An Old Friend

INGRID THOFT

During a recent visit to Boston, an old friend reached out to me via Facebook.  I hadn't seen him in over ten years, but we've kept in touch and made a plan to meet for breakfast.

My friend and I first met when I worked at Harvard and was in charge of the human resources website.  The site was in need of a major overhaul (this was in 1999), and I selected his firm from the contenders.  I loved the work that the company did, and I loved the team that did it.  They were a funny, smart, and talented group, lead by my friend, and once the work stopped, he and I would have the occasional meal or coffee while I lived in the Boston area.

My husband and I eventually moved to Seattle, but my friend and I stayed connected, and when I met him for a breakfast a few weeks ago, it was as if the intervening decade hadn't happened.  We fell into easy conservation about his daughter's gymnastic accomplishments and my underwater adventures.  He talked about his newfound love for running marathons, and I updated him on the world of publishing.  Although we caught up on the past, more of our conversation was about the present and the future, and perhaps that's the key to this kind of friendship:  An excitement in learning what comes next for the other person.


This friend is not the only person with whom I feel an affection and connection that isn't dependent upon proximity or frequency of visits.  My closest friend from college could walk in the door, and I guarantee within ten minutes, we'd be lounging on the couch talking about anything and everything.  Some people just click, and it's a gift when circumstances put you in each other's universes.

What about you?  Do you have any friends like that?  Do the years melt away when you reunite?

A Modest Proposal

JULIA SPENCER-FLEMING

We live in dark times. No, I'm not talking about politics, or North Korean nuclear missiles, or the fact that every single man in a position of power seems to be a lecherous creep. I'm talking about the return of my nemesis, Standard Time. It's been a week since we "fell back"- how are you feeling about it? Me, I hate it.

In southern Maine, where I reside, the sun sets today at 4:22 p.m. Of course, when you live in a land completely covered by a) trees and b) hills, sunset is a pretty fluid concept. The last I usually see of the Helios' chariot (Look, Mom, my liberal arts degree at work!) is four-ish, with blinkered darkness swallowing up everything about ten minutes after the listed sunset. Yes, I know that "Civil Twilight" doesn't end for another hour. I'm pretty sure whoever comes up with those civil twilight designations is taking measurements at the flattest part of the Great Plains, where the tallest thing obscuring the setting sun is a gopher. Or ground hog. Whatever they are out in the golden west.

One of the worst aspects of Standard Time is knowing that the days are getting squeezed from both ends, like a dish towel being wrung dry. Right now we're down to nine hours fifty-one minutes of daylight (keeping in mind those trees and hills blocking the view) and it's all downhill from there. We won't be back to this length of day until February 1st, and at that point, we in New England will likely be entombed with snow and ice. It's difficult to kick back with a cocktail and celebrate the lengthening days when you're trying to make sure the pipes don't freeze in the walls. 

Yes, our friends and neighbors have it worse in Alaska. They count down to five and half hours of daylight at the winter solstice, and I'm pretty sure the giant mountains all over the place means they're actually seeing half of that, in a way not dissimilar to the sun creeping into the cell of the Man in the Iron Mask for a brief interlude. However, Alaskans do have the benefit of a) crazy long days in summer b) the sweet, sweet checks from the Permanent Fund and c) Dana Stabenow.

I have a proposed solution of this unfortunate state of affairs; one now within reach due to the March of Progress. I move we set the official time of sunset at 6pm every evening from October through March. It's true that in the past, our reliance on analog clocks meant that everyone in every time zone had to have their watches set in lockstep, so that, for instance, Lucy and I can look out our windows at five o'clock exactly, but I will see grim leafless darkness and she will see palm trees and sunshine (because her sunset today isn't until 5:42.) But let's be real. How many of us use clocks with hands to tell time anymore? We're all on our phones/tablets/computers, digital devices hooked up to the internet. Correcting two or three or four minutes a day in order to keep sunset always at six is child's play for our tech overlords.

