It’s possible to shut off all the water in your apartment
We’re all acutely aware of the problem of potential of water damage in high rise buildings. Several years ago, after water issues, we obtained water sensors that beeped loudly (but unfortunately can’t be monitored remotely). These do work. But what if it’s 11 PM on a Saturday night and suddenly one of the many water connectors in our apartments springs loose? It’s possible that there isn’t a shut off valve easily reachable — for example behind the refrigerator or the washing machine.
Our Cascade Tower apartments do have a small ceiling door (its location varies by apartment) in a dropdown ceiling (not sure of the Olympic Tower system). It can be reached with a small footstool if you’re able — or you can direct a responder. You can ask for a key (see above) which here is simply kept in the lock (not sure why it’s locked!). There are both hot and cold shut off valves above this door. If you’re frail, please get a neighbor or the security/maintenance folks to help.
Ed note: Many are still feeling the pinch of prices in the stores, mortgage rates and costs at the gas pump: see Despite cooling inflation, many costs rising for Seattle residents. This may help explain why some, especially young people and home buyers aren’t optimistic at the moment.
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I’ll be glued to the TV on Thursday for the debate between Gov. Ron DeSantis of Florida and Gov. Gavin Newsom of California on Fox News. (Not a plug.) It will pit a conservative Republican against a liberal Democrat, a one-time outfielder for Yale against a one-time pitcher for Santa Clara University, a fighter against another fighter. As Fox’s Sean Hannity told The Times, DeSantis and Newsom are “two very smart, well-educated, highly opinionated, philosophically different governors” who are “diametrically opposed.”
Still not sure why these two are debating, but bring out the popcorn!
My contribution to the predebate festivities is the following table, which highlights some differences between Florida and California. I expect each governor to pitch his state’s virtues, so it’s good to have some data to put up against their claims. Consider this an economic version of the boxing world’s tale of the tape (while keeping in mind that governors deserve neither all the credit nor all the blame for their states’ economies).
In a nutshell, California has the edge in median incomes, research universities and tech. Florida has cheaper housing, lower taxes, lower unemployment, a growing population and less violent crime. As the table shows, California is more unequal than Florida. While median household incomes in California are nearly a third higher than in Florida, the poverty rate is also higher.
In K-12 education, neither state excels. Forty-one percent of fourth graders in Florida test at or above the proficiency level in math, versus 35 percent nationally. California is below the national average, at 30 percent. By eighth grade the states are equally weak, at 23 percent at or above proficiency in math, below the (disappointing) 26 percent national average. (Continued)
I had to make a decision. Would I take my first leisure trip without my wife in … well, it seems like forever … to see our grandkids 2,000 miles away?
Marsha and I have been married over 40 years. We have traveled together to so many places around the world and in the U.S., from bigtime tourist draws like Paris and the Grand Canyon to the teeny tiny island of Simi, Greece.
We were a team. We shared blissful moments – I’ll never forget those night stars above the canyon’s North Rim — and conquered obstacles. When one of us flailed, the other would come to the rescue – like that time I led us in the wrong direction in search of our hotel on a winding road in Positano, Italy, until Marsha wisely suggested an about-face.
Our traveling life entered an unwelcome new stage when Marsha was diagnosed with dementia a few years ago. At first the symptoms were mild and we were able to keep taking trips — mainly to Utah to visit our grandchildren and to California, where our younger daughter moved in 2021.
But dementia did what it always does. It steals a person’s abilities, sometimes so slowly you’re not aware and sometimes with a startling decline in mere weeks.
When we flew to New York for a funeral last December, Marsha’s gait was slow but we negotiated the airport without too much difficulty. By spring it was clear that traveling by air would be incredibly difficult – her pace had slowed, her cognitive abilities had slipped, her spells of agitation, prompted by noise and unfamiliar places, had increased.
Negotiating our home had also become a challenge. It seemed that the time had come to consider a residential facility.
Marsha moved in June – on our anniversary. It was the hardest moment of our married life – harder than living through Marsha’s breast cancer treatment, sadder than losing our parents. Because even though I had the support of our medical team and our daughters, I had to make the decision on my own and couldn’t ask her to weigh in.
We did what our medical team suggested. My daughters and I dropped her off at the facility we’d picked – a two-story suburban home with eight residents that didn’t feel like an institution. We stayed for about an hour, then said we had to run an errand. It seemed heartbreakingly cruel to walk away and leave her with a flimsy excuse. But the staff enveloped her with love, and she didn’t protest when we left.
Her adjustment has been pretty good – the staff members are the kindest people you could hope for. But I know that when I visit – which I do nearly every day – her face lights up.
And then, it was nearly fall. Our granddaughter Jolene had a birthday coming up – she’d be turning 6. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to be there?
But I couldn’t bring myself to make the decision. I knew I couldn’t explain to Marsha that I would be going to Utah for four days but will be back. It would be too much to process.
I was so worried: How would Marsha be without my daily visits? What if she became depressed and agitated during my absence? Would she somehow think I’d abandoned her?
