Left To Write

It’s hard to open any news source anymore without some article or pronouncement about the utility or dangers of artificial intelligence.

Just this morning I read two articles that passed on some fascinating information about AI.  One article explained how AI had just verified a proof that had earned a Ukrainian mathematician a Fields medal, one of the most prestigious prizes in math.  AI verified a proof of a higher-dimensional “sphere-packing” problem, which asks how many spheres you can cram into spaces of eight and 24 dimensions.   

Frankly, being math challenged, I had no idea there was a “sphere packing” issue that needed to be resolved mathematically, by a fellow human being or by a digital computer program. When my kid was playing soccer, and it was time to load soccer balls in the car, one just crammed as many balls as humanly possible into a mesh bag, declared victory, and headed to the soccer field. Also, all those billiard balls always seemed to fit perfectly in the little triangle provided to rack them up. No math involved; no problem.

Then, there was another article that did not bode well for AI. Basically, AI programs engage in “deep learning”—that is they are programed to teach themselves by reading everything that is published on a particular subject. I.e. they read more than a human can and, hence, supposedly, are smarter. 

The problem is; however, it seems that popular AI chatbots often fail to recognize false health claims when they’re delivered in confident, medical-sounding language, thus leading to dubious advice that could be dangerous to the general public.

For example, and I’m not making this up, recommending that people insert garlic cloves into their butts for immune support.

Now, it’s really not hard to figure that one out. Presumably the chatbot (or chatbutt, as the case may be) was reading all the medical myths, metaphors and moral judgments coming out of Robert F. Kennedy, Jr.’s Department of Health and Human services.  That’s the Trump Cabinet position and it’s leader which is responsible for public health, and overseeing agencies like the CDC, FDA, and NIH, with a focus on addressing chronic disease and improving public health. In that context sticking garlic cloves up your rear end makes perfect sense, as that is the appropriate place for all of RFK’s medical advice.

Still. And while I’m no math whiz, I can see the benefits these AI programs.  At least when I’m sticking garlic cloves where the sun don’t shine, I can consult the sphere packing AI program to determine how many garlics I can get up there.

Suddenly I feel old. Oh, I understood full well that I was aging; it just hadn’t sunk in fully that I am OLD. Until now. I accepted aging pretty well as the decades clicked by. There were the young years when you look forward to getting older. Becoming a teenager. Hitting 18, then 21. All thoughts and plans dealt with the future and goals and dreams and fun.

Thirty was a problem for some—“Don’t trust anyone over 30!” But my 30s were the wild years I never had as a young single. At 34, my husband and I agreed to part and I lived out fantasies I never knew I had. It was exciting and crazy and downright stupid at times. When I turned 40, I was at one of the lowest points in my life, and that decade I would gladly have done without, except that’s when I probably learned the most about myself and the world.

At 50 I settled into my own little house, adopted a greyhound, put in a hot tub, turned crabgrass into an English garden, and gave up on men. It was heaven. Funny how when you give up on a dream and let it float away, that dream walks through your front door. Or garage/kitchen door, which was the door Handyman Jack came to install. And then he became my true love.

Since the settled 50s, I’ve had the pleasure of the company of four wonderful dogs, a very good man, cherished friends and wonderful workmates. The 60s were mostly satisfying on all fronts. My sights were still focused on the future. Retirement, moving to Lacey, community involvement. All good stuff.

Challenges began to creep in by my 70^th birthday. We’d survived the worst of covid by then, but political chaos and world problems preyed on the minds and hearts of anyone who has sense and empathy. Then body parts start to wear out and there are trips to doctors, dentists, estate lawyers. I sometimes wonder how life might be now if I’d stayed married and had the kids we chose not to have. Does a family give a person more reason to make the most of their later years? I’ll never know. I have what I have, it is what it is.

I’m reading a book about making healthy changes and the first thing they want the reader to do is to get clear on their life purpose, at the age they are now. Well, fuck. I’ve been trying to do that for a long time. “You can come back to this part later,” the book says. I guess they know for some of us, that task may take a while. Right now, I’d say my purpose is to outlive my pets and be well long enough to move to Panorama where there’s a plan for aging out to the next world.

