READING AND AGING

For any reader, aging presents an extremely painful problem. My mother, a reading specialist and reading devotee with an extensive personal library, lived to the age of 101; after about 95 years, she found it hard to continue reading her beloved books. The print was too small, there was too little contrast with the paper, and so on. By the time she died, she could read almost nothing.

Fortunately, some helpful options are available. Listening to audiobooks is helpful for many people, whether they have poor vision or not. Indeed, audiobooks can be very pleasing when the reader is skilled. For instance, I especially enjoy hearing books written by the late mystery writer Dick Francis if they are read by Simon Prebble, whose voice is exactly right for Francis’s books. The main drawback to audiobooks is that you can’t go back to an earlier point (unless by a method I haven’t discovered) to look up something. They are invaluable for anyone who has lost their vision completely, and have been around since 1948 as a service of Recording for the Blind (now renamed Recording for the Blind and Dyslexic/Learning Ally).

Large-print books have long been available, too. In the past I found them limited to religious novels and other books someone decided were appealing to the elderly, but recently I have seen many that are suited to a wider audience. If a book you want to read is available in a large-print edition, it’s another good choice.

For a long time I resisted the Kindle electronic reader, being a snob about reading. Yes, the Kindle is inferior to a large library of “real books.” As my vision has declined, though, I find it harder and harder to read those. With a Kindle edition, I can adjust the font, the type size, the background color and brightness for maximum readability. Recently I read Melville’s Billy Budd on the Kindle after finding the library’s standard book impossible. For traveling, the Kindle can hold hundreds of books in a tiny space. The savvy reader can add notes, bookmarks, and so on, too. I’ve had some problems with using those, but I love the built-in dictionary.

The Kindle has its downsides:  It’s hard to flip through the “pages,” though searching for a character’s or place’s name sometimes makes it possible. It’s hard also to form a sentimental attachment to an electronic book; I can’t imagine giving one to a child. Compared with free books from a public library, Kindle books can get expensive. (Many books can be downloaded free from Gutenberg.org, though, and Amazon often offers free or inexpensive books.)

All in all, I’m lucky to have some alternatives to “real” books. I may miss the real thing, but at least I can still read a book’s contents.

Copyright © Decembert 20, 2021 by Carol Leth Stone (a.k.a. RovinCrone)

 

SIREN SONG

Sirens sounded from Missouri Flat Road today, and I wondered if they were related to the CalFire helicopters carrying water to the Caldor fire a few miles away. A few people have already been injured in the fire, and panicked residents are beginning to drive out of this area in case they need to evacuate their homes and businesses. The sirens may be on ambulances, police cars, or fire engines.

Being close to a wildfire is certainly a terrifying experience, but it is entirely new to me. Why, then, does it somehow seem so familiar? Then I realized—the sirens brought back the same dread I felt almost thirty years ago, when an earthquake struck the Bay area.

Harold and I lived in Alameda then, only a few miles from the freeway that joined the Bay Bridge to San Francisco. I had picked him up from work, and as we were driving home, the car seemed to fall into a ditch, then recover. Harold swore and said something unkind about my driving. Then we saw that all the traffic lights were out. Sirens were sounding in the distance. By the time we got home we realized there must have been an earthquake.

Evening came on, our electricity was off, and we sat in the dark listening to the sirens and wondering how bad the quake had been. Battery-operated radio reports gave only a little information at first, but it sounded as if large parts of San Francisco and East Bay cities might have been leveled. After a few hours, the power came on and we were able to get a few television reports showing newscasters standing precariously on the edges of the broken Bay Bridge and below the collapsed freeway. The sirens continued in the distance. The next day we learned sad news of some Alamedans’ deaths below the freeway.

It was only a few days before recovery began. Bad as the quake had been, it was at least not a repetition of the 1906 disaster. Rebuilding the bridge and freeway completely took years, partly because citizens and planners typically disagreed on how they should look, but it did happen. By about 2000 it was finished. There was even a silver lining from my viewpoint: To provide immediate access to The City from the East Bay, the SeaBees came in to build a temporary ferry terminal not far from our Alameda home. The ferry rapidly became my favorite method of getting to San Francisco, as I could savor the view of the Bay while drinking coffee and writing. Later the ferry was replaced with more elaborate boats, and a permanent terminal was built. Another one in Oakland helped provide the triangle of today’s Alameda-Oakland-San Francisco Ferry, beloved by commuters and the occasional savvy tourist.

Though the destruction of these human-made structures was costly in lives and money, the end result for the infrastructure was acceptable. Few drivers on the freeway and bridge today think about the 1989 collapse, but I can still hear the sirens. Worse, I am reminded of another natural disaster, the destruction of our natural environment occurring not far away from my home in the Sierras now. Thousands of acres of trees and associated communities of plants and animals will come back from the fire eventually, too late for me to see it happen. There is plenty of blame to go around. Human-caused climate change has added to natural cycles of drought and abundant water; logging companies used clear-cutting for many years; then we environmentalists urged too many controls over logging.  Among us we destroyed what took thousands of years to create.

Copyright © August 20, 2021 by Carol Leth Stone (a.k.a. RovinCrone)

A NEW ECOLOGY

The roof of the California Academy of Sciences (CAS) in San Francisco’s Golden Gate Park is a garden that looks odd but merges naturally with the park surrounding it. Having a wide variety of plants, the roof attracts pollinators and provides insulation for the building beneath it.

 

https://www.calacademy.org/exhibits/living-roof

When we drove along a large highway in Canada several years ago we were surprised by passing beneath a huge overpass with plants growing on it. It turned out to be a corridor for wildlife, which had been constructed so that moose, deer, and other animals could cross the highway safely. Like the CAS roof, the overpass was a human-made structure that contributed to the natural biome rather than interfering with it.

The Dutch biologist Menno Schilthuizen has pointed out that evolution is occurring quickly all around us. For instance, some spiders have evolved to be attracted to the lights where insects gather, and starlings have even changed their wing shape in a way that allows them to flee from some urban dangers. As every high school biology student knows, peppered moths rapidly evolved in the nineteenth century, becoming dark to match the sooty backgrounds in their industrialized English environments. Parakeets in Paris are of two distinct genetic types that could mix but do not; like many other animals, they have evolved to remain in slightly different habitats.