Marsha’s nurse practitioner and the staff at the house where she lives all told me to go – that I needed to see my grandkids, to live my life. That that’s what Marsha would want. Still I felt anxious and guilty. I couldn’t bring myself to buy a ticket.
Then on a FaceTime with the grandson, Conrad, age 3, he looked at me with his big blue eyes and said: “Can you come to my house?”
What else could I say but “yes.”
So on a Thursday night I spent a couple hours with Marsha after work, as usual. Earlier that week she had been calm and happy when I was with her. Thursday was a little bumpier. She was upset, she kept saying that people were telling her to do things. I had a hard time comforting her.
But when I kissed and hugged her goodbye, she smiled with warmth and love. I used usual vague departing line: I love you and I have to go do an errand now but I’ll be back soon.
At 7:20 a.m. on Friday I was on a plane to Utah.
Conrad and Jolene shrieked with joy when they saw me. We hugged and rolled on the floor, we read books, we went on a drive to a giant slide.
Conrad, asked as we drove, “Where is Nina?” That’s how he pronounces Nana, what the grandkids call my wife. His innocent question made me tear up. I told a white lie: She wanted to come but she’s not feeling well and couldn’t travel. Although in a way that was the real truth.
There were many flashes of sorrow during my visit. When I’d see something that reminded me of earlier trips with Marsha, I was gripped by sadness at the terrible turn in our lives.
I also felt so lonely. When you’ve lived as part of a couple for decades, and suddenly it’s just you, and yet your partner is still there … I felt as if I had lost half of my soul. At Jolene’s birthday party, I had lots of people to talk to but I felt so alone.
Yet there were moments that filled me with joy, that let me conquer my sadness.
One morning before the sun had risen, Jolene tiptoed into my bed with a stack of four books for me to read to her and said, “I love you, Saba.” (That’s what the grandkids call me – Hebrew for grandpa.) Minutes later Conrad came to cuddle: “Saba, I love you so much.”
And when I put them to bed while mom and dad were at a party, I had no choice but to be in that moment.
Jolene picked a book. It wasn’t my favorite so I asked if I could pick a different one. “You can’t. You’re not a child,” said Jolene. Then Conrad wanted me to stroke his back and hold his hand while he was falling asleep. Only I put my hand OVER the bed rail to take his hand and was immediately instructed, No, you have to put your hands through the bed rail.
They both drifted off while I made up a story about a unicorn whom I named Matilda.
I knew I had made a good decision to come and be with our dear grandchildren.
How did Marsha do? Both daughters and my wife’s sisters called her; they reported that she seemed okay. I felt as if FaceTiming with her myself might bring up worries – where’s Marc? Then again, maybe it wouldn’t have.
The cruelty of dementia is that there is no reliable road map — you just have to take in all the advice you can from wise souls and then go with your instincts.
After a long weekend in Utah, I got home in the wee hours of Tuesday morning — and went to see Marsha that night. I’d been absent for four days. Marsha gave me a lovely smile and said, “You look so good.”
“You look good, too,” I said. I gave her a big hug. And wiped away a few tears. “Are you okay?” Marsha asked, holding my hand. For a minute, she was my caregiver as she’d been throughout our life together.
What could I say? I was overwhelmed with emotion, from the joy of the trip, the anxiety of the separation. But yes, I told her honestly, I was okay.
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The billboards, which also say “Sponsored by League of Radical Leftist Vermin, Jay Bender instigator,” referenced a comment Trump made in a New Hampshire speech on Veterans Day to root out “radical left thugs that live like vermin.”
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“How beautifully leaves grow old. How full of light and color are their last days.” — John Burroughs
“I hope I can be the autumn leaf, who looked at the sky and lived. And when it was time to leave, gracefully it knew life was a gift.” — Dodinsky
“And all at once, summer collapsed into fall.” ― Oscar Wilde
“Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower.” ― Albert Camus
“Autumn colors remind us we are all one dancing in the wind.” ― Lorin Morgan-Richards
Beautiful on the surface, deep in meaning. Let’s live like the leaves, dancing together without separation or prejudice.
Joel 2:23: “Be glad, people of Zion, rejoice in the Lord your God, for He has given you the autumn rains because he is faithful. He sends you abundant showers, both autumn and spring rains, as before.”
Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower.” ― Albert Camus
“Autumn is the time of year when Mother Nature says, “Look how easy, how healthy, and how beautiful letting go can be.” ― Toni Sorenson
Even when the leaves have been shed the life remains in the tree. Like “an oak, whose substance is in them, when they cast their leaves” (Isaiah 6:13). In the same way, the Lord is able to revive us spiritually.
The bright, fresh color of the leaf of a tree or plant shows that it is richly nourished by a good soil, hence it is the symbol of prosperity (Ps 1:3; Jer 17:8). A faded leaf, on the contrary, shows the lack of moisture and nourishment, and becomes a fit emblem of adversity and decay (Job 13:25; Isa 64:6).
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“Three things in human life are important. The first is to be kind. The second is to be kind. And the third is to be kind.” – Irvin Yalom
Irvin Yalom is an author, teacher and practicing psychiatrist. He has authored novels, memoirs and textbooks. All of his works are worth reading. The most recent one is a mutually authored book with his wife who is dying from cancer. They alternate chapters as her disease progresses. For anyone who has lost a loved one, or is nearing a loss (basically all of us), I’d recommend reading A Matter of Death and Life: Love, Loss and What Matters in the End.