The main reason I’m feeling old, though, is that people are dying left and right. In my case, literally. I’ve lost a neighbor on each side of me in the past couple years. Celebrities and idols from my youth die each week and it still shocks me. Yes, I know we’re old. But it still shocks me. The worst is all the friends and loved ones who have passed. Of the trio of best buds from college, I am the only one still standing. One was lost to cancer, the other to covid. They both lived healthier and saner lives than I did, but died before me. My ex-husband died last month. Old lovers are buried. A quarter of my graduating class is gone, as well as good friends from more recent years. Death sucks.

My grandmother Maude used to say, “All my friends are dying, and I don’t feel so good.” Then she’d laugh, and we would know we could laugh, too. But sometimes I thought I saw the pain in her eyes. Now that I am old, I understand that pain. When she came to live with my family, she was in her 60s and newly divorced from an abusive man. If a book asked her what her purpose was, I believe she might say to save my sister and me from the family turmoil that was happening then. And she achieved that purpose, while managing to always have a good time. She laughed loud, but quietly held things together, and has been a guiding light all my life.

So now I ask her, “How do I get through this phase?” I think she would tell me to look for the good things in life, be kind to others, and do what brings you joy. She’d tell me to laugh. Then she’d pour herself a beer, slap a deck of cards on the table, and motion for whoever was there to sit down and deal.   

Disconnected from the incessant, vitriol-filled mutterings by news agencies, social media outlets, and outraged individuals, a neighbor waived to me as I passed by her on the way to the Villages. Without a thought or effort, I waived back.

As I drove to Safeway to pick up a few items, I noticed other cars stopping alongside me at a red light. We waited for the light to turn green and we proceeded to our destinations unaffected by each other. After I arrived, a car paused to let me cross the thoroughfare safely to the entrance of the store. Once inside, a clerk greeted me with a smile and asked if I needed help finding something. I thanked him for asking and went about my shopping.

On the way home, I stopped into the post office to send a package out. Inside, there was a short line of people waiting to be served. Behind the counter were three workers fulfilling the needs of the customers in front of them. Like the others before me, I left once my request had been completed. Politics, war, religion never intruded into our business.

I passed restaurants, gas stations, banks, office buildings, and an array of retail shops. I knew people were inside each of those doing their jobs and providing services to other people. Regardless of having brown skin, being Muslim, far right/left or whatever the adjective-du-jour is attempting to separate us, personal/business transactions occur around the world, daily, peacefully.

So despite all the noise created by politicians, social media influencers, YouTubers, radio talk shows, podcasts, comedians, shock-jocks, the multitude of self-proclaimed experts/prophets, and even some clergy, much of our society still functions as we expect it to. I know there are more good people in the world than “bad.” The fact we haven’t devolved into utter chaos proves this. There are some who would see the world burn so a new one can rise. That’s the thinking of a child. The world is far too complex. And, the blue marble we all live on is too small for such nonsense. Besides, it will still be here long after we’re gone. Here’s a fun fact, there are no human habitable planets within our reach, distance or lifetime (good luck with Mars, Elon).

Though it seems impossible sometimes, we must continue to focus on the things we can control and allow the ones we can’t to pass by like clouds in the sky. I rest easy knowing the sun will rise again tomorrow.

Recently I had my medical and dental checkups – not usually something to write home about – but this is how it all started.  At my  dental checkup – mostly a regular cleaning appointment – both the dentist and the hygienist were pleased with how everything looked.  My hygienist even commented that she was pleasantly surprised and pleased to note that at my age I still had all my own teeth.  I’ve never thought about it before, and no one has ever mentioned it to me before, but I felt good about the appointment when I left.

Then a few days later I went to my Medicare medical wellness checkup, and the doctor asked me a number of questions.  Among those questions were: 

• Do you live on your own?  Yes.
• Do you dress yourself and get yourself ready for the day? Yes.
• Do you cook your own meals?  Yes.
• Do you eat protein, vegetables and fruit?  Yes.
• Do you do your own shopping? Yes.

And a few other questions along those lines to determine my level of independence.  There were also questions relating to my mental and emotional stability but I won’t go into those.

