San Diego Bay Cruising

Photo/video flight for the newly minted USNS John Canley, setting sail from the shipyards just south of downtown San Diego.  We flew doors off, low level over the Bay, following and circling along as she sailed out to sea.  

The all-white USNS Mercy, one of two hospital ships in the U.S. Naval fleet, can be seen on the far left; the Canley is next to it backing out into the bay, and several ships in various build stages in the foreground.  At the top right of the photo is Naval Amphibious Base Coronado, home to the U.S. Navy Seal Team.  

Time Management

“At the end of your life, looking back, whatever compelled your attention from moment to moment is simply what your life will have been. So when you pay attention to something you don’t especially value, it’s not an exaggeration to say that you’re paying with your life.”

-Oliver Burkeman

I am probably not alone in this, but from the moment I wake in the morning my mind runs rampant from one random thought to another unless I begin to actively observe the phenomenon. And if I can sustain the observation, then thoughts slowly fade. Or shorten, at least. But it takes a certain degree of deliberateness to remind myself what is happening, and to make the connection that my life only really is what is happening right now, before me.

Four Generations

I have no memory of my maternal great grandmother, other than a few photos such as these. Her life experience was and still is so foreign to me, or it seems so foreign to me, that it’s hard to wrap my mind around it. The circumstances of her childhood and youth must have had elements of severity and brutishness, but only in retrospect. When you’re living it, it just is what it is, I suppose.

In any case, I’ve always thought it odd that neither my sister or, more likely me, are not sitting in her lap.

From left to right: my paternal grandmother Mamaw, with sister Lori in her lap; Mamaw’s Mom Lizzie center, and my Dad holding rather rotund me on the right. The photo was taken in Mamaw and Papaw’s living room, where we spent many Christmases together with them and my paternal aunts, uncles, and cousins.

Surf Report

Stewart and I listen to NPR most mornings, and one of the staples of the local news segment is the surf report. The guy doing it comes across as eternally chill, just as you expect, but he occasionally drops poetic allusions or dry witticisms into his dialogue, which you would hardly notice if you weren’t listening.

This morning he casually described the lingering coastal clouds as fuliginous.

Parenting

“Your responsibility as a parent is not as great as you might imagine. You need not supply the world with the next conqueror of disease or a major movie star. If your child simply grows up to be someone who does not use the word “collectible” as a noun, you can consider yourself an unqualified success.”
— Fran Lebowitz

Sleeping 2022

My annual sleep-in-review. I was only home 46% of the time which I sort of found surprising—I thought it had been more—but I only spent 17% on the yacht at work, also surprisingly less. The airplane sleeping is tough domestically, as there are no lie flat seats, but even international trips aren’t exactly refreshing. The “boat” was Stewart’s and my trip down the Elbe with his West Point Classmates.

National Parks

We visited a number of National Parks this year, and as always I’ve thoroughly enjoyed them. I don’t go enough, quite honestly. Death Valley lived up to its name, not in heat but in wind and starkness. My secret wish is to time it such that when the lake there temporarily fills with water, I’ll be able to sneak up and kayak on it.

I went with some business colleagues to the NP in the U.S. Virgin Islands; it is a definite respite from the near-third world towns and communities that dot most of the island chain, although as you can imagine the heat and humidity will be relentless (a small point we forgot to tell our mechanic, who had murder on his mind the last few miles of the hike). Sequoia was good, although heavily ravaged by the fires of recent years, quite sad, especially when considering the giant trees that took literally forever to grow to their enormous heights. Kings Canyon: who knew it was deeper than the Grand Canyon; quite the spectacle.

I also went to the Nationalpark Sächsische Schweiz (Saxon Switzerland, or colloquially Little Switzerland) in Germany, along the Czech border, and the Biosphärenreservat Spreewald just outside of Berlin. Did a kayaking trip in the latter, which turned into a navigational nail biter for awhile.

I consider National Parks a refuge for myself, and one of the few pristine places one can escape to, to return to the beauty of the flora and fauna that simply just is. It feels like a mental reset for me, and a little bit of escapism from the more…tedious…elements of everyday life. Once you get beyond the first few miles of photo-snapping tourists.

Health Care

Many Americans, I’m suspecting, have a personal or familial medical expense horror story. It’s a sad, embarrassing, and enduring feature of our country, where the universal right to health care has been perversely commoditized and, consequently, has been placed out of reach for millions.

At the end of my optometrist appointment a few weeks ago the uniquely-American process of adding up the costs began. Even for my malady-free eyeballs this was no simple accounting: twelve separate line items covering every feature of my exam and glasses were looked up in a four-inch thick insurance binder, ticked off, and entered into the ledger. My final bill came to over $1,500, for which my insurance covered all but a few hundred dollars. That $1,500 is the street price, of course—what the poor and those without health insurance would pay, which is why I suspect most people from the lower economic strata of our society do not get eye exams. Or routine dental exams. Or routine annual physicals, where the street price of my blood work as a part of that annual physical came to a jaw-dropping $650 this year.

During one of our trips to Ireland, Stewart’s sutures on his elbow came undone, and needed repair. We went to the local public hospital, where we were informed they would take care of us—visiting foreigners—for free, although we would need to wait our turn in the triage line. Or, they said, we could go down the street and pay 200 Euro and we’d be in and out in an hour.

Imagine that—universal healthcare for all, and speedier healthcare if you desire (and can afford) to have it. What I can’t imagine, though, is being poor in America, with a family history of colon cancer, attempting to pay out of pocket for a colonoscopy that could very well save my life. And then god forbid attempting to pay for another procedure should that colonoscopy find the very thing you were worried about.

A Christmas Carol

“They are Man’s and they cling to me, appealing from their fathers. This boy is Ignorance and this girl is Want. Beware them both, and all of their degree, but most of all beware this boy for on his brow I see that written which is Doom, unless the writing be erased.””
— Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol