Wishes and Dreams

I yearn to retire and begin writing my memoir.

Julia and I continue to communicate in Espanol via Whatsapp. She is in Grenada.

World events are horrifying me. We have a President who seems unable to govern. That terrifies me.

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Here is the start of my memoir

Starting at the start, I was born in Women’s Hospital in Detroit, Michigan on April 14, 1947. My parents were immigrants – my Mom, Anne Anderson, from Scotland; and my Dad, Tom Weir, from Canada.

They bought a small house around the time I was born in Royal Oak, a Detroit suburb. I had an older sister, Nancy, and soon had two younger sisters, Kathy and Carole.

As a child, my hero, thanks to TV, was Davy Crockett, so my nickname became Davy. I had a toy rifle and a coonskin cap and I used to march around with the girls behind me saying “C’mon men!”

The girls included Susie and Bonnie Lloyd, from a couple houses down the street.

Some years later, I was accepted into the University of Michigan. I think that was 1965. As an awkward freshman, I encountered a small group of anti-war protesters sitting in a circle on campus, surrounded by a taunting group of frat boys.

I identified with the protesters, even though I didn’t yet know what they were protesting about.

My parents sent me to college to be an actuary, mainly because I was good at math. But during my first semester at Michigan, I found out I was not nearly as good at math as I would need to be to ever be an actuary.

My best friend from high school, Howard Kohn, also at U-M, saved me. He told me to come over to the office of the Michigan Daily, our college newspaper.

My first assignment was to write about the Michigan wrestling team. I stayed up late studying, because I didn’t know wrestling was even a sport.

After I attended wrestling practice, I went into the locker room to interview the coach. In my reporter’s notebook, I had a long set of prepared questions, which I asked as professionally as I could, then snapped the notebook shut and walked out – straight into the shower.

I finally changed my major to journalism but rarely went to class. Things were changing all around.

That winter, as the snow fell, we all wore hats. When it started most of us had short hair. When the spring came and we took off our hats, many of us had long hair – a sign of protest.

Hablando

Mi hija menor, Julia, está estudiando en el extranjero en España. Recientemente descargué la aplicación Whatsapp, para poder chatear con ella mientras ella está allí. Acordamos solo chatear en español.

Mi español es muy débil. Pero es bueno tener la oportunidad de practicar. Me recuerdan lo limitados que estamos todos cuando permanecemos dentro de los límites de un idioma.

Cada lenguaje trae nuevos matices a la experiencia humana. Cuanto más podemos entender, más podemos crecer.

***

My youngest daughter, Julia, is studying abroad in Spain. I recently downloaded the app Whatsapp, so I could chat with her while she is over there. We agreed to only chat in Spanish.

My Spanish is very weak. But it is good to have a chance to practice. I am reminded of how limited we all are when we remain within the confines of one language.

Every language brings new nuances to the human experience. The more we can understand the more we can grow.

My Time

Today is a Sunday, which means I don't have to go to work. My only responsibility is to receive a delivery of food and supplies from Safeway about a half hour from now.

Yesterday my friend Tomoko stopped by to deliver me a new amulet. I do not know what this amulet actually means other than it supposedly keeps me safe and costs $34 a year. I'm to place it at the highest place possible in my living room. I also got my old car to start and reparked it on the Thursday side of the street, a major accomplishment.

I need to replace one of my security lamps out front but am not tall enough to do so. I'll wait on one of my sons to help me. These are motion-sensitive lamps that are meant to protect my security.

I long to get my time back. Having to work day after day is draining me. There is a television in my office so I can monitor the news.

The news is all bad. We have a President who is crazy. I find myself muting the signal rather than listening to him.

But I am a journalist. Tomorrow I am to deliver a talk about ethics to our incoming group of interns. I will start with a story. It's from a couple of years ago. My video producer, Adam, was re-investigating a crime that happened more than 40 years ago.

He was at the crime scene, a muddy creek in the East Bay. But it was surrounded by a chain-link fence. The sign said "No Trespassing." He called me when he spotted a hole in the fence.

I told him, "What is the question?"

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