defender of a dream. For his family, he was a guardian. Our hearts and prayers go out to them today -- to his wonderful wife, Vicki, his children Ted Jr., Patrick and Kara, his grandchildren and his extended family. Today, our country mourns. We say goodbye to a friend and a true leader who challenged us all to live out our noblest values. And we give thanks for his memory, which inspires us still. Sincerely, President Barack Obama

Goodbye to a Great Man

I only met him once, in his apartment in Washington, D.C, one evening as he held a party supporting the launch of a liberal magazine when I was working as bureau chief for Salon in 1999-2000.

But he was literally larger than life. He was a very big man, tall, wide, large in all senses. Plus his voice. He really roared. Plus his eyes. He looked at everyone in the room, evaluating who you were.

He was easily the greatest Senator of our era, but also so much more than that. He was the type of person us ordinary Americans could trust to have our best interests at heart, always.

Republicans as well as Democrats loved him.

All I can add is may he R.I.P. Many Americans routinely dismiss all of our politicians as "empty shirts." These folks are clueless about greatness.

Ted Kennedy was a great American. I will miss him.

I cooked my first omelette today. Of course, I've cooked hundreds of imitations over the years, but inspired by Julia and Julie, I went out and bought a new frying pan and butter and eggs, and tried to do it the way J&J did it.

I layered in a couple slices of smoked fontina.

So, here's a question for you. Where did omelettes originate? If you said France, you'd have responded the way I did. But, according to Wikipedia, they are believe to have originated in Persia.

Meanwhile, our Chinese neighbor slaughtered a chicken today. It was loud, scary, and reminded me of my years in Afghanistan. Pretty much every animal was cooked after being fresh-killed, because we had no refrigeration.

They'd turn the animal toward Mecca, which was to the west from Central Asia, and slit its throat.

Sometimes, the dying bird escaped the grasp of its killer, and ran around the yard for a bit. Thus the "running around like a chicken with its head cut off" cliche. I had to go halfway around the world to learn it is true.

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Comebackers

There's nothing easy about being a competitor. Doesn't matter whether you are talking sports, art, journalism, or business. So let's talk sports.

Tonight is Latino Heritage Night, which in San Francisco means it's Carlos Santana Bobble Head Night, naturally. He's a local, Carlos.

But here we are eating home-made spaghetti sauce. This is tomato season, and my young artist is capturing that in her paintings.

All of us baseball fans in the city by the bay are hurting big-time because last night the Giants lost to the Rockies in Colorado in 14 innings, 6-4 on a game-ending grand-slam HR, quite a traumatic event.

As of tonight, it looks doubtful the Gigantes can make the playoffs. But in baseball, as in life, comebacks sometimes occur in unexpected ways.

We can at least hope.

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As We Ripen

Is it normal for people as they age to become obsessed with food? According to Michael Pollen, writing in The New York Times recently, we Americans have become obsessed with watching other people cook on TV, rather than doing the cooking ourselves.



That makes me out-of-step once again, here in the marginalia of U.S. society. First, I have never watched a cooking show, and I actually love to cook myself. The only thing that gives me more pleasure than eating is preparing food for others.

I look at recipes now and then, but once you've been cooking long enough, you tend to know which ingredients go with others. The stuffing for cornish rock hen, for example, that I made on Saturday featured fresh basil plucked from my garden, with diced red onion, spiced bread crumbs, a bunch of other herbs, fresh-ground garlic, celery, a dash of red vino, and a few other items stewed in chicken stock.

It turned out fine.



I rarely write about food here because I'm likely to offend my many vegetarian friends. As an unabashed omnivore, I try everything that's in the shops, from quail eggs to rattlesnake, reindeer, eel, Bavarian Cheesehead, and uni.

It all just makes my mouth water. But for now, I will simply split a vine-ripened tomato, salt it, and enjoy one of life's simpler pleasures.

Eating

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Firsts

Do you remember your first day of high school?

That's what tomorrow will be for my 14-year-old son. His mom took him shopping today for new clothes -- jeans, shirts, socks, a sweatshirt. Unfortunately, a very nice pair of shoes he bought for himself recently are blue and therefore not allowed. (Blue and red are gang colors in this part of the city, so the school bans them from all students' clothes.

His hair is a bit shaggy, but he decided against a haircut for now. He recently got the upper part of his braces off. He'll go to school as part of a carpool, two girls a grade higher live in the neighborhood and one of their moms will drive him tomorrow.

He's probably a bit nervous, but he says he is "excited."

Transitions. We all face them all during out lives. One stage to the next stage, then another and another. Do you know why older people sometimes appear to be wise? Because they see the pattern in all of this drama.

Change is only as difficult as you make it. Change is inevitable.

Fear of the unknown, especially when it's fraught with rumor and exaggeration, i.e., the stuff teens specialize in, is a natural state for a young person to be in as (s)he navigates to the next level of socialization.

I'm sure my boy will do very well. He has a good balance of physical, intellectual, and emotional skills. He's friendly and athletic, he's smart in ways he doesn't even know yet.

But tomorrow is one of those days when, as a parent, you just have to let your child go and find all of these things out on his own. Luckily, he has new clothes, a new backpack that his grandma bought him, and a good attitude.

I, on the other hand, will be waiting by my phone for his report afterward. And I won't wear gang colors either.

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