Not Even Not Traveling 68: Hawaii - Oahu

In the morning, we arrived at our fourth stop, our third Hawaiian island, Oahu. Although Oahu is not the largest island in the chain, it's home to the most people, The state capital, Honolulu, sits on its southern coast.

On other islands, we landed in towns like Hilo, Kahului, Waila, and Kona. They seemed reasonably-sized - but not Honolulu. Because Honolulu was enormous.

A Comparison

When I vacationed with my wife in Chicago for a few days, many years ago, we wisely decided not to drive in the city. No one ever says, "Hey, what I want to do with my precious free time is fight the traffic in downtown Chicago." But that's the mistake we made with Honolulu. It's because I hadn't realized downtown Honolulu is basically Chicago, but moved to a nicer beach.

We went to pick up our rental car. Even getting to the site by taxi and on foot was a struggle through the crowds. Driving back out into the perpetual traffic jam of the downtown was almost impossible.

Another Comparison 

I have driven in New York City. It takes a special type of driver to do it in rush hour - basically, not me. You have to be assertive at a different level. My impression of Chicago traffic was similar, although as a tourist I could see it was a step below the intensity of New York. Honolulu, to my shock, competes at the Chicago level, albeit with more of a smile. The drivers have an aggressive downtown culture and, if you're going to drive with them, you need to watch and follow their unwritten rules about how close you can be, whose turn it is, and how much room to give pedestrians.

To make it extra stressful, I decided at the rental agency to make this the first time I drove a Toyota Prius. Now, they gave me five options. I picked the Prius deliberately. Immediately, I realized I was going to have regrets. The car had standard features and advanced configurations at the same time. It didn't have many built-in services but all of them it did have were engineered in a confusing way. I spent half an hour fighting for traffic position while struggling with the car's weird gear shift. Diane had to puzzle with the bluetooth at the same time. Plus, the car started with a 'Maintenance Needed' notice on the dashboard that never turned off.

Finally, A Sandy Beach

Eventually, we made it out of the city. The process was no fun but we broke free. We knew where we wanted to go: a park where we could rent equipment and go snorkeling. Diane had one picked out on her GPS. After twenty minutes more driving, we got there. Except we didn't, really. We couldn't park. They had the equipment shack. They had room in the ocean, sure. But the parking lot was closed.

We drove to our alternate destination, the Diamond Trail. A sign on the mountain there said the parking lot was full. Tourists had parked their cars along one side of the road, too, creating imaginary spots. There were no imaginary spots left.

So we kept driving. In time, we reached the southeast shore. There we found a docks area with an outdoor mall. We decided to have lunch at an Italian restaurant and look at our maps. I stared for a moment at the prices, though. The cheapest appetizer was twenty-five dollars. Of course, we ate anyway. We wanted to sit and figure out our next targets. Getting a table was also the only way to go to the bathroom. All the bathrooms in Honolulu and Waikiki were closed to non-customers.

During our lunch, Diane found another place to go snorkeling, then another. The businesses occupied spaces on the east bay. That meant we needed to keep driving. By this point, I was starting to resign myself to the time on the road but I was going stir crazy in the car. Lying prone in a bay gazing down at fish sounded wonderful.

The problem was, the next place was was closed due to lack of parking. And the next. We kept driving the loop of the main highway around the island and came down off the mountains to a place called Sandy Beach. There was no sign saying it was closed. I had to try it. Then, in the imaginary parking lot (there was a real, paved part but our part was a sand pit), I saw where I could make an extra imaginary space for our car. Diane pointed to a police car.

"They're not bothering anyone here so far," I countered. To be safe, when I saw someone pulling out, I snuck into their spot. Now we were just doing what the rest of the beach crowd was doing. In the Prius, we flopped around for a few minutes to get dressed for the surf. It wasn’t too hard because we had been ready to snorkel.

The beach was so nice that Diane felt the ocean touch her feet and said it was enough for her. She was done.

"I have to get in," I told her.

"I know you do," she replied. 

As I waded into the surf, teenagers kept telling me how “the waves were crazy” due to the storm on the other side of the island. Okay, fair. The waves were a lot taller than me. I'd never been here before, though. Maybe that was normal. 

It did not occur to me at the time that I am no longer fifteen years old. Body surfing was no problem for the first ten minutes. I rode a few waves successfully. But as I grew tired battling the waves and the undertows, it took more and more effort simply to survive failing to catch the waves (as the real surfers zoomed by) and eventually it took even more effort for me to recover from the pounding surf and sand and staying (mostly) upright.

Oh, the undertows. There were two, one moving north, another southeast. They met where the waves were the best, so of course that's where I wanted to be (along with everyone else). Thankfully, the crowd wasn't big and the surfers dodged through the swimmers with skill. The surfing area was bounded on the south side by sharp, volcanic rocks. So we were limited in how far we could spread out.