So, after those two appointments, I was feeling pretty full of myself – after all, I had all my own teeth!   And I was living independently and managing all these living skills on my own!  So after the medical appointment, I drove home and fixed myself some lunch, still feeling pretty good about living on my own.  As I sat at my kitchen island eating my lunch, I glanced over at the three lists I had there on the counter.  I must admit the irony of the three lists made me laugh.  At the top of the first list was the name Luke with 3 items listed under his name, one was titled Greg with one item on that list, and the third list was under the name Richard (several items were on that list).  Who are these 3 men in my life you ask??  Well, I’m in a sharing mood so let me explain.

Luke is my 16-year-old grandson who lives nearby.  He is tall and very technology oriented.  Luke willingly does the “tall” jobs for me – putting an item up on a high shelf, changing the light bulb that burned out in my master bathroom without having to use a stool to reach it – things like that.  And with his technology skills, he figures out what I perceive as glitches with my computer, but which in all honesty my former IT department at the City of Issaquah and I lovingly called PICNIC (Problem In Chair Not In Computer).

Greg is a family friend who has his own painting business and occasionally does other odd jobs.  Greg painted my house last summer and was helping me with a project in my yard this summer.

Richard is my handyman who is a licensed electrician and does all kinds of handyman jobs.  He measured, ordered and installed new cabinets in my laundry room, hung my new wind spinner on my patio, unclogged the kitchen sink so my dishwasher doesn’t spill water all over my counter when it’s running, installed my Ring camera at the back of my house so whoever continues to steal potted plants along the alley will be on camera, and one or two other minor tasks.  Also on Richard’s list was the new electrical outlet which he offered to install on my back patio area.  

So those three lists comprised my lesson in humility. These are the three men in my life who help me so I can “live on my own.”  Let’s face it: very few of us live entirely independently.  We all need help from time to time with one thing or another.  Sometimes the help is just called Google,  but in my case it’s usually called either Luke, Greg, or Richard.  So I give lots of Kudos and a whole bunch of credit to Luke, Greg and Richard for being the three men in my life helping me to “live on my own!”

OH THE GAMES THOSE COWS COULD PLAY!!

When I first moved here, my grandson, Luke, was 8 years old.  Each Wednesday night he would stay overnight at my house and then I would drive him to school Thursday morning.  Both of his parents work, so during the summer months, I would have him a couple of days each week and we would spend the whole day together.  When he was younger, the family noticed that he would focus on one particular thing and be totally unaware of anything else around him.  His mother had also mentioned to me that he didn’t seem to have much imagination, so I began thinking of fun ways that might expand his awareness and help spur his imagination.

Whatever we were doing or wherever we were going, we often drove by the cow farm on Marvin Road.  Partly in an effort to get him to look and notice what was around him and to make him think a little bit, I started pointing out the cows in the field near the road.  Then I noted how some were grouped together and others stood farther apart.   Soon I was making up stories about what they were doing or suggesting games they might be playing.  Luke really got interested in watching the cows each time we passed by and he really got into our story-telling too.  We had the most fun thinking of the games that the cows might be playing based on the formations they made while standing in the field.  If we saw a cow somewhat hidden behind a tree trunk, we thought they might be playing Hide & Seek.  If they were generally lined up one behind another,  we figured perhaps they were playing Follow the Leader.  If one cow bumped into another cow, we thought they might be playing Tag.

One day as we drove by, Luke noticed that the cows were arranged in three small groups.  There were three cows in each group.  In the center of the three groups stood one lone cow.  Luke looked at that and said, “Look, Grandma, the cows are playing Trivia and the middle cow is the Gina cow asking all the questions!”  I had to laugh at that and told him I thought he might be right and that they probably were playing Trivia.

Later when he was a little older, we drove past the cow farm and I noticed that the cows were lined up in two parallel rows.  The same number of cows were in each row.  I said, “Look, Luke, the cows are getting ready to line dance.”  He seemed a bit skeptical and said, “Oh, Grandma, cows can’t line dance.”  I said, “They could put their right hoof in and their right hoof out, their right hoof in and shake it all about!”  He answered, “That’s the hokey pokey!”  I replied, “Yes, but if they can do the hokey pokey, they can line dance!”  He thought a moment and then said, “I guess you’ve got me there.”  