Many of Schilthuizen’s examples sound more like variations in species than true evolution, but his point that changes are occurring swiftly within organisms in urban and natural environments cannot be denied. Surprisingly, he is hopeful that we can work with many of the changes rather than resisting them.

Ever since the sixties, I have agonized over human alterations to our natural environment. Even our wonderful national parks and wilderness areas have suffered from pollution, urban sprawl, mining, and other obscenities. In traveling in a motorhome throughout North America I have watched the crumbling of many ecosystems. Conservation of current natural resources has seemed like environmentalists’ only worthwhile goal. Perhaps Schilthuizen has the right idea. If some organisms evolve in a way that benefits them and their surroundings, we can encourage them. If some become extinct, their replacements may be worth preserving. Those of us who mourn the loss of familiar plants and animals can try to imagine future ecosystems and design appealing cities for them. We cannot stop evolution, but we can search for new ways to live with it.

 

Copyright © July 25, 2021 by Carol Leth Stone (a.k.a. RovinCrone)

THE LARGE ELEPHANT IN THE ROOM

The media finally have the message: People care about the environment. It’s nearly impossible to turn on a television channel—especially   PBS—without seeing David Attenborough, Jane Goodall, Greta Thunberg, or Bill Gates, of all people, urging us to take care of wildlife, conserve natural resources, and reduce our carbon footprint. As a fervent environmentalist for many decades, of course I am delighted to see that viewers care about these issues and that research on possible fixes is proceeding.

Why, then, am I hesitant to applaud this progress? It’s because I see scarcely any mention of population as part of our environmental  problems. In the 1960s the world population was about 3 billion; today, about 8 billion.  So much damage results from that growth: The huge population easily transmits diseases such as covid-19. Supplies of water are scarce in some areas, while the changing climate causes torrential rains in other areas. We convert large areas of forest or wetlands to space for growing coffee or other desirable foods. There is simply too little useable space for everyone.

In the 1960s population biologists such as Paul Ehrlich and Garrett Hardin began pointing out the necessity of limiting population size. Many of us responded by limiting the size of our families and joining Planned Parenthood. All over the world, people realized the danger of overpopulation. China even instituted a draconian  “one child” program that led to forced abortions and other undesirable results and was eventually discontinued. The world population size that had grown 2% annually in the 1960s now grows at about 1%. That decrease is very encouraging, but 1% of 8 billion is still 80 million, about ten times the size of New York City. Can the planet sustain adding ten New Yorks a year? I think not.

Today, however, the ubiquitous TV programs about nature and climate change seem almost oblivious of how much population size affects the environment. Is it because corporate sponsors discourage it? I don’t know the answer but am suspicious.

Some United States economists actually warn that the country needs more babies. Presumably this is to increase consumption of goods to stimulate the economy, and to provide a larger pool of workers. That’s the dilemma: Stimulating the economy depends partly on population growth, while helping the environment depends on shrinking it. While a larger population may actually be desirable in some ways for some countries, would it not make more sense to encourage more immigration from crowded countries than to boost the number of births? Immigrants are desperately trying to enter some countries to escape terrible conditions in other places. Most are willing to work, to buy goods, to help the economy.

Currently, anyone who encourages limiting population size is likely to be accused of racism or “anti-natalism.” In recent years far-right politicians have taken advantage of religious opposition to abortion to attack Planned Parenthood. The women who began that group around 1900 as a way of helping poor immigrant women control their lives are said to have favored genocide of Blacks. Margaret Sanger, the main founder, was one of eleven children in an Irish family. She personally experienced the sad results of women not being able to control their reproduction. She is criticized greatly now as being a eugenicist, but her goal of helping women voluntarily escape the burden of having too many children is still laudable.

Planned Parenthood and similar groups are attacked by people who oppose abortion. However, the best way to avoid abortion is to provide contraception. Many women in rural or poor areas of the country have no access to free contraception. As a result they are faced with the terrible choice of having an abortion or giving birth to an unwanted baby and adding to the population size. If women have access to education and contraceptives, they become free to better control their lives, to find jobs, to have children in the number and when they choose to. Individuals and society both benefit. Bill and Melinda Gates have seen how important population control is for Africa, and have invested in programs to help women, but who will sound the alarm for America?

Calls for social justice also complicate the overpopulation issue. One proposal for lessening the wealth gap between rich and poor suggests giving each baby born in the US $20,000. Invested over the years, that could help pay for college, a starter home, and other advantages that wealthier people have. Unfortunately, it might also encourage having more children.

Important as population control is, there will always be opposition to it for a variety of reasons. However, the need is overwhelming. Sooner or later, world population size will fall. If it is not decreased by voluntary means, nature will control it for us by delivering pandemics, storms, wildfires, lack of enough food and water for everyone, and so on. We need  to act soon.

 

 Copyright © April 12, 2021 by Carol Leth Stone (a.k.a. RovinCrone)

VACCINATION IGNORANCE

The English physician Edward Jenner is famous for his 1798 discovery that smallpox could be prevented by vaccinating someone with pus taken from a cowpox victim. The antibodies to cowpox fortunately protected against smallpox as well. Just as today, there were anti-vaccers in Jenner’s time. In 1802 a cartoonist showed how some actually feared that the inoculation could turn a person into a cow.

Doubtless there were other misunderstandings about the smallpox vaccine, but Jenner’s results were stunning, and today no one questions its effectiveness or safety.

Some of the objections to the covid-19 vaccines are understandable. They were developed more quickly than medicines usually are. They have not yet been tested in every possible group of people. Side effects might appear later on. However, at this time the vaccines are performing extremely well, protecting up to 95% of those receiving them and having only a few rare adverse reactions. Considering how deadly covid-19 often is, it seems stupid to pass up the vaccine. Indeed, millions of people are doing everything possible to compete for vaccinations while the supply is limited.

