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1. Ryan had his first week of kindergarten this week. He was really enjoying it, though as the week went by, he was dismayed by the number of rules, waiting in line, walking single file, and apparently some unfortunate encounter with a cactus. After a few days, he concluded to Eve: "Mommy, I am less and less enthusiastic about school."

2. I am now lactose-intolerant.

3. From my friend Rose, this web-ort, a recently discovered early picture of Michael Phelps:

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Jay continues to be plagued with kidney stone troubles. He's been in pain for most of the past month. The doctor zapped one of them yesterday, but he's feeling only slightly better. Part of the problem can be seen in the x-ray below which shows the stone on his left side.




















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A nice picture from dinner tonight . . .

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Important Newsflash

Wire, 8-22-08, Washington, DC:

Some startling medical news has emerged from the nation's capital this morning, when it was revealed that my brother Ed may be aging.

He has reported being "tired" after driving back and forth to the beach every weekend and shuttling to Dallas for work. He also complained of "not feeling well."

Friends and neighbors have often commented on Ed's seeming inability to age properly, citing his lean body mass, lack of gray hair, and the famous 2006 incident in which, at age 46, he was carded at a restaurant after ordering wine.

Family members are certain that some Swiss serum is responsible, referencing his frequent jaunts to the Continent, and fear that his body has now developed a resistance to the formula. "I'm terribly afraid his body has developed a reaction and he's going to age 25 years in a month's time," stated his similarly lithe sister Sally. "Then I'd be the only hot sibling left." "Whatever . . . upright locomotion is SO overrated," commented comely but lame eldest sibling Mamie. "Age, damnit, AGE!" cackled youngest sister Lynn.

Rumors have also abounded that his European vacations coincide with fellow youthfreak Madonna's visits to ancient Druidic sites. Whether ingestion of the blood of newborn newts is involved could not be determined.

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Here are some of my favorite web-bits of late:


EW article on Katherine Heigl and, more generally, our attitudes toward celebrities


GQ article on Madonna's "next husband" (this actually is an example of something I generally detest in our attitudes toward celebrities, but it IS pretty funny and also complimentary in a way)


Slate's article on poet John Milton


Humor for editors: Font Conference on CollegeHumor.com


The always, always helpful Metacritic, which summarizes (and provides links for) reviews of films, books, and more


Gotta have some Bush humor too

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We went to the Martin Puryear retrospective at the National Gallery yesterday. He's someone whose work I've always liked but not loved, but seeing the pieces in person was helpful. And also having the time to read titles, read descriptions, put together themes.

Many of his pieces have to do with social justice (like "Ladder for Booker T. Washington" below in two views, which is a tribute to Washington's incremental approach to progress), craftsmanship (his pieces are are handmade, with beautifully smoothed wood pieces carved by hand and fitted together; most are not blocks of wood but thin layers of wood curved and bound together), inequality (pieces that are symmetrical except for pieces at each end in differing dimensions), the slave trade (a huge African mask being carted on a wheelbarrow and surrounded by an enclosing thicket of wood), privacy (a piece called "Self" is bulbous and hollow inside but also opaque), and the play between privacy and transparency (in pieces made with wire partially covered in tar).

Of course, like all sculpture, it's also just about shape. One tar-wire piece was called "Confessional," and the front was like a hobbit-door with peepholes and a handle. You could look inside through to the tarred wire sides, which created a view almost like constellations or a planetarium; a rectangle of the night sky.

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I believe it is impossible for someone to want to end their life while jet-skiing. Every mental-health hospital should have its own lake, and just send those suicide-risks out to buzz about on the water. It's so exhilarating, it's impossible not to want to live while engaged in this activity.

Likewise these songs are musical Prozac:

1. Ray of Light, by Madonna. I didn't like Madonna until she (a) became a nicer person after her daughter was born, and (b) made an album I love, which is Ray of Light. The title track is one of my favorite singles.

2. Kokomo, by the Beach Boys. I know most people consider this song to be the main course of a hall-of-fame musical cheesefest, but I like it. It reminds me that most times all you need in life is one other person and some good weather. You know, simple things like . . .

3. Simple Things, by Amy Grant. Most people think of Amy as a lightweight, but many of her songs are serious and deep. This is both light and deep.

4. Free at Last, by DC Talk. The BEST. The very BEST. The joy of life incarnated. (Or "insongated." Whatever.)

5. Ode to Joy, by Beethoven. Okay, so maybe this is the best, the very best.

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Being an individual of melancholy tendencies, I'm extremely susceptible to influence of emotional music. Here's a list of my favorite songs that I can almost never listen to, because of the slough of despond into which they send me.

1. Handlebars, by Flobots. The greatest song in current play. The inner monologue of oppressive might.

2. After Hours, by Rickie Lee Jones. I listened to her debut album obsessively in 1979. This is beautiful but unbearably lonely.

3. Deacon Blues, by Steely Dan. Ditto.

4. The End of the Summer, by Dar Williams. So pretty. Soooo sad.

5. Feel Good, Inc., by Gorillaz . Such a creative powerhouse, but dark.

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Take good care of that stoop, hon.

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This from an old film noir starring Richard Widmark, with a comic supporting actress who sold "personality neckwear" for a living (that's novelty ties, not some sort of mob term for a noose).
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"The line separating good and evil passes not through states, nor between political parties either--but right through every human heart."

"Literature transmits incontrovertible condensed experience . . . from generation to generation. In this way literature becomes the living memory of a nation."

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I find this term amusing.
And comforting.
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The Best Goodbye

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Eve's Aunt Jane passed away this week after a year-long bout with ALS. She was 70 years old, but still very active. She lived nearby, and Eve was her principal caregiver/coordinator.

ALS always seems especially scary because of the loss of self-determination, as you lose control of your limbs and movement and eventually even speech becomes difficult. But Jane was lucky to have in Eve someone who not only worked tirelessly to ensure good care but also was committed to Jane's own self-determination. When Jane was starting to lose mobility, she took the brave step of deciding to enter a nursing home. But after a month or two she really hated it and wanted badly to return home and have home health care. Although this was difficult on Eve, she made it happen, thinking that if it were her, she would want to make that call and would want to spend her last months in something other than total misery. Likewise when Jane decided that she did not want to continue with her feeding tube. It wasn't just that Eve honored Jane's wishes or merely followed them, but that she embraced her wishes. Her goal was to be the instrument of Jane's decision-making.

Eve spent the last night with Jane by her bedside, singing her hymns and praying with her, and Jane fell asleep to the sound of that music. It reminded me of my mom's last afternoon of consciousness, when we sang not only hymns but songs she loved, like "My Favorite Things" and "All I Want Is a Room Somewhere" and songs by the Mills Brothers. We created an atmosphere of peaceful happiness, and that's how she left us. Blessings upon all who do the same and give their loved ones the best goodbye.
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