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IN this summer of town hall disruptions and birth-certificate controversies, a summer when it seemed as if the Republican Party had been captured by its extremist wing, it is worth recalling a now-obscure letter from President Dwight D. Eisenhower.
Although Eisenhower is commonly remembered for a farewell address that raised concerns about the “military-industrial complex,” his letter offers an equally important and relevant warning: to beware the danger posed by those seeking freedom from the “mental stress and burden” of democracy.
The story began in 1958, when Eisenhower received a letter from Robert Biggs, a terminally ill World War II veteran. Biggs told the president that he “felt from your recent speeches the feeling of hedging and a little uncertainty.” He added, “We wait for someone to speak for us and back him completely if the statement is made in truth.”
Eisenhower could have discarded Biggs’s note or sent a canned response. But he didn’t. He composed a thoughtful reply. After enduring Senator Joseph McCarthy of Wisconsin, who had smeared his old colleague Gen. George C. Marshall as a Communist sympathizer, and having guarded the Republican Party against the newly emergent radical right John Birch Society, which labeled him and much of his cabinet Soviet agents, the president perhaps welcomed the opportunity to expound on his vision of the open society.
“I doubt that citizens like yourself could ever, under our democratic system, be provided with the universal degree of certainty, the confidence in their understanding of our problems, and the clear guidance from higher authority that you believe needed,” Eisenhower wrote on Feb. 10, 1959. “Such unity is not only logical but indeed indispensable in a successful military organization, but in a democracy debate is the breath of life.”
Eisenhower also recommended a short book “The True Believer” by Eric Hoffer, a self-educated itinerant longshoreman who earned the nickname “the stevedore philosopher.” “Faith in a holy cause,” Hoffer wrote, “is to a considerable extent a substitute for the lost faith in ourselves.”
Though Eisenhower was criticized for lacking an intellectual framework or even an interest in ideas, he was drawn to Hoffer’s insights. He explained to Biggs that Hoffer “points out that dictatorial systems make one contribution to their people which leads them to tend to support such systems freedom from the necessity of informing themselves and making up their own minds concerning these tremendous complex and difficult questions.” The authoritarian follower, Eisenhower suggested, desired nothing more than insulation from the pressures of a free society.
Alluding to Senator McCarthy and his allies, Eisenhower pointed out that cold war fears were distorted and exploited for political advantage. “It is difficult indeed to maintain a reasoned and accurately informed understanding of our defense situation on the part of our citizenry when many prominent officials, possessing no standing or expertness as they themselves claim it, attempt to further their own ideas or interests by resorting to statements more distinguished by stridency than by accuracy.”
It is worth noting, of course, that these Cold War exaggerations weren’t just a Republican specialty: John F. Kennedy was making a supposed “missile gap” between the United States and the Soviet Union a key element of his presidential campaign.
In closing his letter, Eisenhower praised Biggs for his “fortitude in pondering these problems despite your deep personal adversity.” Perhaps it was the president’s sense of solidarity with a fellow soldier that prompted him to respond to Biggs with such care; and perhaps it was his experience as supreme commander of Allied forces in Europe that taught him that the rise of extreme movements and authoritarianism could take root anywhere even in a democracy.
Max Blumenthal is the author of “Republican Gomorrah: Inside the Movement That Shattered the Party.”
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2 tickets are available for the December 10th 2 PM Sunday Matinee. Orchestra Center Row U seats 1 and 2. Price $150 for the pair (purchase price $198). Currently 3 seats are available on the Skyline van. Contact Jim deMaine if interested.
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By Maya Salam in the NYT — (Thanks to Mary Jane F.)
Not to rain on your Thanksgiving Day parade, but the story of the first Thanksgiving, as most Americans have been taught it — the Pilgrims and Native Americans gathering together, the famous feast, the turkey — is not exactly accurate.
Thanksgiving facts and Thanksgiving myths have blended together for years like so much gravy and mashed potatoes, and separating them is just as complicated.
Blame school textbooks with details often so abridged, softened or out of context that they are ultimately made false; children’s books that simplify the story to its most pleasant version; or animated television specials like “The Mouse on the Mayflower,” which first aired in 1968, that not only misinformed a generation, but also enforced a slew of cringeworthy stereotypes.
“That mind-set pervades everything they talk about and certainly Thanksgiving,” he said.
The timeline is relative.
The Mayflower did bring the Pilgrims to North America from Plymouth, England, in 1620, and they disembarked at what is now Plymouth, Mass., where they set up a colony. In 1621, they celebrated a successful harvest with a three-day gathering that was attended by members of the Wampanoag tribe. It’s from this that we derive Thanksgiving as we know it.
But it wasn’t until the 1830s that this event was called the first Thanksgiving by New Englanders who looked back and thought it resembled their version of the holiday, said Kate Sheehan, a spokeswoman for Plimoth Plantation, a living history museum in Plymouth. (continued)
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