New Year's Greeting

 

As usual, I’m doing a New Year’s greeting in lieu of Christmas cards. This allows me to send best wishes to more people than would be possible otherwise. Those few (six in number) who sent me a real card will receive this letter in the U.S. Mail along with a personal note, of course.

About 10 weeks from now I’ll mark my third anniversary as a new and happy Vermonter. My apartment has views of the mountains to the east of Williston; my daughter and her family live just 5 minutes away; and the bridge club, grocery stores, restaurants, and other conveniences are all within a couple of miles. Yet with all that, one has only to go a couple miles farther and you’re in farm country with barns, silos, grazing cattle, and other hallmarks of a rural lifestyle.

As much as I like it here, I must admit that there is one thing I don’t care for: the time zone. In California I could watch the ball drop in Times Square at 9 PM; Monday Night Football came on at 5 o’clock; and other Eastern Time events were at an hour conducive to my early morning lifestyle. But the time zone issue is a mere inconvenience compared to the benefits of living near family in this beautiful, relaxed setting.  

Speaking of family, pictured here are Sarah, Steve and me (on the left). To the right are Sarah’s husband Romain Feuillette and my three grandkids Henry (the red head), Clover and Forrest. Steve and Henry recently moved from the Boston suburbs to Pelham, NY, for Steve’s new job in Manhattan. Romain is a software engineer with Global Foundries in nearby Essex Junction, VT. 

Scott was absent when the above photo was taken, but he too was with us for the holidays. He’s shown at left with Forrest and Clover in Sarah and Romain’s family room. The medal around his neck is an “Awesome Uncle” award the kids gave him. After a three-week visit, he returned to Oregon on January 5. Steve and Henry took the train back to Pelham to have New Year’s Eve with Jeff, the third member of their family, who had stayed home with Finn and Jackson, their two dogs.

I had a great time with the whole bunch, but I’m looking forward to things getting back to normal. And “normal” means reading; playing duplicate bridge 2 or 3 days a week; watching the occasional baseball, football, or hockey game on TV; and dinner or other family activities with the Feuillettes. 

My only travel last year was to Boston and Pelham a few times and one cross-country trip to Portland and Seattle. The Seattle visit included an “unveiling party” for the 10th edition of my textbook, which came out in March. I’m shown here at the party with my new coauthor, Sally Sanford (far right), and some of the others who contributed to research and editing. (The bats and baby were mere observers.) 

Speaking of reading, I finished 119 books this year – just a few short of last year’s total. Among my favorites were:

You might notice that a few of these titles were targeted for banning by narrow-minded prudes in some locales. I chose to read them for that very reason. To people who want to censor literature I say, “If you’re afraid that books will change someone’s thinking, you’re not afraid of books: you’re afraid of thinking.”

I close with my sincere best wishes for a healthy new year for you and for democracy too (meaning, of course, the repudiation of Cult 45).

Stuart

What's Your Answer?

 

The liquid is the world, and the fish is the United States. Is the glass half full or half empty? 

Optimists think the glass is half full and we will find ways to overcome the challenges we face. Pessimists think it’s half empty because the country and the future of all humanity are in grave jeopardy.

By the way, a third group (the sots at the local pub) would say that’s not even the right question. To them the right question is, “Are you going to finish that?”

The Hermit Philosopher sides with the pessimists because:

• The world's population stands at eight billion and is expected to be nearly eleven billion by the end of this century.
• We are quickly poisoning our environment and using up finite resources.
• We have created the means of our own destruction in the form of nuclear weapons, environmental pollution, and artificial “intelligence.”
• Millions of us deny scientific fact, believe unprovable conspiracy theories, and accept demonstrably false notions, such as that the 2020 election was “stolen” or that COVID vaccines are unsafe.
• Trust in democracy and the core institutions of government – the courts, voting systems, and laws that promote the general welfare – is at an all-time low.
• One of our major political parties is run by far-right crazies (think: Matt Gaetz, Lauren Boebert, and Marjorie Taylor Greene) who are riding a tsunami of ignorance and disinformation.
• That party’s leading candidate for the presidency is the leader of a dangerous cult and  an unprincipled, unstable, seditious menace who has corroded and corrupted American democracy.

