On August 1, 2005, I flew as far north as I had ever been, to a barely visible landing strip cleared out of tundra. Ken, the pilot, eased the plane down, unloaded the gear, and left, leaving me alone at the northern edge of the Brooks Range in the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge. Forty five miles from the nearest sign of people, I was the first person to arrive for a seven-day float trip down the Aichilik River to the Beaufort Sea.
At first, I was nervous; before Ken flew away, he had showed me how to use the shotgun, but we couldn’t find the shells. “In that case, I’d just try and hit the bear with this end,” Ken said, as he thrust the handle toward me. This was my first time in grizzly country so I stayed close to the gear and the shotgun, not that it would help if an omnivorous ursine arrived. As I started to walk and notice the landscape, however, I began to drop my trepidation. I found wolf and caribou tracks in the soft mud by the river. A dab of yellow flew by, a Labrador sulfur butterfly, and landed on a purple Oxytropis. I noticed small purple gentians, yellow cinquefoils, bluish harebells, pinkish valerians, and white louseworts dotting the low growing willow and cotton grass. My first bird was a glaucous gull.
By the time the next plane arrived, about two hours later, I was feeling more at ease, calmed by the beauty and tenacity of the life around me. (We did eventually see several grizzlies, always at a distance. The most spectacular was a blonde one that sprinted up a steep hill like it was flat. Far worse than the bears were the mosquitoes, which attacked en masse; at one point I killed more than 40 in my tent.)
L: Looking north out the Aichilik River, across the Arctic Plain, to the Beaufort Sea. R: Wolf and Caribou tracks.
This was neither the first nor the last time that what some call the naturalist’s trance had calmed my savage soul. No matter where I am—my backyard, the Cascades, a quiet glen—my focus on what’s around me, the smells and sounds, plants and animals, the expected and unexpected, provides a way for me to slow down, pay attention, and gain perspective. The simple act of taking my mind away from my troubles and leaning in toward what I love is profoundly wonderful and transformative.
My time in the Arctic came back to me when I was reading Buddy Levy’s Empire of Ice and Stone: The Disastrous and Heroic Voyage of the Karluk.This Arctic Expedition in 1913/14 is famous for the usual reasons: bad weather, bad equipment, and bad planning. The basic story is that the Karlukgot stuck in ice in August in the Beaufort Sea (near where my raft trip ended) and drifted 750 miles west before getting crushed. The crew spent months on the ice and on Wrangell Island, before getting rescued in September 1914.
At one point, after months of eking out a miserable existence (the typical traveler’s issues of too much and too little, in this case, cold and food, respectively), meteorologist William McKinlay was trail breaking in yet another attempt at survival. Cold, in despair, and deeply upset at a fellow crew member, he came across a “lovely little wildflower.” It immediately gave him a sense of calm. “As long as there is life, there is hope,” he wrote in his journal. He ultimately survived.
I have been trying to think of something deep to write about McKinlay and his experience and I have realized it boils down to a simple thought: hope and courage and renewal can be found in many places. Sometimes the circumstances that enable us to recognize them are dire but often, and fortunately, they are not. Coming to the end of yet another troubling year of politics and war and climate change and tragedy, I sincerely wish all of you lovely little wildflowers of hope in whatever guise they arrive.
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Hamas terrorists’ vicious Oct. 7 surprise attack on Israeli civilians took 1,200 lives, making it, in proportion to Israel’s small population, far worse than the 9/11 attacks on the United States in 2001. Attendees at a music festival were slaughtered. Women were raped, parents were murdered in front of their children. Children were murdered in front of their parents. Two-hundred-and-forty hostages were dragged away to an uncertain fate.
On that dreadful day, Israel certainly held the moral high ground and, other than their cold-hearted enemies in the Islamic world and the pro-Palestinian activists who lauded Hamas killers as freedom fighters, Israelis had international sympathy and support.
Then the assault on Gaza began.
It is utterly human to want revenge in the face of atrocities like those committed by Hamas and it is the right of any country to respond to an attack, but the Israeli bombing campaign that has stretched on relentlessly for 11 weeks seems drastically out of proportion. It is being cited as one of the most destructive military actions in history, according to experts, as bad as, or worse than, Syria’s decimation of Aleppo over four years of civil conflict or Russia’s pummeling of Mariupol during its invasion of Ukraine.
As many as 20,000 Palestinians may have been killed so far, according to Gaza authorities, and nearly the whole population has been displaced with many now suffering on the edge of starvation.