The anti-vaccers pay little attention to that success story. Some of their objections are based on false information, such as the idea that a vaccine can cause autism. (That rumor was begun more than twenty years ago by the former physician Andrew Wakefield, who published a paper in the influential journal Lancet. He was subsequently discredited and can no longer practice mediciene.) Other objections come from conspiracy theorists, who want to use any method to oppose their political rivals. Still others cite “herd immunity,” thinking that if a large proportion of citizens have recovered from the virus, they do not need a vaccine; these anti-vaccers ignore the fact that acquiring immunity in that way may be fatal. Misinformation about vaccines still abounds in spite of credible public health studies supporting vaccination for many diseases.

At the age of eighty-three, and having some underlying health issues, I’m not taking any chances. After a year of self-imposed partial isolation, I had both doses of the Moderna vaccine weeks ago with some minimal side effects. Now I feel  able to begin venturing out of my apartment. On the other hand, I’m continuing to wear a mask, to stay six feet away from most people, and to wash my hands often. Too many people out there are still unvaccinated and pose a threat to everyone around them.

Copyright © March 14, 2021 by Carol Leth Stone (a.k.a. RovinCrone)

LIFE IN INDEPENDENT LIVING

Last month I had my second Moderna vaccination. How lucky I am to benefit from this potential life saver! Even though I’m over 80 years old and have underlying health conditions, because of the fierce competition for vaccination I’m one of the small proportion of that group to have actually received it. If I were not living in a retirement community that includes a skilled nursing facility, I might have to wait months for even the first shot. (Correction: Recently the rules for prioritizing elderly people for vaccination have relaxed, and now I think anyone in an independent living facility is eligible. Hurrah!)

Being vaccinated is only the latest advantage of life here. Yes, it’s expensive, and I had to sell my house to have enough money to move in. (Whether the money will last until I die is another question. I am cautiously optimistic.) However, having a safe, reasonably comfortable old age is the best use I can think of for my money. Not having any children waiting anxiously to inherit my home or money, I can be selfish about this.

I can understand people who want to continue living in their own homes as long as possible, but that way of life may be overrated. Those who live alone may have very little social life. Transportation is a frequent problem. Planning and cooking meals may no longer be enjoyable. Medical problems such as arthritis can make even simple housework very difficult. For me, all these drawbacks outweighed the positive aspects.

Deciding what items to take to an independent living facility can be difficult. Many people have children who are willing to store some items, and that can help greatly. Being childless, I had to make final decisions when I sold my house and had a series of moving sales. From what I’ve seen, the most common mistake is taking too much. A writer friend of mine insisted on taking boxes of books, unpublished manuscripts, and other writers’ paraphernalia, and could scarcely move in her small apartment. The living space may look large in a floor plan, but it’s limited. Just as if you’re packing for travel, you need to concentrate on the items you really will use. For me, that meant taking electronics such as a laptop computer and printer; my old desk (which has a lot of drawer space) and other basic items of furniture; a few books and a Kindle; the basic wardrobe that had served me well during years of RV travel; financial files; simple kitchen equipment; some pictures and photo albums. It was a little like packing for dormitory life when I went to college. Now as then, the most important places where I spend time are common areas—activity rooms, a gym, the dining room, the library, and so on--rather than my own apartment. This game room is across the hallway from my apartment.

This may sound very Spartan, and it is. However, the dirty little secret of this life is that people leave continually, deciding to move in with their children or dying. The contents of their apartments are often sold to residents at very low prices. If you find that you actually need or want some item you didn’t bring, you can probably replace it. I had an old, small TV when I moved in, but soon bought a large, nearly new one to replace it for $40. A friend bought a lovely designer purse for a few dollars.

Selling my large collection of books was traumatic but necessary, and it forced me to pack only the books I would actually open again or couldn’t bear to give away. If I want to reread a book that I no longer own, the local library will deliver it, or I can order a digital or printed copy. As my vision deteriorates with age, I find it much easier to read books on my Kindle reader than as traditional printed books. In addition, the Kindle’s built-in dictionary and links to other sources are very helpful. Altogether, I have been pleasantly surprised to find I’m no longer clinging to hardbound books. When I do succumb and buy one, I may pass it on to another resident after finishing it.

Most facilities provide transportation to medical appointments and other places. I sometimes miss having my own car, but can always rent one if necessary. (During the pandemic, I feel a little uncomfortable about using ride services.) A friend sometimes gives me a ride. Not having expenses associated with owning a car help greatly with paying my monthly rent.

Altogether, this is a good life. Even five years ago, I might have felt too restricted. Today, I am grateful not to have to worry about home ownership. Aging itself presents problems enough, and I can concentrate on them rather than on trimming shrubs or paying high home-insurance premiums.

Copyright © February 24, 2021 by Carol Leth Stone (a.k.a. RovinCrone)

WAS LAURA INGALLS WILDER A RACIST?

After seeing a PBS documentary recently, I went to the bookcase and took out my personal copy of Laura Ingalls Wilder’s The Long Winter, which was given to me in 1945. At the time I was interested in reading other things, such as Wonder Woman comic books, and so I never got around to reading the remaining Little House on the Prairie books. Now I have read this one, and can fully appreciate Wilder’s writing. She showed readers her own remembrances of nineteenth century life for a poor family far from city life. Though The Long Winter is considered a young-adult book, Wilder never talked down to readers, and even adults can read it with pleasure.

By 1945, some critics had already begun pointing out the prejudiced attitudes in Wilder’s books, and some of the early editions were revised accordingly. In The Long Winter, Ma (Wilder’s own mother) “didn’t like to see women working in the fields. Only foreigners did that. Ma and her girls were Americans above doing men’s work.” When Pa went into town and was warned about the storms to come, the warning came from “only an Indian.” He came home and described the warning, and “Ma looked as if she were smelling the smell of an Indian . . . Ma despised Indians.” Somewhat to his credit, Pa answered “there’s some good Indians.” in another of Ingalls’s books, someone says the awful “The only good Indian is a dead Indian.” Yes, remarks like these make us cringe today. It’s understandable that Native Americans and other groups have protested the books’ use in schools and libraries, even when they are used as examples of prejudice. However, it’s good to consider the context. Early in American history, both Indians and white settlers engaged in terrible acts. If the Ingalls family only heard stories of settlers being tortured, they might well have been frightened enough to believe the worst.