If politicians and world leaders applied as much energy to solving the climate crisis as they do to getting reelected and consolidating their power, the outcome might be different. But the existential threats to democracy and the world at large are why the HP’s answer to the topic question is: “The glass is half full and leaking badly.” I’m glad I won’t be around to see the worst of it.

By the way, it seems to me that the answer to the question posed by the drunks at the bar is, “The drink is poison and yes, we’re going to finish it because we’re destroying democracy and the planet is doomed.” I guess that’s pessimistic too, huh‽

Have a nice day. If you can. ■

Milestones

 

This year marked the 25th anniversary of my 50th birthday, a milestone I’m happy to have reached. After all, I know a lot of people who never had the privilege of being this old.

And this past week was the golden anniversary of the day I became a father. For my oldest offspring turned 50 on December 1, and he and my other progeny have made me proud for half a century.

To celebrate, he hosted a dinner in the Bay Area for his siblings and a few friends. I attended in spirit with the following ode, read at the party by my son Steve.

Scott often toasts folks at parties in rhyme.

   His tributes are thoughtful. Majestic. Sublime. 

But tonight, it is he whom we celebrate.

   (I hope that my musings don't seem second rate.)

The first of December in seventy-two

Began the adventures of ... you know who.

Those adventures have taken this lad far and wide,   

   And I, as his father, have watched with great pride

As he led the school band, was Christ in a play.

   And continued to dazzle me day after day.

From Stanford to B-school and Germany too,  

  Australia, triathlons, climb Tetons ... it’s true!

Then orchestras called, as you may have heard.  

   In LA then Portland, that’s not so absurd,

His musical talent and love of the arts

   Have made him a natural to play these big parts.

The birth date we honor was some time ago.

I've counted the days, and oh my! Did you know?

It comes to a number … lots more than a few.

   It's eighteen thousand, plus two fifty-two.

But age is a number. Just that. Nothing more.

   I'd rather count blessings. Of these I am sure:   

He's always so loyal, as uncle or friend,

   As son or as brother on whom to depend.

Now I've said my piece. I relinquish the floor.      

   Oh, wait! There is just one thing more.

We must have a toast, after these fifty years.        

   May love and good fortune be yours Scott. Cheers!

I had fun writing that, and I’m told that it was well received. I’m looking forward to many other milestones yet to come. ■

 

Thankfulness

I venture to say that November is no one’s favorite month. It is the cold damp between autumn and the dead of winter. It is perhaps ironic, therefore, that November is the month when, on the fourth Thursday, we give thanks for the blessings we have.

The Hermit Philosopher is especially thankful this November. Thankful that he’s nearly over the infection that has plagued him for nearly three weeks. Thankful that his family is recovering from the same ailment. Thankful that he doesn’t live in Buffalo under six or more feet of snow.

But he’s most thankful right now that there’s a glimmer of hope for our democracy, that people see the danger posed by the GOP and its far-right allies, and that T***p and “Cult 45” seem to be on the wane.

The day after the 2016 election—that bleak November morning so long ago—one of my family members asked sorrowfully, “What has happened to our country?!” The question has plagued me for more than six years. There is yet no clear answer. The cancer of the far right, while shrinking, remains with us as a reminder that mendacity, ego, and power are a dangerous combination. That combination has led to acts of political violence (think: January 6 or the assault on Nancy Pelosi’s husband), blatant disregard for facts (climate change denial, e.g.), and a dangerous level of demagoguery and depravity in the “party of Lincoln.”

