Bring Me The Warming

7/13/12 0710 Hilton Suites Boca Raton Fla. The Florida sky show is right up there with the great sky shows I’ve had the privilege to witness. The long low ragged lines of palms and other travel agent dreams, or the I can’t believe it blue of the water, white of the coral sand beaches, or even better the sea of grasses, undulating in waves pushed by a weather front. And overhead, super cells of almost black water filled clouds rimmed by shades of grey and piled up thousands of feet high, making mountains well intentioned ground bound attempts at such heights. And it’s all moving, evanescing, roiling, dogs and old bearded men, witches and warlocks, ducks and your mama’s apron, a whole cast of characters fit for any story you might be populating. And then the rain; marching across the tame lake, sweeping across the grass, tossing the palm trees into a dance. Roaring in like a great beast, as animate as you can imagine. And then there’s the famous calm, and the golden amazement lighting up the departing clouds. On a par with the distant perfection of clouds over the Himal on the road from Leh up the Markha Valley in Ladakh, on our way to the meadow in Niemeling, where we met the first snow of the new winter although it was still summer . Or the perfect puffs of Navajo clouds against the impossibly clear view and over the perfectly executed variously green puffs of brush on the red hills as you cross the border from Texas into New Mexico. Sky shows; who needs fireworks? On the other hand, we did stop in Pennsylvania and spent some money in a strange little house converted into a store; three rooms crammed floor to ceiling full of fireworks. With improbable names like Firedragon and Unicorn Silver. Bypassed the one’s called Enforcer and Controlled Mayhem; Fuji wouldn’t like that even if Joaquin would. Bought a bunch of sparklers, but turned out not to be the good kind, the ones with the dangerously hot wires that need to be put immediately into a bucket of water. They did have a huge versions; might as well try a box. Against all my long dormant 13 year old desires, I didn’t go for the cherry bombs or 88 salutes. Staggered back to the car with the let’s face it probably illegal haul, and so I was ready at that magical hour of dusk, when the fireflies (yes, young Californians; they really do have fireflies on the East Coast, and yes you can catch them and put them in a bottle, if you have air holes and promise to let them go before you go to bed) The sparklers were kinda disappointing; they may be safer, but they don’t look like Tinkerbell flying around that castle like I wanted them too. But the kids were forgiving. And the big sparklers were a great success. The roman candles were perfect for the side yard. And the 8 to 12 dollar Unicorn Silvers and Celestial Extravaganzas really lit up the sky and sent Fuji into the nearest sheltering arms. And so now the glorious fourth is over, and the House of Representatives has voted once again to repeal the Affordable Care Act ( Oh, I so hope they have miscalculated on this one, and that enough people have benefitted already as to give the test of reality to their Big Lie), and here I am again in beautiful Ratsmouth Florida, pursuing the dream of a new medical school. Yes, and global warming takes on a new life of its own when you are two hours late because of unprecedented storm patterns sweeping the entire East Coast. Or with news of droughts and fires here, and floods and tornadoes there. Who needs to go traveling to look for sensational weather; it’s coming to your hometown sooner than you think. Waterfront property? Just sit tight, it’s on its way. Well, the boats are in the water, and the fish are waiting. Went out with Ms Amalia and Steve and had a beautiful fishless time, but the time before that…well, another story. Aloha

