Cruelty to Animals

A week or so ago on a Saturday morning Bruce and I were finishing our lax and bagels when we heard a commotion outside. When we went to the door to check it out, we noticed a police car parked in front of the house. What in the world is going on? I walked out to the end of the driveway to see. Two houses up the street a small group of people carrying signs were shouting slogans of some kind into a loudspeaker. "Free the monkeys!" they blared. And then, "Margaret Hogan's hands are covered in blood." (Name changed to protect my neighbor). I checked with the police officer. They are PETA people, he told me. We've been asked to keep an eye out. PETA (People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals), for those who don't know, is an organization that "exposes animals suffering in laboratories, in the food industry, in the clothing trade, and in the entertainment industry." So why were they protesting in front of a specific house on my street? Because we are located within two blocks of the Bethesda campus of the National Institutes of Health (NIH) where scientific research is regularly conducted with and without animals. My neighbor is a scientist who works in one of those labs. Prior to this demonstration she received death threats (presumably from this same group) and the pavement in front of her house was spray painted with similar slogans. I believe that people have a right to protest and demonstrate for their beliefs. My question is: Is it morally justifiable for them to single out an individual in a private home to prove their point? Clearly, they think so and they also think it is an effective technique for getting their message out. I think it has the opposite effect of making people unsympathetic to their stated purpose. As for my neighbor? She moved.

Nine Eleven + Twenty

I was teaching English to a class of 12th graders on the morning of September 11, 2001. My school, Bethesda-Chevy Chase, was a community crossroad of sorts. Located just outside the District of Columbia, its student body was a mixture of genders, races, cultures, languages, and economic status. There were rich (mostly white) kids from the affluent neighborhoods that surround the school, as well as not-rich (mostly black and latino) kids from neighborhoods a few blocks to the east. Then there were kids from all parts of the world whose parents were journalists, World Bank people, or who had other positions that drew them to Washington. On September 11, my class was representative of all these types. After the bell rang at 7:30, signalling the beginning of the school day, the Pledge of Allegiance came on over the loud speaker. As usual, about half of the students stood. We teachers had long since concluded that it was their right to stand or not stand, as long as no one talked or otherwise disturbed the class while the Pledge was being read. When class was over another teacher came running into the classroom. "Have you heard the news?" she asked breathlessly. "A plane hit the World Trade Center." I pictured a small plane, piloted by a novice, swerving into one of the towers creating a small dent. Later, of course, the full story emerged including the attack on the Pentagon. Some of our students had parents who worked there. There was no school the next day. On Thursday when we returned, every student stood for the Pledge.

Covid Redux

Oh dear God, as if a year and a half of social distancing, mask wearing, and Zooming wasn't enough, now the Delta variant is taking hold all over the world including the US. Its version is more contagious and appears to affect younger people including children. Huge numbers of us are not yet vaccinated. We can thank Mr. Trump for turning Covid safety procedures into a political football. In addition to his irresponsible example in this regard, many people are also suspicious of science (think global warming). Others are opposed to all vaccinations including Covid. The really scary truth is that even among those who are vaccinated, breakthrough infections can occur. Oh, and another thing to worry about: research is behind and just beginning to recognize long term effects of both the disease and the vaccinations. Does this mean we are back to Zooming, masking and distancing? Is it safe to get a booster? What about school? What about the crisis of uneven health care in different parts of the world? It is small wonder that many of us are feeling depressed, edgy, nervous. If Covid has taught us one thing it is this: we are human creatures and we need human, in-person, contact for our physical, mental and emotional health. Cross your fingers!

Cousin David

And on the same theme of loss . . . another death occurred yesterday. My beloved Cousin David passed away in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico, with his wife, brother and son at his side. Thank goodness they made it there in time, in part thanks to me and the "mas o menos" Spanish I've been studying since I retired 16 years ago. Last week his wife called me twice with updates on his condition for me to pass along to his brother. She chose to call me because between her English and my Spanish, we are able to communicate quite well. David's brother speaks no Spanish. She that he wasn't eating, that he couldn't talk, that he was skin and bones, that he was dying, all of which I shared with his brother. I also got the address of the apartment they had moved to in order to be closer to medical care and the name of a nearby hotel. Armed with this information his brother and wife made their way to Vallarta and were able to spend the weekend with him before he died. David was a kindred spirit, as my son Mike described him. He was a writer, an entrepreneur, a real estate developer and probably many other things I'm forgetting. He had lived in Mexico for decades and spoke fluent Spanish. He was charming, irreverent, creative, generous and very funny. He had three wives and two children. He welcomed us to Mexico many times over the years and arranged for housing at the time-share hotel in which he was a partner. He entertained us with boat trips and seafood barbecues on the beach. One year he came to Bethesda to celebrate my Dad's (his uncle's) 90th birthday. I always called him "mi primo favorito" (my favorite cousin) and it was true. Rest in peace, David. I'm going to miss you.

She'll Never Be the Same

Oh my, so much sadness, so much loss. I know, I know, it's called "life," but it's hard to bear sometimes. My dear friend L. lost her middle son last month, due to multiple causes: diabetes, drug and alcohol addiction, kidney failure, cirrhosis of the liver. He was in his mid-fifties and she was devastated. She had supported him in every way possible including one very expensive intervention in which the whole family participated. She sent him money which she could ill-afford. She cleaned his apartment when she visited. She paid his rent, his groceries, and his over-used credit card bills. They talked every week. Still, she couldn't save him. She knows there was nothing more she could have done. She knows his suffering is over, that he is in, as they say, "a better place." She knows that in time she will be able to move on. She also knows that she will never be the same.

Losing Bill

Last week my dear friend Bill passed away. It can be truthfully called a blessing for him and for him family. Bill had suffered for at least ten years from Alzheimer's, one of life's cruelest afflictions. It began with a lost sense of direction that his wife Sandra noticed on a trip to Italy. After that it progressed to loss of driving, loss of appropriate behavior, loss of speech, loss of recognition of friends and family. Loss, loss, loss. Bill was one of the world's kindest people with a great appetite for affection, music, beer, and laughter. He was devoted to his family and to his friends, always addressing me as "HonEEEY." He cried easily. He's the person who sailed our boat to the Chesapeake with John when we moved to Washington from Toronto in 1978. He's the one who organized the chop-your-own-Christmas-tree outing when our children were little. He's the one you could always count on. Rest in peace, my friend. I'm going to miss you.

Being 80

I learned a new word this week. Marionnette lines. Apparently, this is what I've had on my face for some time now. The way I found out about them is that, after turning 80 in June, I decided that I would investigate what could be done about my "jowlly" look. I don't have many forehead wrinkles (for my age), but I do have these twin vertical lines that run from either side of my nose down to my mouth and then disappear into a sea of wrinkles that sort of wander off to the side. Both sides, that is. The situation is too far gone for makeup and, it appears, also too far gone for cosmetic surgery. Fillers for the Marionnettes at $1200 would be useless unless raised up with the aid of cheek fillers at $1400. Oh, and all this would have to be done annually (for the Marionnettes) and bi-annually (for the cheeks). With no guarantee that there would be any visible change. In fact, probably not. Did I mention the bruising? Anyone on a blood thinner (Xarelto for me!) is prone to more extensive bruising from these treatments than other (younger) people. Of course, the bruising goes away, but I had to ask myself: is this worth it?