All but one of Israel’s allies have backed away from their early support, leaving the United States the country’s lone friend and primary arms supplier. Yet, even the U.S. administration appears to be shocked by what Israel’s military and its right-wing government have unleashed. President Joe Biden has acknowledged that Israel’s “indiscriminate bombing” is destroying the legitimacy of Israel’s hunt for Hamas in the eyes of the world.
Gaza is in rubble. The people who live there are bereft. And the Israeli government may have, in the long run, seriously harmed Israel’s reputation and future security by showing no pity, no restraint and no remorse.
The editorial recognized Dr. Abe Bergman’s formidable achievements as a child advocate but failed to pass on his oft-repeated advice to all those who advocate for the politically powerless.
He was my principal mentor and often included these aphorisms in a talk, or when giving advice to colleagues and residents:
1. “All is not hopeless if we stop acting like bleating sheep.”
2. “Individuals can be more powerful than bureaucratic organizations.”
3. “Stop moaning and groaning about the fate of kids and learn how to be effective: Build coalitions; work with media; consult lobbyists.”
4. “The greatest battles are waged against those supposedly on our side.”
5. “Work on issues you care about, that are important, where a solution is possible. Pick the right goal: You seek a world where no children starve, I seek a world where fewer children starve.” (Attributed to Albert Camus.)
6. And what I believe was the core of his perspective: “Indignation without action is froth!” (Attributed to William Gladstone.)
Edgar K. Marcuse, M.D., MPH, Seattle, emeritus professor, pediatrics, University of Washington
“The purpose of life is not to be happy. It is to be useful, to be honorable, to be compassionate, to have it make some difference that you have lived and lived well.”
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The Charity Navigator organization rates non-profits with a variety of measurements. Transforming Age is listed as Presbyterian Retirement Communities on the Charity Navigator website and on Transforming Age’s form 990. This form contains information that most organizations claiming federal tax-exempt status must file yearly with the IRS. Charity Navigator ranks PRCN as “good” with an 81% three star rating (out of a possible 4).
Points are subtracted from the rating because of a lack of 990 form posting on its website, www.transformingage.org. Also points are subtracted because of a liabilities to assets ratio of 129.11%. All other aspects receive top marks.
The PNC Christmas Price Index® is an annual tradition which shows the current cost for one set of each of the gifts given in the song “The Twelve Days of Christmas.”
It is similar to the U.S. Consumer Price Index, which measures the changing prices of goods and services like housing, food, clothing, transportation and more that reflect the spending habits of the average American.
The goods and services in the PNC Christmas Price Index® are far more whimsical, of course. And most years, the price changes closely mirror those in the U.S. Consumer Price Index.
It’s a fun way to measure consumer spending and trends in the economy. So, even if Pipers Piping or Geese-a-Laying didn’t make your gift list this year, you can still learn a lot by checking out why their prices have increased or decreased over the years.
A time to take stock, and fill stockings. To mark abundant candlelight, and dwindling sunlight. To look backward, and forward, and backward once again.
We remember those who have passed. And the headlines that captured our attention. People and moments now rooted in history.
There are lists, so many lists. Of what to buy, and for whom. Of the best movies, best books, and best music. There are resolutions for the future, even though we know most will not be kept. Regardless, we have hope.
But perhaps most important of all, the end of the year should be a time for gratitude.
For if we are true to ourselves, we know that much of what we were able to accomplish in the year that is ending could not have occurred without the love and support of others.
We humans are social creatures, and most of us would not last very long on our own. Science has shown that social support improves both our health and life expectancy.
We rely on each other for the basic necessities — like sustenance and shelter. Unlike other animals, who emerge from the womb able to walk or swim, we are largely helpless for many years, depending on others to nurture us.
That is one definition of what it means to be human.
The very bonds of our common humanity — our intellectual, spiritual, emotional, and moral lives — are forged in relation to others.
We thank our teachers, formal and otherwise, who guide our learning through life. We thank those whose jobs it is to keep us safe, even at danger to themselves. We thank the helpers, in every nook and cranny of this great nation and broader world, who lighten the burdens of others. We thank the artists who inspire us. And make us laugh and cry. We thank those who work in the shadows, without whom there would be no light. We thank coworkers who urge us forward. We thank friends and family who provide support on days of struggle and heartbreak.
And we thank you, the Steady community. In a world of great need, it is a gift to have a place for empathy and understanding.
When we think of A Reason To Smile, with December quickly receding along with 2023, we think of all the reasons to say thank you and all the people worth thanking.