In my own childhood, we hadn’t advanced very far. In the forties and fifties, I heard patronizing or prejudiced attitudes toward Blacks. Living near a resort area, I saw many Jews who came out from Chicago. As in all tourist groups, a few of them were obnoxious. I often heard the words “kike,” “sheenie,” and so on. It would be many years before I fortunately met enough people of other races and religions to lose my prejudices, and to marry a Jew. If I had written a book about my own childhood, I might have included remarks as bad as those in The Long Winter and other Little House books, simply to show accurately how my own community behaved.

I have been lucky in this respect. Spending many years in various schools and working for or with a variety of people, I have overcome those attitudes. There are still many who have not had my privileges. Though yahoos and hypocrites stir my anger, I can understand them also. Yes, we need to be sensitive to concerns of minority groups, and to speak and write carefully. On the other hand, we should avoid a revisionist approach to history. I hope the Ingalls books stay on bookshelves along with enlightened comments about them.

Copyright © January 12, 2021 by Carol Leth Stone (a.k.a. RovinCrone)

WHERE TO?

My life has changed enormously during the past year. Back in February I was leading a life of what Thoreau called quiet desperation, spending too much time on just trying to live a healthy life. At the age of 82, it was simply too hard to shop for food, prepare it, wash the dishes and cooking utensils afterward. These tasks, which once made up a small portion of my day, took over my life. I stopped writing, did too little reading. My social life revolved around rare trips to the library and frequent visits to doctors’ offices. For a long time I had been considering moving to an independent living community where meals and transportation would be provided. It also might provide some social life. I had lived for year in the area and made only a few friends. My partner is good company but is somewhat of a hermit. I was lonely, missed interaction with interesting people. Would moving to a retirement community solve my problems? 

Then the decision was taken out of my hands. I had a minor accident in which I was unhurt, but my car was totaled. To this day I am unsure what happened. I remember pulling into a parking space at the library, braking as usual. Suddenly my foot was on the accelerator, and I didn’t react quickly enough to brake. I crashed into a concrete wall. Did my foot just slip because I was momentarily inattentive? Or did I have a TIA? I suspect it was either a TIA or some other temporary mental difficulty that might occur again at any time, and would rather not take a chance on it. Instead of replacing my car, I stopped driving. Perhaps I’ll go back to it at some point when I regain my self confidence. In the meantime, the bus at the retirement community will take me to many places. I like public transportation for environmental reasons anyway. 

 Soon after reaching that point, I was gobsmacked along with others by the pandemic. Now the retirement community looked like a safe refuge from covid-19. I began preparing to sell my house, though for a couple months real estate offices were closed. Finally they reopened, and my house went on the market. Again, I expected to have a long wait before anyone bought it, but within two days I had a more than acceptable offer. The next month was a whirlwind of activity. Moving sales, frantic packing, mountains of paperwork to be completed. Suddenly I found that most of the contents of my three-bedroom house had been transported to a one-bedroom apartment. It’s a little crowded, but somehow it worked. I’ve lived here for about four months now. 

So far I am extremely happy with my new life. The building I live in is a little bit like a college dorm, with people around at all times. Someone else is doing the cooking and cleaning, and I actually have time for blogging and other writing. Lovely gardens are tended by others. My balcony looks out from the second floor into trees, so I may resume the birdwatching I began long ago. My new life has begun. I will continue blogging about it, and am curious about how this will turn out. Will I get bored with my insulation from “normal “ life? Or will I have the time and space I’ve craved? Where to from here?

Copyright © December 27, 2020 by Carol Leth Stone (a.k.a. RovinCrone)

SUCH INTERESTING PEOPLE

One morning the old guy who lives down the hall walked up and asked loudly whether I had been out drinking in the parking lot the previous night. What? Finally I figured it out. I had gone out to gaze at a conjunction of Jupiter and Saturn, and of course had looked up through my binoculars. From a distance and in a dim light, the binoculars looked to him like a bottle. I tried to explain, but he looked skeptical. This place is a gossip mill, and I’m probably pegged as a drunk now.

And then there is Moose. (Though I avoid using real names here, I can’t think of a good substitute, and of course Moose is just her nickname.) I’d heard some people mention her, and had a mental image of a hulking, awkward creature. Instead, she turned out to be the petite, graceful woman I’d seen dancing when a local band was performing. Moose is a hundred years old, and proud of it. She could pass for 80. Not only is she youthful and graceful, but she’s sharp and funny.

I used to think old people were boring. One of my grandmothers lived to be 96, and I could have asked her so much about her life that began in the nineteenth century, but I didn’t. By the time my mother died at the age of 101 I had wised up a little, and we had many good conversations about her life. Now that I am old, I can appreciate the elderly people around me. We have lived through events that seem like ancient history to the young. Not only do we remember them, we can see and describe them in the changing contexts of surrounding events, attitudes, and fashions. We are better able than younger people to understand and forgive those who may seem racist or otherwise intolerant.

Copyright © December 9, 2020 by Carol Leth Stone (a.k.a. RovinCrone)

EATING DURING THE PANDEMIC

A beginning student of anthropology is likely to be struck by the amount of time “primitive” people must spend on finding food. They hunt or gather, perhaps cook over a fire made of sticks. In comparison, those in modern societies may seem to spend little time on getting food. 

Until I became an octogenarian, I blithely shopped for groceries, cooked meals, and cleaned up afterward without thinking much about the time it took. Eating-related tasks seemed to occur almost in spare moments. Then, as I aged and my health declined, I found all that work burdensome. 

Since moving to an independent-living apartment, I’ve found that I suddenly have much more time on my hands. Though I still spend time eating (most of the meals are delicious), someone else has taken care of all the work involved. I am extremely fortunate. 

My meals are delivered to my door in Styrofoam containers. Plastics are an ecological nightmare but a necessity during the pandemic.

 Meanwhile, many people who are quarantined or otherwise forced to stay home because of the pandemic are having a harder time than I ever did. They may have to shop in off hours to avoid crowds, practice social distancing, wear masks or other protective gear, search for items that no one has touched. Stores often run out of popular items. 