Same Old Xanadu

9-30-12 Deerfield Beach Hilton, SE Florida 0710 Same old Xanadu; the 7 story hotel block rising out of palm trees, convenient to the freeway, not too far from the waterway and doors foggy with condensate this early AM. I’m back to what is hubristically called the Gold Coast in pursuit of the elusive medical school start up... Four days of meetings and planning’s, the waggle dances and antennae grooming we worker bees do as we move through the hive. The illusion of separation and of being in control is still a strong motivator for me, although I think age helps to keep a perspective. Nothing like aches and pains plus slow reflexes that occasionally send one crashing to the ground to give one perspective. But you wouldn’t know about that, you perpetually young thing, you. Luckily for me, I kind of enjoy the intensity of this roller coaster ride. For one thing, the project is actually something I believe in; a different way of approaching medical education. And the people I am trying to explain it to are certainly intelligent. Since my interest (a student centered inquiry directed process to replace the teacher centered process I encountered in medical school) isn’t perfectly aligned with their interest (making a profit), the talking is sometimes ...well, tedious isn’t too far off the lex-mark. And yet for the moment, there actually is some alignment; we all want to reduce the cost of medical education. And sometimes, those who live here in Xanadu on the Gold Coast do become interested in the project itself. But that doesn’t mean they lose sight of the important thing in life. The legacy of Willie Sutton is alive and well here. Yes, and you’re not the only one who feels young. The only problem is that I also have the memories of what it was like to REALLY be young. I dream of being able to dive forward onto the floor, tuck, and roll up into Judo Fighting Stance. That was 20. Or power out of a hole in the river even though I didn’t really belong in class 4 water. That was 40. Or sit easily in half lotus. That was 60. 70 is different, and yet in my mind, every time I have to pack up a household, I am waiting for the adult to come along and tell me what to do. The adults, of course, are our children. I had a brief wonderful meeting with David, my old friend and host when I lived here during medical school, and Youme who with husband Hai is raising little Song and pregnant with Loligo or Tunicate or whatever prenatal name her amazing imagination uses. Just walking around the block in the heat of the Coral Gables night, in the full moon, and the kind of connection that reminds me how much friendship and a shared perspective outlasts the palaces and the gold. Yes, and the sun is booming up out of the sea, the palms and the hotel blocks are silhouetted just like the brochures would have us believe. ‘There’s gotta be a palm on it” says Betty, one of our co-conspirators, as we plan a trifold to advertise the medical school should we pass the hurdles towards accreditation that lie ahead. Wish me luck. aloha

Reflections on the Appearance of a Boddhisatva

6-24-12 0925 Hilton Suites, Ratsmouth, Fla. Like many somewhat autistic people, I like labels. Like to see 'em, like to paste 'em on unlabeled events, dogs, small children and even emotional states. Yes, its a pesky habit, but generally not harmful to those small children, etc. I guess a subset of this is diagnosing everything in sight. Probably helps with the doctoring. Probably doesnt hurt other stuff. And a blessing of age has been the slow, sometimes painful, ability to re-label. To admit to myself that the stereotype isnt the reality, That, to use Suzanne Vega's metaphor, my own personal movie may not allign well with reality., Why this reflection, with only minutes to go before heading to Fort Lauderdale airport to travel back north? While the air outside is soggy with the just passed downpour, while the reflections of cloudy light on the evanescent pools that were a parking lot are just waiting to be walked through? Because during the last few days, in the many meetings connected with the business of maybe making a medical school, I've sometimes attrributed evil intent to some actions, some people even. When they could better be considered as another learnable moment, another manifestation of mind. Another bodisatva in the road. More later. Don't worry, all of this will rub off somewhere on the way north.

Sunlight and Altitude

6-11-12 0620 Wilson, WY. Sun climbing up through the trees, and down on the valley floor the fog is layering and curling. Brent says that when you take the lift up to ski, its sometimes 30 degrees warmer on top. Warm would be nice, but sunlight is enough just now, after several days of grey. Dogs barking here and there as the working people wake up and head out. Fugi is making small woofs of her own. Things have settled down; the resident giants are all male, so she occupies a pretty safe position, and is starting to take advantage of it, nipping back a bit, after spending some of the day yesterday under cars . Dinner at a Grille just off the square in Jackson last night, with another Alan, now retired from movie production, enjoying insider war stories from another profession. Like the details of how Steven got Rick hired to star in Encounters of the Third Kind, after his great work in Jaws. And it was great hanging out with Brent ; we were residents at SFGH together, when being in Family Practice meant jumping through all the hoops and hurdles that Internal Medicine set up to keep us from heading up clinical care teams. It’s easy for me to feel how the loyalties established in wartime, or in the equivalent business environment can be as strong as they are. Years after, I still feel he has my back, if needed. At 6148 feet, Wilson is high enough to evoke some DOE..dyspnea or shortness of breath with exertion. Going uphill, I turn to a kind of rapid diaphragm breathing that I ordinarily use only for more than 3 flights of stairs. Of course I could slow down. But there’s Babs, a flash of red through the aspens up along the trail, with Brent close behind and the furry flurry of large dogs..and today feels much less breathy. When we flew into Leh, Ladakh at 11,000, we just got in bed for the afternoon. But after a few days I was running comfortably. Maybe not today. Perhaps, as Sala says, we can’t go back to there. Yes, and balance is another issue. I feel that my medical practice has been like a good introduction to the chapters of the book I am only just getting to. I’ve heard about most of the aging changes years ago from patients who were a little further along the trail. So I feel philosophical, as I tumble down the slightly uneven path I might have only stumbled on a few years ago. And remind myself to treat a 40# pack as a fracture hazard, rather than merely a burden. On trails in the Markah Valley, old people walked between villages very very slowly. At night, if needed, they slept beside the trail. But the got there. Yes, and now the sun is splashed through the green of the foliage in big buttery patches, and although it will mean going down into the fog, I want to get going. After all, Old Faithful waits for no human say-so or denial. So far. Best, Alan