The danger seems to lie with a large number of Americans—mostly working-class whites—who have deep resentments and serious delusions. They are people who spend too much time watching Fox News and plunging down Internet rabbit holes. They follow narcissistic wannabe heroes (Ted Cruz, Josh Hawley, Marjorie Taylor Greene, etc.). They seem to have decided that a cult of personality matters more than commitment to knowledge, truth, and fair-minded democracy. They even disdain the value of a university education. (In 2019, 59% of Republicans felt colleges had a negative impact on society, according to the Pew Research Center.)

There are, however, some reasons to be optimistic. The courts seem able to head off voter intimidation and similar shenanigans. Early voting and large numbers of young voters bode well for future elections. Some recent “firsts” included election of two lesbian governors, a Black governor, and a record number of women. And finally, the GOP seems to be growing tired of their former president.

Thomas Hobbes once wrote: “Hell is the truth seen to late.” Let us be thankful that more Americans are beginning to see the truth in time. Let’s hope that Emile Zola was right to say, “Truth is on the march, and nothing will stop it.” And my favorite new slogan: "Fight Truth Decay!"

So, despite all there is to worry about, the Hermit Philosopher remains hopeful and thankful. Happy Thanksgiving from Vermont, y’all! ■

The Case for Cats

I've been a "Cat Person" ever since a stray followed me home one day when I was five or so. Since then, except for a few years while in law school I've always had at least one cat in my life. 

In the Atlantic Daily for today, October 4, I read a nice article  by another Cat Person, Katherine J. Wu, and I'll quote from it here:

I see many reasons to favor the feline. Part of it has to be their luxurious fur; their super-silent, bean-padded paws; their fluid-like flexibility. Their vertically contracting pupils, their scritchy-scratchy tongues, their pleasantly pointy ears. Their love for laser pointers, their fear of cucumbers, their affinity for boxes. I’m also probably lured in by cats’ mysterious, melodic purrs—a form of communication that most other animals can’t mimic and that humans struggle to parse. And I’m definitely gobsmacked by their ability to right themselves within a second or two of falling and so often survive, even when the plunge is many stories high.

If I’m being completely honest, maybe it’s the feline personality that’s my personal catnip. My cats are just as cuddly as any dog I’ve ever had—probably more. They’re affectionate and personable; they come running when we call; they greet us at the door. And every cat I’ve met has been such a distinct individual, such a character: bursting with strong opinions, clear-cut preferences, bizarre and memorable quirks. And those traits are steadfast. Whether they’re scared, happy, suspicious, or confused, Calvin and Hobbes [the author's cats] are always Calvin and Hobbes. I get that cats can sometimes be contrarian. I get that their outer shell can sometimes be tough to crack. But for me, that makes them all the more fascinating. Their trust and affection is hard-won. So when it’s earned, it feels that much more meaningful. 

 

That pretty well sums up my feelings. Thanks, Katherine! And thanks to my late feline friends Motorboat, Tiger, Sherman, Snowflake, Domino, Clara, and Sam and my current purr-fect love: WhoDat. ■

Best Books of 2022 (Thus Far)

The Hermit Philosopher apologizes for the delay, but has been busy with family activities, playing duplicate bridge, and writing the 10th edition of The Law of Healthcare Administration.

But he has managed to read 100 books already this year, a personal record, so he wants to share the names of a few favorites:

Nonfiction

• Nicole Hannah-Jones (ed)., The 1619 Project: A New Origin Story
• Todd L. Savitt, Race and Medicine in Nineteenth- and Early-Twentieth-Century America
• Paul Lombardo, Three Generations, No Imbeciles
• Edward Dolnic, The Writing of the Gods: The Race to Decode the Rosetta Stone
• Bill Browder, Red Notice: A True Story of High Finance, Murder, and One Man's Fight for Justice
• Joshual Kendall, The Forgotten Founding Father: Noah Webster's Obsession and the Creation of an American Culture
• Isabel Wilkerson, Caste: The Origins of our Discontent