After the thirty-fourth surfer sped by me through the crowd, a magic timer went off in my mind/body saying, “that’s enough.” I had been thrashed in the surf for most of an hour. Diane deserved however much time it took for me to accompany her on a trip through the tidepools. 

To the south, we thought tidepools were nice enough. Getting dry and figuring out where to go next was okay, too. Half a day later, though, it occured to me that only teenagers had surfed in those waves. And me. I think the oldest person aside from me in the water at Sandy Beach was about twenty-five. Most of the others were in high school. I had been older than the boogie boarders, surfers, and body surfers by about forty years. They probably weren't telling me the surf was crazy because of the storm. They were, as politely as they could, telling me I was crazy.

Anyway, the tide pools really were nice. As we clambered back into the car, we glanced to the southwest and saw storm clouds. We gazed north and saw only sunshine in Waikīkī. 

Friendship Garden

Diane searched her phone for attractions. At this point, she was looking for almost anything: museums, parks, beaches, hiking trails, luaus, whatever looked open to the public. And we tried. We meandered along main and side roads to each spot. Some looked beautiful. At each and every one, though, the parking lot was full. When there was imaginary parking, that was taken, too.

Hawaiians on Oahu are comfortable with making their own spaces. However, I think they balk at rolling over the curb and into the park. None had done it, anyway, or I would have tried.

After five more failures, Diane found a place called Friendship Garden where the parking was described as “limited.” Given how things were going for us at sites with a hundred places to park (but all full), I figured we had no chance at Friendship Garden. It was a hiking destination, though. That’s something we have loved to do in these past few years. We were close, just ten minutes away. We had to try. 

The GPS took us off the main highway onto a side road north of Waikiki, in Keana. Next, it told us to turn into a housing development. It guided us up switchbacks in the development. Then we took a small road, one car wide, up a lonely mountain into exclusive, gated estates. Soon the path grew more tilted than anything in San Francisco. And it remained obviously private.

“Is this park accessible through someone’s house?” I joked. But my sarcasm turned out not to be entirely wrong.

Diane responded with a description of the nature trail. She read from an attractive paragraph supplied by her map. We could walk about a mile on a little mountain, under the shade. 

“You have reached your destination,” the GPS intoned. Diane waved it around.

“Stop! Stop!” She rose out of her seat.

“Do you see anything?” We paused on the road with estate walls to our left and a spacious, cast iron gate to our right. 

“No.” She slumped down again.

Down the slope to the right, which was the north side, we could see a mansion with its own vineyard. It didn’t look anything like a hiking spot. Next to the estate walls, two cars had occupied the only imaginary spaces available. I pressed the pedal down. The Prius rolled on.

In a quarter mile, the mountain trail ended in a loop. So the one lane road we were driving must have been able to accommodate two cars in opposite directions at least some of the time. We looped and headed back down, defeated. 

“You have reached your destination,” the GPS intoned. Diane sat up. And in front of us, a young man and a woman crossed the road from the mansion to one of the two cars in the imaginary spaces. Now I could see the spaces lay on a semi-paved shoulder. The shoulder looked designed to provide sewer access. I could see a round sewer plate on one side, in the shadows underneath a big truck. The young couple hopped in their brown sports car behind the truck and pulled out. We watched them roll down the hill in front of us.

“Pull in, pull in!” She held up her phone with the GPS blinking green at the bottom. “Let’s get out and look around.” 

I was cramped from driving. Stretching my legs sounded great. So I swung into the muddy gravel of the topmost spot. As I did, the truck in front, which apparently had a driver sitting in it who I hadn't noticed, started to pull away. The movement revealed the round sewer plate entirely. There was asphalt around the sewer plate. It looked like better parking so I rolled forward. I cut the engine and pulled the emergency brake.

“We’re here,” Diane announced as she got out.

“Well, we’re somewhere.” I stood up straight and closed my door behind me.

“No, I mean come around to this side of the car.”

When I walked around, I saw to my surprise that Diane was pointing to a placard. It read, in small but unmistakable letters, 'Friendship Garden.' In half a minute, we discovered another sign, one chiseled in stone. It had lay hidden by vegetation and, formerly, it had been blocked by the truck. I scratched my head as I thought. 

Two spots. That was the extent of the public parking. And we had just gotten one.

Well, Friendship Garden was worth the trouble. We wandered up the path and found a gazebo with pamphlets inside, describing the hike routes. The place turned out to be a large, private reserve although it was technically open to the public. (It had those two spaces.) Obviously, the locals of the neighborhood had to be the main users of these footpaths. The best source of access was a stroll up the road; otherwise, visitors had to depend on their luck with the uncertain parking.

To our shock, as we marched up a slope, we met a young woman coming down. She did not look happy to see us. She scowled as if we had invaded her private space. 

Friendship Garden is a ten-acre park, more or less. It occupies a mountain peak high enough to give a view of Kaneohe Bay, provided visitors climb half a mile to it. On its paths, hikers pass long stretches of trees, flowers, and birds. Some of the trees are Cook Pines. And that's weird. I found it odd and unsettling to see pine trees invading a tropical forest. New settlers to the islands must have planted the trees about a hundred and fifty years ago, from the look of them. The name 'Cook' pines is probably a clue. 