Speaking of children, I can hear your objections. "But Julia," you say. "Think of the kids waiting for the school bus in morning! In the darkness!" In the first place, kids love the dark. You practically have to get them into bed by gunpoint every evening. Think how much they'll enjoy the thrill of being outside beneath the stars during morning recess! Secondly, I'm pretty sure the number of kids who get knocked over by cars while waiting for the school bus is greatly exaggerated. The sun doesn't rise until 10 a.m. in Anchorage in December, and the papers aren't full of stories of Alaskan students getting run over all winter long. To assuage parental fears, I will gladly donate to a fund to equip all students K through 12 with appropriate safety gear. After all, as the proverb says, it's better to light a single LL Bean head lamp than to curse the darkness.

Let us rise up, peoples of the north, and take back our evenings! We have nothing to lose but our seasonally adjusted depression!

From English to Emoji.

RHYS BOWEN: Did you overlook an important public holiday this week? It was national Emoji day! I mentioned it on my Facebook page and so many readers came forward to tell me which emojis they love using. Do you use emojis? I really don’t apart from adding a heart to the end of a note to granddaughters. Other than that would feel weird and self-conscious.

I’m not even very good at texting. When people text me they get a coherent sentence in reply. Some long words. How can I reply to my publicist THX CU AM.  But my grandkids generation communicate with each other like this all the time. So I’m wondering: have we come to the end of language as we knew it. Let’s think about it.

We started with grunts and gestures which progressed to words. To sentences: meat good. Go kill more.

Then writing was born from keeping tally of goods in early Babylon. Cuniform. And the Egyptian hieroglyphics. Duck duck maiden sun god meant “Would you like to come to tea on Friday?”

Well, I think we’ve just gone back to that with emojis. Sad face sun trees means “I’m sorry but I can’t join you for the picnic because I’ve got a sunburn.”

With English as the world language it was only a matter of time that it was spelled phonetically any way. Don’t cum thru Ive got a cof.

Where are those lovely long poetic sentences of the Victorian poets. All those impressive words they invented: permambulator  omnibus umbrella

You see the one thing they had that we don’t is time. I’m not talking about those who toiled in factories or trekked Westward. But the educated class had too much time on their hands and no television (another lovely invented word). They were quite content when their books started with twenty pages of description of the roof of the house. They loved sentimental poetry. My great aunt knew by heart endless recitations that she performed with great drama at parties.

Words for them were to be savored, enjoyed, made the most of because they had to fill time.

Now we are always in a rush. Half an hour for lunch? Can’t leave the office.

Can U pu fish for dinr? And add the smiley face to show you are not mad/stressed etc.

Do you use emojis frequently? Do you text? Do you still try to write coherent English?

On noticing...

HALLIE EPHRON: I was writing in my office yesterday morning, the window shade next to my desk raised a few inches so I can see a slice of the hedge next to my house. And there, in the branches, was a downy woodpecker, a little black and white guy, pecking at the woody stems.

It turns and I can see the red blaze on the back of its head.

I go for my camera but when I come back to take this picture, the bird is gone.

Later that day I hear the distinctive bell-like call of a blue jay. Over and over. I go out into the yard and there are two... no four of them in a bush. 

And it's not just a call. It's a call and response and choreographed head movements. They've a virtual synchronized swim team. This YouTube (thanks LesleytheBirdNerd) video captures it. 



This brings to mind this moment years and years ago when my husband Jerry says to me, "My watch stopped." 

"Need to get a new battery," I say.

"I mean, it just stopped. While I was watching it."

We both stare at the watch face in delight. It has a frozen second hand. Is that cool or what?

Now I'm thinking of other things are so fleeting that if you're not paying attention, you'll miss them.

Like...
When the last Hanukah candle burns out.
When the clouds in a sunset sky lose their pink glow.
When oncoming headlights turn on.
When zeroes queue up on the odometer.
When a baby stops flailing and focuses on his little fist. And slowly moves it into his mouth.
When the temperature rises that last degree on the candy thermometer.
When jello jells, an egg hatches, labor starts.

Blink and you'll miss it.

And why does before something happens seems interminable, whereas the time after passes us by, unawares? 

What have you noticed lately that, if you hadn't been paying attention, you'd have missed?