Historical Fiction

• Martha Hall Kelly, Lilac Girls, Lost Roses, and Sunflower Sisters – based on true stories, the trilogy follows three generations of women of the Farriday family during the US Civil War, WWI, and WWII
• Emma Donaghue, The Pull of the Stars

Fiction

• Ann Patchett, The Dutch House
• Gilly Macmillan, To Tell You the Truth
• Mary Stewart, Thornyhold

If you have some you recommend, please let me know. ■

Reflections on The Good Place

 

Almost two years ago – January 30, 2020 to be precise – the 53rd and final episode of The Good Place aired on NBC. I have since watched all four seasons of this fantasy comedy on Netflix, and I just watched the final episode again. I don’t think I’ve ever been as enamored of a TV show.

For those who don’t know, the plot involves Eleanor Shellstrop (Kristin Bell), a woman welcomed after her death to the “Good Place,” a highly selective Heaven-like utopia designed and run by Michael (Ted Danson), a non-human afterlife "architect." To be chosen for the Good Place is supposedly a reward for a righteous life, but Eleanor and her three human companions are actually in an experimental “Bad Place.” They were chosen by Michael to torture each other emotionally and psychologically for eternity.

Eleanor thinks she’s in heaven, however, and she knows that she doesn’t deserve to be, so she tries to hide her morally imperfect past and become a better, more ethical person. She fails at this miserably, as do the other humans, but along the way they grow to understand what’s going on, and in the process they lay out a moral vision for us that’s quite sophisticated and deeply informed by principles of philosophy. It’s a vision that puts learning and trying to do good front and center, and it’s based in large part on T.M. Scanlon’s What We Owe to Each Other.

In the final episode, the four companions get to experience the real Good Place, and they find it boring. They decide that an endless afterlife, even an eternity of happiness, would lead to intellectual stagnation and loss of meaning. It’s too much of a good thing. As one of them says, it’s so perfect you become a “glassy-eyed mush person.”

They conclude that uncertainty is what makes life special, so Michael adds an exit door from Paradise to the unknown. If they leave through that door, they become like “a wave returning to the ocean,” as Chidi, one of the human characters explains:

Picture a wave. In the Ocean. You can see it, measure it, its height, the way the sunlight refracts when it passes through. And its there. And you can see it. You know what it is: it's a wave. 

And then it crashes on the shore and it's gone. But the water is still there. The wave was just a different way for the water to be for a little while. You know, it's one conception of death for Buddhists: the wave returns to the ocean, where it came from and where it's supposed to be. 

I love that metaphor. It’s a peaceful and comforting vision of the end of life. A gentle reminder that we’re all open parentheticals, waiting for the close parenthesis to come. At that point we will dissolve back into the fabric of the universe and will be at peace.

As usual, Shakespeare said it best: “We are such stuff as dreams are made on, and we round our little life with a sleep.” ■

At the exit door

  

Eleanor (Kristin Bell), Chidi (William Jackson Harper),
Michael (Ted Danson), and Janet (D'Arcy Carden)

One of Eleanor's favorite obscenities,
along with "holy forking shirtballs!" 

Running Off at the Keyboard

The Hermit Philosopher sometimes needs to write like a cow needs to give milk. Here are some thoughts on a two totally unrelated topics: ambulances and ignorance.

Ambulances. I’m working on the 10th edition of my textbook and decided to include reference to the Emergency Medical Systems Act of 1973. In discussing this with a colleague, I learned that neither she (age about 55) nor her law students (mostly in their 20s) knew that the EMS system we now take for granted — the one with ambulances and EMTs at every firehouse and most hospitals — is a relatively new phenomenon.

Her students had watched a video about desegregation of hospitals in the early '60s, and they found it poignant that years ago some poor, Black patients had died while being transported to hospitals in hearses. In hearses, of all things! Egad!