Home on Squirrel Hill

6-17-12 0635 Squirrel Hill, Pittsburgh, PA. They say that before the arrival of Europeans, a squirrel might have traveled from tree to tree all the way from the Coast of Massachusetts to the Mississippi. And the presence of large deciduous trees is still really impressive. They spring up along freeways, they persist in parks. You can almost feel the oxygen flowing out of them. Or maybe it’s just the humidity. In any case, here we are in Squirrel Hill, after a walk in Frick Park, about 500 acres of open space and trees, holding the Mansion of the benefactor, now serving brunch if you want good eggs benedict. Pittsburgh was already a thriving city when the railway was arriving in Cheyenne Wyoming. This is where the stuff that made Cheyenne came from. It’s right in the crotch of the Monongahela and Allegany Rivers, which flow on together as the Ohio, heading SW towards Miss River herself. More the stuff these days is virtual; Google has a growing work group here (http://www.businessinsider.com/google-pittsburgh-office-2011-2), and Carnegie-Mellon celebrated its 115th comencement this spring. Squirrel Hill has over a dozen synagogues, and families walk to worship, and walk their kids to school at Colfax (http://www.pps.k12.pa.us/colfax/site/default.asp) This is where Bimla and Haral’s kids go. Here’s the Vision Statement: At Pittsburgh Colfax K-8, we focus on full implementation of the America’s Choice reform model to raise all students’ performance levels. This is achieved under the guidance of a high-performance leadership team in tangent with involved parent community members that embrace the professional learning community and is interdependent upon effective execution of classroom rituals and routines that are aligned with the standards-based and student-centered workshop model. Harrumph! I’m not sure about the use of ‘in tangent’..since the adjectival use of the word in the dictionary means 1. Making contact at a single point or along a line; touching but not intersecting. Or 2. Irrelevant. I looked up the Vision and Mission because we talked about the challenges in a school housing students of many cultures, and I wanted to know if items like cultural competence were explicitly mentioned at this level of education. Seems not. In planning medical education these days, such items are essential. The sun descended slowly, and the heat gave way to the cool of evening. We had barbecued chicken and tofu with neighbors; other neighbors arrived a bit later. The kids played, viewed the two hooded rats that are houseguests in a large terrarium, and sat on laps. The houses are brick with stained glass in tasteful places, and mostly the original dark wood paneling, but with new kitchens, LG refrigerators, and stoves named for animals. The streets are leafy and quiet. We talked about addressing substance abuse in pregnancy, and recipes for quinoa. Sala left to have dinner with a Buddhist friend. Fuji, socialized to Lucy the local small dog, was docile after a long walk. Finally, there were fireflies on the lawns along the darkling street. Goodbye West!! Hello East!! Best