Even worse than lack of time for getting food is lack of money. As the pandemic has damaged the economy, many workers have lost their jobs or are making less money. They may even have to choose between paying the rent or buying enough groceries. At this time—shockingly in this wealthy country-- fourteen million children in the U.S. have too little nutritious food. Only a few years ago, obesity seemed to be a major pediatric difficulty. It still is, but now it is more likely to result from reliance on cheap but fattening foods. Getting enough protein and vegetables is hard for those on low incomes. 

We can no longer take food for granted. Like those in third-world countries, we are suffering from too little nourishing food for all citizens. Sadly, our political leaders are largely to blame. I can only hope that in the next few months, we will elect leaders who can reverse this trend. 

 Copyright © October 16, 2020 by Carol Leth Stone (a.k.a. RovinCrone) 

STANDING ON THE SIDELINES

The past few months seem all too much like the late sixties, when after centuries of oppression and the assassination of Martin Luther King, Jr., African Americans grieved and rioted. Back then I wanted to be part of the civil rights movement, but did only a very small bit. I wrote letters to newspapers, helped to integrate an all-white neighborhood in Chicago. It was all too little, of course. Others fought and died in that battle.

While Chicago police clubbed demonstrators in Lincoln Park, I lay in a hospital bed recovering from surgery. It gave me an excuse for not doing something more, for merely being on the sidelines of a major battle.

Now I am 83, “too old” to go out and march in the Black Lives Matter demonstrations following the murders of George Floyd and others. It would be ludicrous, I say to myself. Would police treat gently an old lady using a walker? They might, considering my age and “white privilege” status. If they clubbed or tear-gassed me, that might be a useful protest, but I’m too cowardly. Once again, I will watch braver souls on TV, write the occasional letter, and hope that this time there can actually be an improvement.

 

 Copyright © September 27, 2020 by Carol Leth Stone (a.k.a. RovinCrone)

SMILE!

Jessica Bennett wrote in a recent New York Times article that there is a silver lining to the mask problem, at least for women. Those of us who don’t smile continually no longer have to listen to remarks like, ”Hey, sweetie! Lighten up and smile!” Unless we knit our brows and scowl, we look like anyone else. For all anyone knows, we are smiling broadly under our masks.

Maybe it’s genetic. My father was a handsome, serious man who wore a pleasant expression but seldom smiled broadly unless he was laughing. For years, no one bothered him about it, but by the time he became a school principal in the sixties, things had changed. As you can tell from comparing school photos taken in the fifties and sixties, smiling for photos became mandatory around 1960. No one sent the memo to my dad. Finally, when he had to pose for a faculty photo, the frustrated photographer shouted, “Smile, Henry! Smile!” He did so reluctantly, and the result was gruesome. He looks like someone who has a few too many drinks. I saved the photo and used to tease him with it. Mother, on the other hand, smiled easily and often.

Though the smile mandate caused a slight problem for my dad, men in general seem able to look serious without being criticized. In fact, it seems to give them an advantage in business and political situations, where looking too happy may make them seem too lightweight. Women, in contrast, are expected to smile in social situations, but to look and act only slightly serious otherwise. We can choose between seeming too accommodating and being perceived as shrewish.

Smiling has different connotations in different cultures, too; German waiters seem to take pride in looking severe, while American servers of both genders may smile too often for customers’ comfort. Both groups must be handicapped by the current need to wear masks.

 

THE POST-PANDEMIC WORKPLACE

The kind of office you have was once a status symbol. When I began working for the American Medical Association in the early sixties, I shared a small windowless office with another editor. One day some workers came in with a bag of tools and began measuring the door. We asked what was going on, and were informed that they would be installing a coat hook. We pointed out that there were two of us, we were enduring a brutal Chicago winter, and we needed two hooks for our coats. One guy looked at us pityingly and said, “Lady, this is a one-coat-hook office! “ Oh. Subsequent experiences at the AMA confirmed that lesson.

Later in the sixties, working happily for another employer, I had a small but sufficient office to myself. The furniture was old, and my file cabinet was far down the hall, but other editors were near by for conferences and “reading back” galley proofs. I even had a window providing the natural light editors need.  That office was fine.

By the seventies, the cubicle had arrived. Mine featured all-metal furniture designed to keep me from moving and wasting any time. Files, an electric typewriter, and other equipment were compressed into a tiny claustrophobic space.  A thin metal partition separated my cubicle from another editor’s. As everything I needed for editing was in the cubicle, my only excuse for leaving was to visit the restroom, which luckily was far down the hall. Drinking a lot of water provided that excuse. After a few years in cubicles, most of us gained weight (what was then called “secretarial spread”) and were miserable. Recently I have heard with horror of “toilet cubicles” that can be inserted in cubicle-based offices. I don't even want to think about it.

Since around 1990, office workers have seen some long-overdue changes in their workplaces. Computers have made many changes possible. Telecommuting has become popular at companies where workers must drive long distances to the office. Some workers have been able to work at home, using email and other methods of communicating with fellow workers and clients. This has been an especially welcome change for those who have children or elderly parents to care for.

A home office can be essential for some. After my husband had a heart attack and my mother moved to California, I set up a very comfortable home office so that I could be a caregiver as well as a writer and editor. It was successful in many ways, but I missed the contact with others (even that spooky secretary who looked like Morticia Addams and who glided in silently once a day to drop some galleys on my desk). I no longer had easy access to training programs, just when computers began dominating the publishing world (and that’s another story). Essential as a home office was for us, not being visible in a physical office ended my original in-house career. I was able to set up my own small business, The Stone Cottage editorial service. From then on, I was self-employed and did more writing than editing.

Those who continued working in more traditional offices also have seen changes. The open office plans in many companies are planned to encourage collaboration and sharing ideas more than individual thinking and introspection. Some Silicon Valley offices have become so luxurious that workers (especially young single males) have few reasons to go home. I’ve heard of some who sleep in their offices, hit the gym and shower in the morning, then go back to work.

Currently the pandemic has changed the workplace for nearly everyone. Some are forced to work at home, whether they want to or not. They may have to use Zoom for meetings, Skype for one-to-one conferences. Many are discovering the advantages of having a home office and may never voluntarily go back to working in a traditional office.  Others are too constricted by the arrangement.

