The intermediate International Folk Dance class meets on Tuesdays and Marilyn Smith, the folk dance teacher, snapped this photo on Mardi Gras. We are in Monroe Hall, enjoying its nice wood floor. The class is pretty big — about 35 show up every Tuesday at 7 pm to learn a new dance. I find it very challenging mentally and physically, but I want to have some “dance vocabulary” for the Rhone folk dancing trip in June.
Ulla, Betty, Joe Tenn, Genie
After an eventful hike on a very steep and slippery hillside where Rich G. tripped and fell, popping out one of his hearing aids, we gave up the search for the errant aid and clambered back up the hill for a tasty lunch chez Bob. Eva warmly greeted us even though both her hands were bandaged from recent medical procedures, and we feasted on Jason’s tri-tip and Betty’s baked ziti. My quinoa experiment was a disappointment better forgotten.
Joe Tenn brought a portobella mushroom galatte and Ulla graced us with robust oatmeal chocolate-chip cookies.
This one almost got away from us. Originally scheduled on a Thursday morning, we discovered the museum opens late on Thursdays so we moved our visit to Tuesday. But the driver/docent developed sniffles and only the two of us who were planning to go by train/ferry on a crisp winter day made the trip. Also, with no RSVP, I felt someone had to show up in case there was anyone we didn’t know about (there wasn’t).
The artist’s early abstract expressionism was commercially very successful. Abstract in the sense you could tell the subject was a dog or a toddler, her canvasses featured heavy impasto and were sought by NYC and L.A. galleries and collectors. After the birth of her child, the artist’s style began to change to something more like Picasso’s, whom she admired. Her work became biographical, as Picasso’s is, and she developed her own distinctive visual style, as Picasso did. But large faces are hard to live with, and collectors planning to display in a residential setting were not attracted. Nevertheless, she kept painting, divorcing, marrying, traveling and seeking spiritually.
There were many self-portraits, and Dianne noticed one with the artist wearing a similar jacket and a wild 1960s hat, so she asked for this shot. Dianne knew how to get to the glass elevator that rises on an angle to reach Salesforce Park where we walked the length on our way to the museum. I had some fun posing in front of the gold curtain by the 1960’s exhibit.
“Know what you need to do, dig in really hard, and do not expect it to be easy.”
As I checked out this book, the librarian said, “Did you wait a long time? People are waiting a long time for ‘Lessons in Chemistry’” so I read it promptly. It took only three days to go the 385 page distance because the book was so thrilling and satisfying. I have reconsidered my recent vow to avoid novels: this one was a delight. For months I have been chewing on Terry Real’s observation: we live in a society that is patriarchal, narcissistic and addicted. Elizabeth, the chemist, is working in the early 1960s, back when I was making plans to become a biologist. The author, Bonnie Garmus, draws a clear picture of the efforts made by men in academia and the in business of science to oppress, repress and dismiss women. Talented women. Hard-working women.
Garmus said, “the book isn’t anti-men, it’s anti-sexism.”
I love how the book came into being. According to Sadie Stein in her New York Times interview of author Bonnie Garmus, a career copywriter who experiences some “garden variety misogyny” one day at work and takes her anger out on the page.
“I felt like I was writing my own role model, and so she came easily… [the chemist understood that] You can really do what you need to do. You just have to dig in really hard and not expect it to be very easy.”
I learned a lot about rowing, and both the author and the chemist relieve stress by working out on an “erg” a rowing machine. Bonnie Garmus had endured nearly 100 rejections of prior projects during her career as a copywriter, so if you just considered “Lessons in Chemistry,” it might look like an overnight success story: she took her anger out on the page, caught the eye of an agent who offered representation on the strength of three chapters. The book goes to auction; bidding wars ensue; the novel comes out and surpasses expectations.