If its 6/16 this must be Pittsburgh

6-16-12 0605 Northwest of Columbus OH. The answer the pop-quiz is….well, not quinoa. Chenopodium quinoa is actually green and leafy, and perhaps blows in the wind, but it’s not a member of the grass family, and therefore, poor little goosefoot..not a REAL cereal. Amazing where an innocent little question about corn can getcha to. So yesterday, 4 states; starting West of Ms Miss, and transiting Illinois, Indiana, and now along into Ohio. I know, I’m ‘State’s dropping’; bad form in travel writing, but hey, when its miles and miles of that epidemic generating edible oil, fermentation base, and ubiquitous sweetener that is the single largest factor in our obesity problem, ya gotta resort to something other than jaw dropping yawns. Yesterday, raw from the attack on our little Prius (I agree, Paul, what IS it about our Priuses?) and ready for displacement activities, we followed a red with white italic script sign off I 70 and into a little residential nook with two antique stores. ‘Lets go to that one first’ says Sala, ‘its got more junk out in front’. This turned out to be Winter Wheat ( http://www.facebook.com/pages/Winter-Wheat-Antiques/126770104043086 ), which has 4 plus Yelp stars, and in my humble opinion is the best stocked single owner antique store west of Maine. Like Liberty Tool (http://www.libertytoolco.com/ ) its arranged in categories, but unlike Liberty that really is about tools (except for that upstairs…) Winter Wheat is the result of over 40 years of a couple of teachers antiquing. It’s a little hard to find counter space to stack up your finds (certainly not the front counter, where he was involved in a refinishing project), or the middle section of the first room (there are three, somewhat like Russian dolls) where she and a friend were scrubbing small things clean). I got into the baskets (BUSHEL baskets) of costume jewelry pins (have been trying to make silver pins, and thus engaged in the humbling process of actually making a catch that works) and that alone would have taken hours to really accomplish. And there were mountains beyond mountains of dolls and knives and tools and yes, green jars as well. But Fuji was baking in the Hoosier sun, and besides we gotta get to Woods Hole. We did go to the other place in the same neighborhood, which is the more conventional ‘barn’ of 30 small booths, and where the bronze plaque of Goethe was not half price (‘ those folks have some confusing signage’) but a bargain at full price of $4, but the genuine original Bear brand ‘Panda’ model compound bow intended for boy scouts was. Bye bye Amalia and Joaquin, hello Diana and Cupid! It was a longish day, but pleasant. We are all kind of settled into traveling. Fugi likes her head on the broken but usable console, lying on top of the rummage of sweaters jackets and pillows. We generally remember in time to replenish the ice chest. Picnic lunches look good enough to have passer by’s making comments about wanting to join us. Actually moving along through ‘A Farewell to Arms’, and Bergers ideas on passion. Call it dotage or call it wisdom, I am finding Sala’s always well intended comments helpful instead of nettling. Driving, for example. I asked her to back off on my driving technique, and so when she does comment on my driving 45 in a 60 mph zone, she’s right, and I am happy to accept it in the helpful intent category. And she seems able to see my suggestions about making fewer corrective movements of the wheel as reasonable rather than domineering. Yes, and the issue of choosing a motel has been finessed by the growth of the dog friendly La Quinta chain of motels. There is pretty much one in every town, and neither of us has ever much enjoyed the process of finding and choosing. If you are into that process, write and tell me how you handle the conflict side of it, I’d like to learn against a time of no La Quintas. Well, time to fire up the La Pavoni and take the hound for a run walk. Today its on to Pittsburgh and a visit with my brilliant student Bimla on Squirrel Hill. Nenda Salaama, Alan