It’s impossible to predict now what offices of the future will be like, but certainly they won’t be like those of the past or present. If I were a young, single textbook editor now, with the power to design my own workplace, I’d choose to work in a home office two or three days a week, where I could concentrate without interruption. During the rest of the week I’d go to the publisher’s main office, where I could meet with authors, confer with other editors, and work with artists. Perhaps I could share office space there with an editor having another schedule, and our office would have two coat hooks. Hopefully the glass partitions, masks, and other protective equipment needed now will soon be unnecessary.

 Copyright © May 28, 2020 by Carol Leth Stone (a.k.a. RovinCrone)

MASKS AS A METAPHOR?

Using personal protection equipment (PPE) to protect ourselves and others from transmission of the covid-19 virus sounded simple and noncontroversial for a while. Why would anyone not want to take precautions against spreading a terrible, sometimes fatal disease? Medical and other endangered workers use long coverall garments as well as N95 masks and gloves. For the rest of us, the CDC recommends simpler masks (even cloth bandanas) as a backup for social distancing (remaining six feet away from anyone not in our own household), frequent hand-washing, and other simple hygienic measures.

For some reason, using the masks has become a line in the sand for some people. Shouting “liberate” or “freedom” as if they were charging the Bastille, they tear off their masks and refuse to wear them. They are mostly loyal Trump followers; he has refused to wear one himself, saying that he can’t greet heads of state wearing a mask. Some others have more murky reasons that seem based on their belief that someone is conspiring to deny them a Constitutional right to go wherever they want to, breathe on anyone they please, even carry guns into the Capitol of Michigan. They cite dubious claims by “experts” that the masks do little to protect wearers and may even harm them. They may confront security guards and clerks violently and have even killed some of them.

 

Actor Clayton Moore wore this mask (now in the Smithsonian) when he played the heroic Lone Ranger on television.

 What is it about the masks that enrages these people so much? Surely they don’t worry about looking like bandits, for they are joyfully acting like criminals. Masks are slightly uncomfortable, especially if ill-fitting or worn very long, but that doesn’t seem like a sufficient explanation for the fury. A Facebook friend has proposed an amusing hypothesis that they associate wearing a mask with wearing a condom, which might explain some cases but is too gender-specific to account for others. Judging by their signs and statements, many of the mask haters seem to be right-wing Christians. Could they be afraid of looking like Muslims or some other religious group they dislike?

While many refuse to wear masks, and some of us wear them merely as a sensible precaution like wearing boots in snowy weather, a few liberals have happily embraced them as an obvious political statement that has actually added some fun to the controversy. Democrat Nancy Pelosi, Speaker of the House of Representatives, wears  color-coordinated masks to match her fashionable clothing and proclaim her support of using masks. (Melania Trump has done the same, presumably only as a fashion statement. It must drive her husband crazy.) In Paris, some Muslim women who wear burqas have pointed out that formerly the face-hiding burqas were illegal in France, but now not wearing a mask is illegal. What are they supposed to do?

With any luck, this whole subject will seem quaint by the end of the year. We will look at photos taken during the early pandemic stages and smile at the foolishness, just as we look at clothes in old movies. At least, I hope that’s how it turns out.

 

 Copyright © May 21, 2020 by Carol Leth Stone (a.k.a. RovinCrone)

FOR WHOM THE BELL TOLLS

Only a few months ago life was “normal,” whatever that means. We walked around without masks, hugged each other or held hands as we walked, enjoyed being close to others.

Now unless we want to chance catching the covid-19 virus, we behave nervously. It’s important to stay six feet away from anyone who does not share our home. We try to stay outdoors when possible, hoping the virus will be diluted in the air before it can harm us.

Recently I learned that my first husband has tested positive for the virus. At one time I loved him greatly, and have never wished him any harm. I hope the test was faulty and he will be well. How many others in my life will be sickened before this ends? Will I catch it myself? At the age of 82 I am quite concerned.

David Brooks, one of my favorite The New York Times columnists,  wrote recently that he could see the country unifying in response to the crisis. For once, I disagree with him. Thanks to Donald Trump, who cares only about being reelected and enriching himself further, the pandemic has quickly become as politicized as everything else in the U.S. Recently I posted some simple information on the local NextDoor site about wearing masks and keeping social distance to protect those of us who are vulnerable. You’d think I had attacked capitalism itself. I was called a virus Nazi who doesn't understand herd immunity.  Many think opening up businesses must happen immediately to protect unemployed people. Yes, they are suffering financially. For those of us who may die, the suffering is worse.

 Copyright © May 19, 2020 by Carol Leth Stone (a.k.a. RovinCrone)

ARRIVING

Over the past several years I have blogged about my travels less and less, both as a result of aging and because I haven’t been able to travel much. I’ve felt I was still a crone, but not a rovin’ one, and probably had become a boring one. Still, I do want to continue blogging and other writing for as long as I’m able. No one has to read it.

What to do? I considered starting a new blog, one that would focus on the years to come. I could call it Endgame, End of Life, or other depressing title that would hardly inspire me or any readers. Finally I started to think of the final years of my life as my chance to come full circle, making sense of my life and possibly even passing some crone wisdom to others. Making my “garden grow,” as Candide advised. So, instead of beginning a new blog, I decided to forge ahead with this one, focusing on rovin’ to my final destination. Thus this post's title, Arriving. I hoped in early March of this year to bring back some former readers and attract new ones along with indulging myself in philosophical speculation and snarky remarks about politicians.

And then, in what seemed overnight the world changed forever. We are all living in a covid-19 pandemic that may continue for years. I have been brooding about it, advising others to practice sensible rules for health, and trying to stay sane and healthy myself. I have no idea now what the future holds, but am fascinated and curious about the possibilities for good and bad. We can count only on profound change. My blog posts are likely now to be reflections of that new world view. Some readers may prefer to lurk only, which is fine, but I hope some will comment or send me emails with their own thoughts, and we can all travel toward some good place together.

 Copyright © May 18, 2020 by Carol Leth Stone (a.k.a. RovinCrone)

Eight weeks with no haircut! The salons are still closed.