Once the farmer sold the first group of cows, the second group didn’t seem to be nearly as playful.  But for a couple of years, we enjoyed the antics of the first group of cows on a very regular basis.

OK, kids, gather around me – it’s time for the talk.  Most of our lives, we can rest quietly and not too much is asked of us.  Sometimes we get pulled on, and we get walked on, and we get stuffed into things.  Sometimes it even gets a bit smelly.  But overall our lives are not too difficult.  However, these humans have one habit which is quite perplexing.

It all began many years ago or so I’ve heard.  Anyway, the fat guy in the red suit dropped some gold coins down the chimney of a poor man’s house to help his three daughters.  It so happened the poor man had hung some laundry by the fire to dry.  The coins dropped into the socks of the three daughters and that’s how it all began.  When they told their friends and neighbors, everyone began hanging stockings by the fireplace in hopes that the jolly man in the red suit would leave something in their stockings too.  

I’m telling you all this so you understand when it happens to you.  This coming of age/growing up/growing bigger thing is a little difficult sometimes but you are big enough now and you might be chosen as a sock to hang by the fireplace.  It hurts a little when they first grab you and hang you on that hook, but if they leave you alone after that, it’s okay.  You feel a bit longer than usual but that’s not too bad.

Later, on Christmas Eve, the fat guy in the red suit comes after dark, after everyone is in bed and asleep.  He comes quietly and stuff things into you – that’s when you really feel stretched beyond your limits.  You hang there all night long with small oranges, little toys, pencils and small paper tablets,  some useful items like nail clippers or toothbrushes or anything that’s small enough to fit into you.  And that’s the hard part – you just hang there not able to move.  And it is definitely not comfortable.  But don’t worry – the kids in the family will relieve you as soon as they wake up.  They’ll be all excited, and their shrill young voices may possibly bother you a little bit, but they’ll relieve you of all that stuff packed inside you and then you will feel much better.  

You look a bit concerned, a bit frightened.  Don’t worry.  It’ll  all be okay.  This only happens one night each year.  It seems odd, I know.  But it’s just something we have to put up with so that the rest of the time we can be totally relaxed, lying side by side in someone’s dresser drawer.  When that night is over, you can come back right here where we live all the time and we can talk about it again if you want.  I promise you that you’ll be okay.  And the rest of us will be here waiting for your return.  We’ll all be together again for a whole year.  Remember, I love you.  And if you get chosen this year, it just means you’re growing up and we will be back together again very soon. 

Any questions, kids?

With Apologies to Lewis Caroll

T’was chaos in the Office Ove;
It smelled of Musk and Micky Dees.
His edict/orders print in bold;
And Sharpie-signed for all to see.

Beware the MAGA hats my son,
Their jaws that snipe and liberals bash;
Beware the Orange-haired one; and shun
His constant lies and talking trash.

He took his Sharpie in his hand;
The Constitution there he sought.
His elbows on the Resolute Desk;
He pretended to be lost in thought.

Then Elon came with eyes aflame,
And chainsaw in his heartless hands.
He stormed into the Office Ove.
To wreak destruction with his man.

And so, they did. Sliced through and through,
With saw and Sharpie. Snicker, snack;
The Constitution shredded, there,
No guarantee was left intact.

“We’ve done the deed,” they sniggered proud;
“The Constitution, we have trashed,
A beautiful day; Callooh! Callay!”
With saw and Sharpie; slashed and slashed.

T’was chaos in the Office Ove;
It smelled of Musk and Micky Dees.
His edict/orders print in bold;
And Sharpie-signed for all to see.

There we stood, alone,
just the four of us,
in a vast desert, far larger
than the Sahara.

Climbed gentle backs of
dune after dune,
wind at our backs, stumbling down
the steep lee of each.

Twenty degrees north latitude,
northwesterly wind gusts,
blinded by blowing sand,
seared by desert heat.