Old Patience

6-12-12 0700 Cody, WY. An auspicious date in terms of dozens. I can't remember how that particular enumerating method developed..but like 'ounce's and the 'pud' (an old Russian weight) to say nothing of 'stones' , which is alive and well in Britain, I hope its engraved on those tablets we are including in all the soon-to-be space junk we are launching. I mean, the future of humankind had better be in the stars, because what it's looking like here ain't so pretty, However, Old Patience, which Sala feels is a better name, is definitely worth the trip. We pulled into the parking spaces in front of the store (although Yellowstone has a bodaciously few stores) in the oldest national park in the world about 10:30. This isnt the old Lodge, with its art deco sconces and beautifully appointed writing spaces NOT suitable for computers but wonderful for pen and paper after a day of walking amongst the fumaroles, this is the new space with its cash registers and bar coded plastic wrapped made (ahem, well lets just say, 'Elsewhere') gifties. Fuji could smell the western chipmunks immediately, although they keep a pretty low profile. Lots of people sitting around on the porch, so we figured we had some time. But by the time we had settled in a bit, people were trending towards the geyser site, so we joined them. As you know, the entire exclusion zone around Old Faithful is about 4 football fields in size. A crowd 2 or 3 deep had already gathered around most of the perimeter boardwalk, many sitting on the benches provided for that purpose. Afterwards I learned that dogs are not allowed on the boardwalks, but no one objected and there were actually no Smokies in sight The area itself, to bring back your memory,is kind of a blasted heath (or what I always imagined the witches skulking around in before they started in on the eye of toad culinary work), and in themiddle, in a kind of pile of mineral made by herself, is the mildly fuming opening that will, faithfully, be host to a huge outporing of superheated water and steam. The crowd is worth watching too. For one thing, its a pean to the reality of reality...of experiencing the real thing. Dammit, I will SEE Old Faithful in action, mit meine augen selbst; no the channel cannot be changed, and if I were to be in the wrong space at that time, I would be boiled, not just electronically inconvenienced. Large, small, thin, fat, speaking many languages. Polite, pushy, stuffing their faces, chatting, quiet, even reverent. From one side of the perimeter, looking back along, the peoples features fade into strategic dabs of paint. And the vapors..are they getting a little more dense? Yes, and then the first bubbling upheavals start...not to different that watching a coffee percolator start up (when was the last perked Folgers coffee with chicory I had?), but quickly getting larger and larger. And then, great clouds of steam and white water froth gushing upwards, all against absolutely clear wide blue skies.Huge bolts and rising clouds of whitest white, moving upwards, frothing over and slushing down to cascade across the minerals of previous years...centuries. What aspiration, what image of endeavor, of reaching for the sky, of exceeding expectations. Higher and higher each pulsation, as gorgeous as a water fall but going UP!!. Its exactly...A GEYSER!!! What a great word to be applied to becoming old...from now on, you may address me as 'You old geyser!' anytime you want!! Yes, and then there was the subsiding, the burbling bouncing dimunitiion. ' I'll be right back!', you could almost hear the Geyser muttering. , The absolutely still group of people began to natter and nabob again, and we walked along the boardwalk with our illegal hound looking hopefully over the edge, not for the Geyser, but for chipmunks who live under the boards. The rest of the trip, around the Grand Loop, by mudpots and paintpots and an absolutely spectacular Upper Falls in the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone, was all amazing and beautiful and studded with bison (who also make the landscape more beautiful, thanks again A.W. ) and (imagined) elk and antelope. And now its a beautiful morning in Cody. Last night we checked into our Super 8 (average price of motels here is about $150) and then went back downtown to catch the staged gunfight bringing together an improbable group of characters (including, without explanation, Dick Chaney, the pheasant hunting law breaker, playing the part of the black hat heavy...yes, here in Cody Wy, go figure!). Maybe some more on that, and not going to a rodeo, but Old Patience is plenty for one day

Dont Cry over Broken Glass

6-14-12 0900 Omaha NE Metro Glass. Well, the good news is that my genuine Stetson “25” hat, new to me at the antique mall in beautiful downtown Cody was, after we went through the rubble, not stolen. The bad news is that some actually valuable and important stuff was. Apparently if you just break the drivers side rear window of a Prius it doesn’t set off the alarm system. Otherwise, since we were sleeping within 25 feet of the car with an open motel window, we would have heard something. Its easy to see how vulnerable we all are when something REALLY happens. I went stumbling out to the car to get my running shorts…bleeped the car open as I approached from the rear,opened the hatch, and thought ‘hmm, my LL Bean brown duffle bag isn’t where it should be. OMG, did I put it on top of the car and it fell off?’ I think I actually walked around to the drivers side and peered through where the window used to be without realizing it wasn’t there..because I was looking for a mid sized brown duffle bag, not a pile of tempered glass. Didn’t see it, but the inside was messier than I remembered, and so I went back to the open hatch and maybe then realized that something was wrong..then finally realized that the middle console was ripped entirely off and the window was lying in that sad little pile that is what happens when you break tempered glass. During that 'getting up to speed' time, I was pretty disfunctional, but luckily, it was just me, the birds tweeting, the sun shining, and the little pile of glass in the beauty of a Nebraska morning. Well, the good news is that they didn’t take the box of shoes, or for that matter the camera, or much of anything else. The green glass mason jars that sala just bought, and the buffalo horn that I got back in Cody also survived. The bag they did take unfortunately had my backup hard drives, and my passport. But hey, whats a backup hard drive compared to a sacred buffalo? Another bit of good news is Metro Glass, where a skilled young fella is at this moment replacing the window. And so, with any luck, we’ll be rolling on. The reception person is named Fallon, yes, he mom was very into a certain TV show, and she's from Tustin, has been here 5 years, and is kind of enjoying being a bit of an exotic in a small pond. So we will more on. The book tape, borrowed from Brent, is ‘A Farewell to Arms’ which I have never been able to finish on my own time. And Sala is reading John Berger, so we will be speaking of passion and similar philosophical topics. I can hardly wait. Aloha