DYING CALIFORNIA

Now I have some idea of what life must be like for refugees. No hot water, no electricity, no laundry, no cell phone service or internet access. For about a week my small town in California was blacked out by PG&E in a supposed attempt to protect the public from wildfires. During a short reprieve lasting less than a day I was in a hospital for an important procedure, and came home in pain to a cold, dark house.

For more than 40 years I have been a homeowner in California, and like millions of others have certainly sent a good amount of money to PG&E. Why did they not use their enormous income for repairs and tree trimming instead of paying high salaries to some employees and huge stock dividends to investors?

Living in this state has always been expensive, but it used to be worth the cost. Now I would go back to the Midwest if I could, but at the age of 82 I cannot simply move again. I am greatly saddened to see this once-great state turn into Purgatory.

MY 20:20 PLAN

Much as I hope the year 2020 will bring about a political upheaval, this post is not about Trump. The older I get, the harder it is to accomplish everything I need to. I know getting nine hours of sleep a night is essential for me, but if there’s a good NOVA program beginning at ten o’clock, or if I’m reading an absorbing mystery, it’s almost impossible to go to bed early. Though I carefully write to-do lists and show priorities, at the end of the day there are always some items left over. Also, I simply don’t have enough energy to do as much as I want to.

Still, I’ve worked out a plan that helps greatly. Maybe it will help you, too.

It’s called a 20:20 plan because I alternate tasks that require some physical work with those that can be done sitting down. I start the same way that many people do when they are organizing time, by writing a to-do list for the next day. (Sometimes I can also soak dirty dishes overnight or use other time-saving tricks. And, it’s nice to get up in the morning and find a schedule laid out for me.) After each item on the list, I write A, B, or C. "A" means an appointment or other task that absolutely must be done that day. Usually there are no more than two or three “A” items. "B" means something that should be done that day if possible. “C” items can be put off until another time if necessary. (There tend to be many “C” tasks.)

As to the 20:20 aspect, after breakfast I spend 20 minutes on some basic housework tasks. If the time is up before I finish, I stop! Then I sit down and read, write, or otherwise do a resting task for twenty minutes. Again, at the end of twenty minutes I stop whether or not I’m finished, and return to doing some physical task. By alternating in that fashion, in a few hours I have worked my way down the list through the most important tasks for the day. I  realize this method sounds very inefficient. Too many times, I must interrupt a job in the middle just because the time is up. However, it seems to work well for me. It’s amazing to discover how much I can do in twenty minutes, and I find that I can do just about anything for that long. Knowing that in a few minutes I can relax and read helps me get through physical work that would be impossible if continued for hours.

Like most elderly people, I hope to age in place, staying in my own home as long as possible rather than moving to an expensive assisted-living situation. So far the 20:20 plan is helping me do so.

 

 Copyright © August 17, 2019 by Carol Leth Stone (a.k.a. RovinCrone)

HAZILY RECALLING THE MOON LANDING

Fifty years ago, Neil Armstrong became the first person to walk on the moon. Most of us who were alive in 1969 remember the event exactly. We remember his “giant leap for mankind,” the photos of Armstrong and Aldrin bounding across the moon’s surface. I, too, remember it vividly, but with a bit of embarrassment.

At that time I was in Yuba City, Cal, editing the preliminary manuscript of a science textbook being written by some Yuba City authors. I stayed for long periods in the Bonanza Inn motel. On the night of the moon landing, I had a light, early dinner in the motel coffee shop before going to my room to watch the TV coverage. Curses! The set wasn’t working, and I was unable to get another one that night. Then I recalled the large TV in the bar. Certainly even the local rednecks who frequented the bar would be watching the moon landing that night.

Yes, the event was on TV. I climbed onto a bar stool and ordered whatever alcoholic monstrosity was appropriate for that time and place (probably Seven and Seven), then settled down to watch. The Apollo 11 had already landed safely, and surely one of the astronauts would emerge soon. Unfortunately, there was a very long wait, requiring my ordering more drinks. During the hours that followed, I continued watching and drinking. Finally Armstrong stepped out onto the moon’s surface! And I carefully slid off the bar stool. Walking back to my room, I looked up at the moon (or were there two?) and marveled at the idea that a human being was actually up there, and our journey to space had begun. The next day’s hangover was worth it.

Copyright © 2019 by Carol Leth Stone

ERASING THE NIGHT SKY

Elon Musk has done the “impossible” again. Now he has lofted the first of thousands of satellites that will use solar power to travel in a connected path around Earth, with the ultimate goal of enabling people anywhere on the planet to access the internet. No longer will those in remote places be cut off from the amazing amount of information found on the World Wide Web. Musk argues that disadvantaged people will be given greater access to the planet’s resources and information sharing. However you feel about the sharing or trolling this will make possible, you have to admit that this will change lives forever, and that Musk has accomplished something incredible.

Some of us are less than enthusiastic about having 24/7 access to the Net, though. In fact, we will even travel long distances to reach places where we are cut off from it. Those are getting harder to find, but parts of the planet still have no Net access at all. There, hikers, campers and kayakers can escape temporarily from the Net’s cacophony. Many such places are in the national parks.

 

With Ranger Kevin Sweeney at Lassen

 

A few years ago my partner and I did some volunteer work in two parks with Night Sky programs: Lassen Volcanic National Park in California, and Acadia National Park in Maine. We watched enthusiastic amateur and professional astronomers set up their telescopes and help novice users to scan the heavens. Children and adults gasped as they saw the Milky Way for the first time, or saw the rings of Saturn. Apps for cell phones can be interesting and helpful, but they don’t hold a candle to seeing the real thing.

Many professional astronomers have already objected to the satellites on the grounds that they may interfere with studies of distant stars and planets. Musk insists that the satellites will only be visible during limited times, and that astronomy will not be affected.  Not being privy to the details of the project, and not being an astronomer, I can’t comment on that, though I have my doubts.

What I can object to is the change in the night sky this will produce. My field is science education, and I have seen how viewing the natural night sky can motivate children (including the astronomers of tomorrow) to learn about the heavens. They need to have the sense of wonder that can be found in a lonely, Net-less dark place where they can see stars and planets the way the ancient Greeks saw them.. They do not need to see a series of satellites.