I pointed out, however, that prior to creation of the EMS system about 50 years ago, it was common for patients -- rich or poor -- to be transported in hearses. After all, what other vehicle could comfortably carry a gurney or cot? A station wagon is not big enough. A pickup, large van, police “paddy wagon,” or flatbed truck might do, but not as comfortably. Thus, hearses were often used when the patient was unconscious, severely injured, etc., and of course some of them would die in route, regardless of their ethnicity or socioeconomic status.

This reminded me of an incident involving my own grandfather. Sometime in the early ‘60s he passed out at home. My father, being a physician, called for patient transport, and the person he called was John C., a family friend who happened to run a local funeral home. John arrived with his hearse and a driver, loaded Grandpa into the back, and took off for Dad's hospital. During the 10 minutes or so that it took to get there, Grandpa woke up, looked at Mr. C. (whom he knew), and said something like "You're early John. I'm still alive." 😂

Ignorance. The level of ignorance and outright imbecility in this country is frightening. For example:

● More than 70 million US citizens voted for a misogynistic, xenophobic liar in the 2020 presidential election, and many of them buy into his Big Lie about voter fraud despite there being no evidence supporting that claim. (Note: the audit of election results in Arizona resulted in an increase in Joe Biden’s victory margin there.)

● Millions of people refuse to be vaccinated, despite overwhelming evidence that the vaccines are safe and effective. (Remember: vaccines are why smallpox has been eliminated and we don’t see people in iron lungs anymore due to polio.)

● Untold tens of thousands get their “news” from talk radio, certain TV channels, and social media. These Weapons of Mass Distraction (the new “WMDs”) are cesspools of disinformation and conspiracy theories. 

 ● 10 percent of Americans question the existence of climate change and/or believe that if it is happening, it is not the result of human action. Another 10 percent (including the loser of the 2020 election) believe climate change is a conspiracy or hoax. (N.B.: 97% of climate scientists believe the climate is changing and humans are the main cause.) 

In conclusion. By one estimate, there are at least 100 billion galaxies in the universe and each one contains roughly 100 billion stars. That means there are at least 100 sextillion — 100,000,000,000,000,000,000,000 — stars in the universe. If only one in a quintillion of those stars has earth-like conditions, then perhaps there are a hundred thousand planets out there in the vastness of space that might have developed intelligent life! It’s too bad ours isn’t one of them. ■

News Flash: There's Too Much "News"

"Laws are like sausages; it is better not to see them being made." --Otto von Bismarck 

I recall this insight from the founder of the German Empire every time I open a newspaper, check my email, or turn on the TV or radio. With apologies to my journalist friends, I am tired of hearing the so-called "news" about politics. There's too much of it. After a while it's just noise. 

Before the days of the 24-hour news cycle, we got a summary each evening from the likes of Walter Cronkite, Ted Koppel, or Peter Jennings and a somewhat more detailed account in the next morning's paper. 

But now we have scenes like these, with reporters crowding around politicians for juicy soundbites about "up to the minute" developments. 

 

Here's a news flash for the media: you're being used.  I understand that you're just doing your job and that “an informed citizenry is the bulwark of a democracy”—thank you, Thomas Jefferson—but how well informed are we, really?

Politicians seldom contribute substance in these impromptu sessions. They just spout “talking points” and try to say things that will gain them votes in the next election. They should be in their offices or in a committee session working to do what we elected them to do: solve problems.

And here’s a news flash for the politicians: you’re being used too. Your soundbites will help publishers sell newspapers and airtime and gain readers/listeners. Then social media (aka “weapons of mass distraction”) will take your soundbites, distort them, and use them for their own disingenuous purposes. Which will fire up the crazies of the world, distract us from the truth, and create more soundbites. The news cycle is a vicious circle.

Finally, here’s a news flash for everyone: we’re all being used if we let ourselves get sucked into this vortex. We mistake posturing for importance. By way of contrast, consider what happens in labor negotiations. When the parties get serious, they call for a news blackout, roll up their sleeves, and get down to work.  