I am glad that this book is striking a nerve with readers because it shines a light on 1960s behaviors that were so corrosive. By placing the novel in the recent past, it tells the truth about the oppression, mocking and belittling in the hard sciences that continues today in technology companies but is more skillfully denied (gaslighted). At the same time, the book was hilarious and I laughed out loud a lot. Reading this book was like putting healing ointment on a skinned knee.
I have been thinking a lot about the “American Dream” and its abhorrence of failure. Bonnie Garmus makes it very clear that in science, as in life, failure is an important part of the growth process and is to be grasped ferociously and wrestled to the ground. I was gratified to learn:
One high-school teacher, says Garmus, is making her students read “Lessons in Chemistry” for a class on the American dream.
Mary Rose picked me up at Orlando airport on Sunday morning, the day after my birthday. I had flown all night, more than 2,700 miles, so that I could meet Lily’s “parents” before they left on a cruise with several other of Mary Rose’s friends. About a month earlier, MR realized that she wanted all the dogs to be cared for but she could manage only three and there were four who needed looking after, so she sent an Email invitation to several siblings. I was the one who said yes and spent about $1,000 on r/t air tickets for the chance to spend two weeks at The Villages at Lily’s residence, with the use of a golf cart thrown in. Peggy sweetened the pot with a birthday gift of $500 to defray some of the costs, and the folks whose house and dog I was taking care of said they would offer some payment.
The house was really nice, walking distance from MR’s but overlooking a different lake — one with two fountains. The lanai was L-shaped, double-pane windows to the floor so Lily could look out to water on both sides of the lanai, nice privacy from neighbors on the other side of the lake. The home was a perfect constant temperature with no noisy furnace. (Mine sounds like a jet engine.) Granite-top decorator kitchen, nice television with Amazon Prime and PBS streams. I watched the first seven episodes of “The Periphal” on the first day of the temperature plunge.
The mercury plummeted in most of the country for seven days, cancelling all the outdoor events at The Villages including dancing, swimming and pickle ball. Mary took me to see a near-deserted Spanish Springs just as the freeze started.
Mary Rose Hated the Appearance of My Hair
On the night of the solstice we had a disastrous dinner, but the next morning we went to a party at 9 a.m. and to see ‘Avatar 2″ in 3-D, followed by a walk around another lake.
Don’t Feed The Alligators!
Lily got lots of walks: morning, afternoon, and I was surprised to discover I needed a flashlight at night because there are no street lights! She would get an early outing, breakfast, then a long walk, often all the way around the lake.
It would be hard to describe how quiet it was on Christmas morning at The Villages when the temperature was so low. Perhaps this image of one of the main lakes will tell the story. There are birds perched on the tops of the pilings of a long-gone pier that once thrust into the cold, silvery water.
Lily vigorously sampled the frosty scents, such a change from the normally redolent fragrances of other canine visitors, golf course, and gas-powered golf carts. Trotting around with her in the absence of other dogs was a pleasurable meditation.
Our solstice dispute meant we each spent Christmas alone, but we joined each other for Boxing Day Trivia Night where I met Ted’s son, Kevin, visiting from Rio de Janiero.
On my final day, Mary Rose and I enjoyed the Marketing Trolley Ride to all the new construction becoming available. I learned that more than 80,000 people live in The Villages which covers more than 70 square miles over three counties and boasts more than 700 holes of golf. Cait joined us for a sunset boat ride.
At 3:15 a.m. the next morning, the airport van collected me six hours before my scheduled 9 a.m. departure. The flight was delayed one hour, but it took a very long time to get through TSA. I got on line about 6:30 a.m. and MCO airport split the line at 7 a.m. as new TSA inspection stations were opened. The seven-hour daytime flight offered no food or alcohol, just some cookies. San Francisco experienced five inches of rain on the day we landed, but the landing was perfect. The wait for Airport Express was impacted by the rain, however, with some serious flooding in parts of the city.
I was very glad to see my neighbor Kiki at about 4:30 p.m. on the drizzly New Year’s Eve, picking me up at STS. I’m glad I got to experience The Villages. About a week later I was pleased to receive $350 and a nice note from the homeowners.