A long walk

Another amazing, beautiful, November day. It's hard to believe this weather. I went for another long walk with my Russian ESL student–talking and exercise at the same time. We walked around Homewood Cemetery, checking out names on the mausoleums and on some of the tombstones. Did you know that at one time you could order your mausoleum from a catalog? The model with the Greek columns on the front seems to have been very popular. I usually walk there with my neighbors, who know all the paths and how to find the hole in the fence. Without Mary and Phyllis I got lost and we walked a lot further than I wanted. I'm slightly in pain, but I think a good night's sleep will take care of it.

Dear Mage

You're right, I don't do this often. I don't think it was their mistake; they had a whole days worth of people coming. I must have read the date wrong and probably didn't double check it. I tend to have what I think of as visual hallucinations.

It was another beautiful day here–a little cooler but lots of sunshine. That's very special in Pittsburgh. I had a 9:30 class this morning. Took the bus; it was too early to think about walking. That class is Gulliver's Travels. Notice I didn't say about Gulliver's Travels. We have been sitting and taking turns reading aloud to each other. I haven't been happy with that class, but I've stuck with it. We finished the book today. In the next two weeks we'll watch a film of Gulliver's Travels.

I went home for lunch then walked part way back for a class about documentary film. Last week we watched Nanook of the North, which was really interesting. Today was a film about the Kennedy-Humphrey primary race in Wisconsin. It was the beginning of cinema verite, but I liked Nanook better.

The best thing today was my meeting this evening with my two Chinese ESL students. I really enjoy talking to them. They both have a fair command of English so it's mostly a matter of giving them someone to talk to. Both work with other Chinese so I'm their big chance to speak English.

Big booboo

I screwed up big time today. My calendar said I had a 9:45 appointment for a pacemaker clinic. I went to the cardiologist's office only to find I was supposed to show up last week. The nurses were very kind, didn't scold me and got the Medtronics technician to come in just for me. Everything's fine, but I'm not happy. As I have aged I have tried extra hard to be organized and keep track of things. I don't know how I made this mistake. I vaguely recall getting a letter telling me about the appointment, which I probably discarded after I made the note in the calendar. I always feel like I'm drowning in paper so I try not to hang on to everything. But I'd love to see that paper. Also, they always call me if I'm not on time for my pacemaker phone check, but they never called about the clinic. I guess I just have to forget about it, but it really bothers me.

Medicare advantage

TV just broadcast a commercial about Medicare Advantage, which reminded me that is what I originally wanted to post about. I have a Medicare Advantage policy. If I keep it next year, I will be paying double what it cost when I first bought it 3 years ago. This, by the way, is with a government subsidy. The commercial wants me to tell my Congressman not to cut the subsidy. It seems to me they have already raised the rates in anticipation of a government cut. It was a nice deal, but I'm not going to pay them and I don't want the government to pay them for me. There are other policies out there.

Memoir and thoughts about Congress

This is my tenth post. I'm glad November has only 30 days. As this day got older I thought of several things I wanted to say; now I can't think of anything.

My memoir class met this morning. We are supposed to write a new story: someone who made a difference in our lives in grade school or junior high. I came to a big block on that one, also. Of course those teachers made a difference in my life. But it all seems ordinary to me now, looking back. I can't think of anything to write.

There is a wonderful post about Congress at Time Goes By today, written by Saul Friedman, who always writes wonderful posts. I agree with everything he writes about the buffoons we send to Washington, but I would add one thing. He speculates about why we keep these guys in office. One thing he doesn't mention is the terrifying lack of choice, or perhaps it's just terrifying choices when it comes time to vote. I think decent people just don't run for office. For instance: if I don't vote for Arlen Spector next year, all of my potential choices are worse. It's very depressing.

Why I love the Osher program at Pitt

I've been taking a lovely class about music. I don't have the same understanding of or love for music that I have for the visual arts. While I've always enjoyed listening to classical music I never knew much about it, or gave it much thought. This class has been wonderful. The professor, Flavio Chamis, used Mussorgsky's Pictures at an Exhibition to teach about orchestration, and West Side Story to teach about tritones and a little bit of music theory. I found it all very interesting but I must admit I find the computer program he uses for demonstrations even more interesting than what he is saying.

Today was a very special class. Our professor brought his wife, Tatjana Mead Chamis, a violist with the Pittsburgh Symphony, who played some of the movements of Bach's Suite for Cello, transcribed for viola and followed by improvisations by a jazz trio, which had been pre-recorded. Listening to her play, standing not 20 feet from me, was a wonderful experience. Equally marvelous is seeing the passion both she and her husband bring to their music. A great afternoon! 