The Hermit Philosopher recommends this approach for people on Capitol Hill. 

Our Cross-Country Adventure

By WhoDat the Wonder Cat

My driver (Stuart Showalter) and I said goodbye to San Diego around noon on Friday, March 12, to begin our journey across the Southwest to Vermont via Atlanta and Reading, PA. I was concerned about the trip at first, but after voicing my discomfort for a few miles I realized that it was better if I let Stuart concentrate on driving, so I lay quietly in the back of the SUV most of the way after that.

Three hours down I-8 we crossed into Arizona and spent the night in Gila Bend. It was my first night ever in a hotel room, and I found that I could hide in a four-inch-wide tunnel between the box spring and the wall. I was soon coaxed out of there and the opening was blocked by pillows, but hide and seek became a game at each stop along the way. (You can see the pillow circled in the photo below.)

After exploring Phoenix the next day we checked into another hotel to await the arrival of our navigator, Cliff Mills, who was flying in from Seattle. We met his plane early Sunday afternoon and set off along I-10 for Las Cruces, NM. On the way, Stuart and Cliff were amused by the many billboards advertising fireworks, casinos, truck stops, etc., and one weather-beaten sign, in particular, caught their attention.

It was for a now-defunct local eatery known as  “BURGER TIME” that apparently served not only the iconic American ground beef sandwich but donuts too. The “e” in “Time” was missing on the billboard, so for the rest of the trip these two humans laughed about “Burger Tim” and his donuts. 

We spent Monday night in Fort Worth, TX, crossed into Louisiana on Tuesday, and arrived that evening in Jackson, MS. Until then Stuart and Cliff had prevented me from hiding in our various hotel rooms, but the misnamed “Quality Inn” motel in Jackson was the site of my most creative escapade.

After my companions went out to dinner, I found a small tear in the cloth underbelly of one of the box springs, and I climbed inside. When they returned, they couldn’t find me. I heard them calling my name, but  I didn’t reveal myself. They searched all over, even looking under the box spring on each bed. They should have noticed the bulge I created in the cloth, of course, but they didn’t. They thought I had sneaked out the door unnoticed when they left for dinner. After all, how many places are there to hide in a hotel room?

Stuart searched outside and asked the front desk clerk and a maid if they’d seen a missing cat, all to no avail. After about 30 minutes, with Stuart feeling heartsick over my apparent demise, I decided to reappear, much to his delight and relief. I was so proud of myself for this deception!

The next morning we drove through a horrible thunderstorm to the Birmingham, AL, airport and left Cliff to catch his return flight to Seattle. We later learned later that there had been tornadoes behind us in the storm and that Cliff’s flight had been canceled. He didn’t get home for two more days, but Stuart and I drove blissfully on to my “Aunt” Lynn’s house in Roswell, GA, where we stayed for a few days.

Upon leaving Georgia on the 21st we drove 13 hours to “Aunt” Susie’s home near Reading, PA. On the 25th she signed on as navigator, and the three of us then completed the journey: through upper New York State, crossing into Vermont south of Lake George, and on to the Burlington area. All told, we traveled 3,496 miles in 13 days, and I was pretty calm the whole way. Stuart nicknamed me the Wonder Cat for my ability to endure traveling with a minimum of complaint while providing amusement along the way.

We are now settled in our new apartment at 236 Zephyr Rd. #201, Williston, VT 05495. It’s a mere 0.8 miles as the crow flies from Sarah’s house, and she and her family get together with us frequently. It should be noted, however, that when Clover (age 6) and Forrest (age 2.75) come over I usually reprise my disappearing act and end up under the bed.

From what Stuart tells me, Vermont is a friendly, laid-back place and he likes it here. I, too, have grown fond of it. After all, his apartment is bigger than his San Diego condo, so it has more places to hide. LOL