Last week, first lady Jill Biden shared a festive holiday video of tap troupe Dorrance Dance performing their swingin’ spin on “The Nutcracker,” set to a jazz arrangement by Duke Ellington and Billy Strayhorn.
Festooned with wide smiles, whimsical headpieces and a healthy helping of sequins, the dancers percuss their way around the White House. Familiar characters from the “Nutcracker” — such as a rodent king and the young heroine Clara— sprinkle kinetic joy through the East Wing’s Christmas trees. The video opens and closes with saucy flourishes from “Sugar Rum Cherry” (performed by co-choreographer Josette Wiggan). (continued)
The bridge, across Olympia Way near Civic Center circle, has attracted international attention and is now a local landmark. The Nutty Narrows Bridge was built in 1963 by a local builder, the late Amos Peters, to give squirrels a way to cross the busy thoroughfare without getting flattened by passing cars.
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Posted inMusic|Comments Off on Today is the birthday of Ukrainian composer Mykola Leontovych, who was killed by a chekist (Soviet secret police officer). In 1916 he composed “Shchedryk” or “Carol of the Bells”, based on a Ukrainian folk song.
Ed note: Today Dec 17th is the last day this 30 minute classic will be available for free on your apple device. Just go to the Apple TV+ web site and find the link there.
“A Charlie Brown Christmas” was a one-of-a-kind wonder when it premiered in 1965 and remains so almost 60 years later. Unlike the other jingle-belled baubles that TV throws down the chimney each year, it is melancholy and meditative. The animation is minimalist and subdued, full of grays and wafting snowflakes. I could wrap myself in the Vince Guaraldi jazz score like a quilt.
And then there’s the speech.
Charlie Brown, having Charlie-Browned his way through a disastrous attempt to direct a school pageant and the adoption of the most anemic specimen on a Christmas-tree lot, despairs over the crass materialism of the holiday and pleads for someone to tell him “what Christmas is all about.”
His friend Linus volunteers: He stands on a spotlighted stage and, as the soundtrack goes dead silent, recites a passage from the Gospel of Luke in which a band of angels proclaim the coming of Christ the Lord.
I have known people for whom the speech is a deal breaker. It’s too much Christianity for them, too directly preached. (This is not a “those were different times” thing, either; in 1965, Charles Schulz’s producers were convinced that putting the Bible on TV would be a disaster.) Some objectors are nonbelievers, some are Christian but not devout, some are, like me, Jewish.
I can understand. I do not personally believe that the physical embodiment of God was born in a Bethlehem stable, announced by a choir of the heavenly host, any more than I believe in Santa Claus.
Yet this year, just in time for Hanukkah, I went to Apple TV+ and fired up “A Charlie Brown Christmas,” which is one of my favorite programs ever made — in part precisely because of how frank it is about being Christian. And in part because it’s more Jewish in spirit than you may think.
A little bit about me: My mother was a Jewish immigrant from Morocco. My father was an American Catholic — not very religious, but he took me to church with him. (It was important to my mother, I think, that her children fit in within our very Christian, not-un-Peanuts-like Midwestern town.) At Christmas, we had a tree and a terrifying bobblehead Santa figurine. (continued).
Ed note: Today December 17th is the last day that Apple T V+ is making this classic available for free (see below). Sad that it will no longer be shown on the usual TV networks.
(WHTM)– For the fourth year in a row, this holiday season won’t be the same without a Charlie Brown Christmas on network TV. But you do have some chances to see it, and you don’t have to pay.
Viewers looking for “A Charlie Brown Christmas” won’t find it on ABC or CBS stations once again in 2023. Apple snapped it up, and it will be streaming only on Apple TV+.
In 2020 and 2021, Apple let PBS stations air the show, but no longer.
Don’t want to pay to subscribe to Apple TV? Not wanting to be the Grinch, Apple announced anyone with an iPhone or Apple ID will be able to stream a Charlie Brown Christmas free on Saturday, Dec. 16 and Sunday, Dec. 17. Just go to Apple TV’s website and there will be a link to see the show free.
But from the doesn’t that stink file, the fact Apple’s freebie offer doesn’t help grandma or grandpa who don’t stream, and just watch cable or antenna TV. But you can also buy grandma a DVD of the show: Walmart, Target, and Amazon still offer a Charlie Brown Christmas on DVD for about $10.
And speaking of the Grinch, you can watch the original How the Grinch Stole Christmas cartoon on Christmas Day free.
Streaming is the future but some shows are still nice to see the old-fashioned way, on TV.