Another summer day in November

One of my ESL students is a Russian Jewish woman, a doctor who left Russia because of anti-semitic persecution some twenty years ago, and went to Sweden to live . She now lives nearby and is close to me in age, only a few years younger. She's working very hard to learn English, goes to school four days a week and has at least one session with me each week. In spite of our language difficulties we have much in common; I enjoy being with her.

Taking advantage of another November summer day the two of us went for a walk in Frick Park. We talked as we walked, but it's harder to do both when you're not sure of the language, so we often stopped. My husband used to tease that I couldn't walk and chew gum at the same time. I guess I can't walk and listen carefully to broken English at the same time. When I walk with my neighbors I have no problem, but I don't listen so carefully either.

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Some of the leaves are still up there.

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I like the way the little tree is framed.

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Sitting on that bench it seems like you can see the entire park, or one of the trails, anyway.

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Yesterday's crows.

Indian Summer

I'm not complaining, but it seems strange to have Indian summer in November. I took advantage of the sunshine and warmth and went for a long walk this afternoon. I keep thinking I ought to start going back to the health club, but I'll just keep walking with this great weather. Tomorrow is supposed to be equally good. I'll go to Frick Park and see what the leaves are doing. Today I walked on Penn Ave., past the crows at the Target site. There are mounds of gravel on the site now. I wonder where the crows will go when they actually start building.

Did you notice: I have posted every day this week. Three more weeks to go. Hope I'll get more interesting.

Dear Mage

Your comments always make me think. It's interesting to look back at some of this stuff 50 years later. I wasn't great; just a miserable child trying to follow rules I couldn't live with. I chose the high road because there were limits to what I could do to defy my mother, and I needed desperately to get away from her. I never seriously considered running away from home, although that's what I was trying to do. Probably what kept me safe was that my only drug of choice is food. I don't have to tell you–I'm still fighting that battle. Now I know I would have been much better off if I had been going toward something, instead of running away. It took be the better part of 60 years to learn that one.

Thanks for writing.

Me and Ayn Rand

This is the story I'm writing for my memoir class. I'm having fun with this after all.

I am embarrassed to confess the influence Ayn Rand has had
on my life, so I haven’t told this story often. I prefer to think it was all
because of Gary Cooper as Howard Roark.

Saturday afternoon was always movie time. There were five
theaters in walking distance, but we usually went to the Terminal, a Balaban
& Katz 1920’s picture palace, named after the elevated train terminus just
down the block. It was the best theater with almost first run features.
That
day we were seeing The Fountainhead,
taken from Ayn Rand’s book of the same name, about an individualistic Frank
Lloyd Wright type architect who refuses to compromise his work or his ideals,
regardless of the money involved.

Sitting in the dark, totally enchanted by awesome Gary
Cooper and beautiful Patricia Neal, my unhappy, depressed 15 year old self, certain high school was a terrible compromise, totally bought into the idea
of taking action to be true to herself. By the time the movie finished I was so
excited and so convinced I had found a solution to my misery I couldn’t sit
through the second feature. I did not want to think about anything else as I
waited for my friends in the lobby.


Wanting desperately to be an artist, maybe even an
architect, the movie affected me deeply. I was convinced my life until then had
been a terrible compromise; I had to change things. I thought about all my
alternatives and realized there was only one that was acceptable: I could go on
to college after one more year of high school.

My friend Eva, whom I met in classes at the Art Institute,
went to U high, the laboratory school of the University of Chicago. From her I
learned U High was only two years and then students could go on to college at the university. Also, the university would accept students from any high school
after two years. Robert Maynard Hutchins, Chancellor of the university,
believed students didn’t learn anything in the last two years of high school. I felt I was a living
embodiment of his belief.

I knew this wasn’t going to be easy. First, I had to
convince my parents, who thought I was too young to go to college. Then, of
course I had to be accepted at the university. My high school teachers and
principal hated the university; I had trouble getting recommendations; Hutchins
arrows had hit their mark. Adding another layer of angst, Hutchins went before
one of the communist witch-hunting committees and defended his faculty,
assuring the committee that being a communist would not be grounds for the dismissal
of his professors. It was a very difficult year, but I prevailed. Three months
after my sixteenth birthday I went to college. I learned how to read critically and how to think. I did not become a communist. I met my husband there, our
daughter met her husband there and now both of my grandchildren are going
there. You can see that Ayn Rand and Gary Cooper certainly influenced my life.