Down into a trough between dunes
towering hundreds of feet,
lost in an endless sea
of the brightest white.

But this desert died
millions of years ago,
existing now only
in my imagination.

I stood upon rock of the rim,
Utah’s Snow Canyon State Park,
gazed down at rocks below ––
the Jurassic Navajo Sandstone.

Petrified dunes that last saw light
one hundred seventy million years ago,
rising up over time,
eroded by wind and water.

Then, one point four million years ago,
lavas poured forth
over a plateau of this exhumed
ancient petrified desert.

Streams cut canyons into sandstone and basalt
Three hundred thousand years later,
more lava poured forth, from fissures to the north,
filling valleys with fresh lava.

On the final morning of our St George visit,
I stood upon those hardened basalts,
and gazed one last time
into the canyon below.

White cliffs of Navajo sandstone to the west,
the valley filled by a third flow,
a mere fifteen thousand years past,
enveloping ancient dunes
that once danced across a vast desert.

Took my last few photos,
down into the valley, and
up to the pass to the north,
from which the lava last flowed.

“Let me look at our refund policy. OK if I put you on a brief hold?”

            “No, no. I prefer you put me on a long hold.”

            “Sir?”

            “Yeah, no. Put me on a hold for the ages. Put me on a hold that reflects Halley’s lazy loop through the solar system. Here’s Earth, here’s the Sun, zip past Mercury, dodge Neptune decades later then slowly, slowly, arc that U-turn and come back our way, so my grandson can see you in the night sky.

            “Put me on a hold measured in millenia. Start with Cro-Magnons huddled in caves, fleeing the unstoppable glaciers grinding their way down from the north, then melt those glaciers, evolve those Cro-Magnons to Homo sapiens. And put those men in mud and wattle huts, then wooden cabins, then stone castles, then steel skyscrapers.

            “I want a hold that feels the bump and grind of tectonic plates, scraping and shoving an ocean bottom, littered with seashells, until that ocean bottom becomes a mountain top – swept by icy monsoons and littered with oxygen tanks and those too foolish to turn back when their own oxygen ran out. And now the mountaineer and the seashell lie together.

            “Give me a hold where the sun shines down on a tennis match, a picnic, a walk in the woods, and extends through that same sun becoming a red giant. No longer so inviting to tennis players, picnickers, or sylvan strollers.

            “I want a hold that poets immortalize in Alexandrian quatrain, playwrights fill Broadway theaters with, and Tom Cruise hopes to turn into Mission Impossible: Nine.

            “Let’s not make this a vanilla hold, a 50^th percentile hold, a ‘meh’ hold. When people hear of this hold, I want them to gnash their teeth, to rend their garments, to keen so shrilly that windows shatter for three blocks around.

            “Can you put me on that kind of hold?

            “Yeah, um, we’ll just credit you the four dollar refund sir.”

            “I’m happy to stay on the line for a brief survey, if you like.”

In our yard, next to the old barn, there grew a lilac bush.
Lilac tree, really. It was big enough for an 8-year-old girl to climb.
When I was sad, or my feelings were crushed,
……. or I was just mad at people,
I’d sit on the third branch up, believing no one could see me.
And then I could cry.

On a day in May, when the full tilt fragrance filled the air,
I stifled my sobs as my mother approached, scissors in hand.
It must have been a Sunday. She was humming a hymn
as she snipped an armload of lilacs for the dining room table.
If she saw me, she didn’t let on.

You might think that’s harsh or unfeeling of her, but I did not.
Some cries belong only to oneself, coming from so deep down
they are invisible to outsiders. Only the flowers and leaves
could see and hear me, and stood guard until sadness subsided
and the crying stopped.

I often came across my mother crying alone after my brother died.
Always late at night, on the couch, with just the TV for company.
I silently got my drink of water or used the bathroom
and crept back upstairs to bed, never looking her way.
Yet I felt her body heave.

My mother and I spent a lot of time screaming at each other.
Too different, or too alike? Both, I suppose. But love between us grew,
even blossomed, as we shed our petals of tears through the years.
I knew she’d died before they called me, I heard the hymn she sang.
……. I miss her.
Especially when the lilacs bloom.