A year ago, I assigned myself to the Capitol to cover the new House Republican majority, suspecting that this erratic crowd of lawmakers would provide some lively material.
They did not disappoint. What I could not have known then, however, was that this would turn out to be the most ineffective session of Congress in nearly a century — and quite possibly in all of American history.
The year began with chaos and incompetence. It ended with chaos and incompetence. In between were self-created crises and shocking moments of fratricide — interspersed with more chaos and incompetence.
“This will go down as … the least productive Congress since the Great Depression,” Rep. Joe Neguse, Democrat of Colorado, observed this week as the Rules Committee marked up plans for an impeachment inquiry into President Biden for imaginary crimes.
Neguse almost certainly understates the case. While it’s true, as HuffPost’s Jonathan Nicholson pointed out, that Congress got even less done in 1931, this is only because it didn’t start its session that year until December. It seems probable that no Congress in American history has spent so much time accomplishing so little as this one.
What do House Republicans have to show the voters for their year in power? A bipartisan debt deal (on which they promptly reneged) to avoid a default crisis that they themselves created. A pair of temporary spending bills (both passed with mostly Democratic votes) to avert a government-shutdown crisis that they themselves created. The ouster of their speaker, nearly a month-long shutdown of the chamber as they sought another, and the expulsion of one of their members, who is now negotiating himself a plea deal.
Among the 22 bills in 2023 that became law as of this week was landmark legislation such as: H.R. 3672, “To designate the clinic of the Department of Veterans Affairs in Indian River, Michigan, as the ‘Pfc. Justin T. Paton Department of Veterans Affairs Clinic.’” Also, H.R. 5110, the “Protecting Hunting Heritage and Education Act,” which authorizes federal education funds “to purchase or use dangerous weapons” for instruction. (continued)
Medical journals and research have not dealt much with death and dying. The interest has mainly been in literature, art and poetry–and more recently in laws that deal with medical aid in dying. In the last several years there has been a list-serve of medical people (doctors, nurses, lawyers and others) exchanging views, stories and developing best practices both to conform to laws, ethics and human kindness. Finally, there is a medical journal dealing with medical aid in dying. The first issue can be viewed here.
Editor’s note:The Travel Essay is written by our readers about a travel adventure or insight.
The train screeches to a sudden jolting stop.
“What’s happening?” I exclaim. “We’re nowhere near a town!”
Looking out the small window over my narrow bunk, I see only darkness in the Rajasthan desert in India. It’s the middle of the night and we’re passengers on the Palace on Wheels, a luxury train from the days of the maharajas that has been newly outfitted for tourists.
Our two maroon-turbaned cabin boys, Mr. Singh and Mr. Singh, both darkly handsome with narrow black mustaches and very white teeth, stick their heads into our compartment. “It’s OK,” they assure us.
The younger Mr. Singh motions with his flashlight, “Come with me,” he says.
Puzzled, my son and I follow him through several cars to the exit, then out into the night. “But what if the train leaves?” I ask. “Not to worry,” he replies, “I have a torch.” He motions, “Come along!”
I’m uneasy — why have we stopped? Whatever does Mr. Singh want? I wonder if he’s planning to lure us away from the safety of the train and rob us, even though we’re wearing only our coats, and have no valuables.
But Mr. Singh is so insistent. “Follow me,” he says.
We walk along a dirt path into the dark, following his bobbing light. It’s a clear, frigid desert night and the stars are bright above us — we seem very far from civilization. After an anxious 10-minute walk, I spot dim lights ahead. Soon we reach a small cluster of low earthen buildings. Through tiny windows I see the lights of kerosene lamps — evidently there’s no electricity.
We enter the largest building. I’m amazed to see that the floor is packed brown dirt. Over the door is a garish picture of Ganesh, the elephant-headed Hindu god of wisdom and wealth. In the corner, a small fireplace is hung with old iron cooking pots. The room is simple but tidy, with the family’s possessions stacked neatly against the whitewashed walls. A small child in home-sewn garments shyly offers us three brown cigarettes on a large round tin tray. I smile and decline, still puzzled why Mr. Singh has brought us here.
He motions us into the next room, which is brightly lighted with candles and almost filled by a low double bed. Now Mr. Singh is laughing — he motions to the young woman in the bed. She’s tired but smiling and pretty, her long black hair spread over the white pillow. Then we understand. Asleep in the crook of her arm is a tiny, black-haired infant. Mr. Singh smiles proudly. “My son,” he says. “He was born this morning!”
Ed note: If you have a story to tell, please send it along to share!
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