 Copyright 2019 by Carol Leth Stone

THE DISAPPEARING PLASTIC BAG

 

For many years I have made a point of declining plastic bags at the supermarket, ostentatiously piling items into a reusable bag or asking for a paper bag instead. This has enabled me to feel superior to many other customers and to think I am saving dolphins and other marine mammals. Today it is actually illegal in some states to supply free plastic bags to customers.

Imagine my horrified surprise when a recent NPR report said that in areas such as California that have banned free plastic bags, purchases of plastic trash and garbage bags have increased. It makes sense when you stop to think about it—most of us don’t want to drop garbage or dirty trash into the bins that are emptied weekly. We carefully package those things in plastic bags first, and if we can’t get free bags at a supermarket, we buy boxes of them instead. What a dilemma for us environmentalists!

Rather than giving in and polluting the environment with large, purchased bags, I’ve come up with a few workarounds, as follows:

1. Before shopping, I make a list. What items do I really need?

2. In a store, I carefully examine packaging. Can a spice be bought in a glass or paper container rather than a plastic one? Can soft drinks, in aluminum cans rather than plastic bottles? Can I buy large economy sizes, minimizing the packaging per unit item?

3. On the way out, I use a reusable nylon or canvas bag, keeping in mind that it must be used many times to pay its way as a replacement for a plastic bag. Some items, such as large oatmeal containers, can be carried to the car by hand or in a supermarket cart. No plastic bag is needed.

4. At home, I remove any wrappings (preferably made of paper) and set them aside to be used as small trash bags. Yes, these are a bit more awkward to use than large plastic bags are. I simply think about those videos of dying aquatic animals and do a little more work. It is rather surprising to see how many small  bags are available this way. Unavoidable wrappings of large packages of toilet paper or paper towels, sanitary pads, prepackaged fruits and vegetables, and many other items can provide bags for trash and garbage.

Though this seems like a very small contribution to the environment, if enough of us follow these steps rather than using large plastic bags, we can make a difference.

Copyright 2019 by Carol Leth Stone

 

WRITING A COZY MYSTERY

No-sweat writing.

 

Have you always wanted to write a cozy mystery, to be another Agatha Christie? Of course you can! Simply take your laptop into the nearest Starbucks, turn on a word processing program, and follow this outline. In each section, circle your choice of words. In an hour or so, you will have written a modern cozy that will bring you fame and fortune.

A.     Your heroine is named Maggie/Kelly/Annie. She has left a glamorous career in New York/San Francisco/Los Angeles to return to her hometown. (Describe her wardrobe.)

B.     Maggie/Kelly/Annie adopts a dog/cat/raven.

C.     Maggie/Kelly/Annie opens a bakery/book shop/coffee shop. (Recipes are optional but desirable.)

D.     Maggie/Kelly/Annie meets a tall, handsome lawyer/teacher/writer. He lives in a high-tech modern apartment/a restored Victorian house/a houseboat. (Add a mild sex scene.)

E.      Maggie/Kelly/Annie meets a woman rival/business rival/customer who seems strange.

F.      Maggie/Kelly/Annie finds a body in an alley/in a closet/on the beach.

G.     Maggie/Kelly/Annie argues with the stupid local police chief.

H.     Maggie/Kelly/Annie cooperates with her aunt/her business partner/the police chief to solve the mystery. She realizes the person in Section E is guilty.

I.       Maggie/Kelly/Annie follows the murder suspect and is hit over the head/threatened with a knife/threatened with a gun.

J.       Just in time, Maggie/Kelly/Annie is rescued by one of the above.

K.      End of story.

L.       Preview of next story, which will follow the above pattern.

 

Print the result. Glance at the printout to make sure it has no coffee stains on it. Do not hire an editor! Editors will destroy your unique style, and will even expect you to pay them. Instead, you can easily edit it yourself. All you need to do is to let the spellchecker and grammar checker automatically  make any changes necessary. Or, you can ask your friends to make helpful suggestions. Finally, you can have it self-published rather than deal with rejection letters and other annoyances.

Copyright 2019 by Carol Leth Stone

 

THE JOY OF BEING A WOMAN IN HER EIGHTIES

A recent article by psychologist Mary Pipher (“The Joy of Being a Woman in Her Seventies,” The New York Times 1-12-19) extolled the happier aspects of being a septuagenarian. I agreed with her in general. Certainly the seventies are a time when women have weathered many storms successfully and reached some goals. For me, my seventies were rewarding years of travel, writing, and (for a time) living off the electrical grid in a forested area of northern California. It was a life I never could have imagined when I was younger.

As that decade wore on, though, my health declined and I became unable to continue some activities. Now that I am 81, I sometimes feel sad about some necessary changes in my lifestyle. (Does anyone use that word any more?) I can walk for only short distances, and use a cane. I need my electric blanket and microwave oven. I can’t drive after dark. I don’t try to write about biology, because too much has changed in that field in recent years.

It’s tempting to feel some self-pity about these differences in my life, but there’s no point in doing so. Also, there are many positive aspects of being an octogenarian:

·       I stopped dieting several years ago, and eat for health rather than weight control.

·       My wardrobe consists mainly of tees, sweaters, and pants from Lands’ End® and other reasonably priced stores, worn with sensible shoes.

·       There’s no pressure to keep up with the times unless I want to.

·       Remembering stupid or thoughtless deeds of my own, I’m quite tolerant of other people’s.

·       Realizing that I may not live too many more years, and that some old friends and enemies are dying or very ill, I find it easy to drop old grudges.

·       Sleeping nine hours is a necessity for me, and I don’t feel guilty about sleeping in.

·       It’s a joy to connect with old friends in person or on the Internet.

·       I’m finally reading or rereading books that have sat on the shelf for years. As my memory declines, I can even reread mysteries without remembering “whodunit.”

·       Not wanting to waste much of my remaining time on housework or yardwork, I have hired help with it, just as I did when working and caregiving.

·       Luckily, I can still do some traveling in the RV. Unlike most forms of travel, it provides the comforts an octogenarian needs.