The Kokokahi Tract, the residential development outside the boundaries of the park, was developed in 1927 as a multi-ethnic community. Kokokahi was based on a Christian belief in the brotherhood of mankind. Its name translates to “one blood,” and amounts to a statement of its multi-ethnic purpose, which ran contrary to the prevailing segregation on the island at the time.

Not long after we started out, a bevy of college-aged kids started climbing up. We heard them park down below, a faint slam of car doors and excited, young voices. To our surprise, though, at about the halfway point on the trail, we got passed by someone different. A man who seemed to be walking his dog caught up to us. We stood aside to let him pass. Before we reached the summit, the college group passed us, too, where we stopped beside a pagoda to look at the Asian-style masonry.

At the top, we found ourselves surprised by the view of Kaneohe Bay. It really was beautiful in a way we hadn't expected, or at least I hadn't. The college kids were making a lot of noise, shouting to one another and fooling around by the side of a tree-lined cliff. One of the youngest ran up to us and beamed a white-toothed smile.

"Want us to take your picture?" he said. 

And so, at the top, we got a picture of us with a bit of the Kaneohe Bay in the background.
 

Not Even Not Traveling 67: Hawaii - Hilo

Wednesday, December 24

It was our arrival day in Hawaii. Specifically, we were docking in Hilo, a big city on the big island (the one actually called Hawai'i). It was also Diane's birthday.

This can be a tough day, sometimes. I usually feel like I'm not doing enough to make the day special. Fortunately, when we got a network connection, Diane's friends started chipping in with birthday wishes and I could tell she was relieved not to be forgotten.

We are lucky, nowadays, to receive so much affection over such distances. 

Diane and I ate breakfast in our suite. I was feeling ill and feverish, so I skipped my workout, confident that walking around the island on our excursions would make up for it. Diane planned for us to skip the HollandAmerica tours of Hilo anyway. We had rented a car with the idea that we'd make our own excursion itinerary. We could tour the island of Hawai'i, yes, but at our own pace.

"What are you most interested in seeing?" she asked me.

"The volcano park."

"Anything else?"

"Nature stuff. One of the botanical gardens." No one wants to see yet another city on vacation. Well, that's probably just me. When it's a city with entertaining differences and great bookstores, like Portland, I can see some appeal to it. Mostly, though, I want to understand the land I'm visiting. There's nothing better than seeing the land itself or what's left of it, untouched or at the least, unpaved. 

Diane wanted to see Rainbow Falls. Fine my me. For my part, I had memories of hiking to weird plants I wouldn't normally see. Visits to places like the Desert Botanical Garden in Phoenix were great, so I was the lookout for more oddball flora. We found a promising attraction on the route between the Rainbow Falls and the National Volcano Park - the Pana'ewa Rainforest Botanical Garden and Zoo. It's apparently the only U.S. park located in an actual rainforest. Weird plants, I thought; so that's probably interesting. 

As usual, the spontaneously planned part of our day proved to be the best part. Rainbow Falls was nice enough, although Great Falls on the Potomac is nicer. Our final destination, the National Volcano Park was good because I found the steam vents fascinating. But the zoo we dropped by between those sites was the best. And it didn't even have weird plants.

Hawaii Has Coffee Girls

After the Rainbow Falls, we turned into a strip mall. I was looking for coffee. Diane found a place on her GPS called Coffee Girls. It was pink. The coffee was great. This is recommended, actually.

Hawaii Has Goats

As we turned onto the main drive into Pana'ewa Rainforest, three animals burst across the road. They dashed from trees on my left into the grass on my right, then trotted downslope into a tree-covered stream. We saw them for a few seconds, a small, white goat, a larger, brown goat, and another animal, maybe a donkey. (You would think I could recognize the difference between a donkey and a goat or a sheep but it was fast. And it was grey. And it had four legs.) 

At the time, I thought the three animals had escaped from the zoo. After seeing goats during every excursion in Hawaii, though, I realized that Hawaii simply has a lot of wild goats.

Pana'ewa Rainforest

We arrived fifteen minutes early. We bought our tickets. We waited. Eventually, the gate gaurd told us, "Go ahead." He waved us through the park entrance, which made us detour through the gift shop. As we walked out of the shop onto the zoo paths, we paused. The grounds were eerily quiet. We were the first and only tourists. After a minute or two, we heard someone say, "Hello."

I glanced around. There were no people in view.

"Hello." Thirty feet away, a macaw stood on a perch in a cage. It was staring at me.

"Hello," it said. 

"Hey, they've got a 'Hello Bird!'" I had no idea what a macaw was. It looked like a big, colorful parrot, mostly red with a bit of green and blue on its head. Also, it had a job. No professional greeter at a retail store did this better. 

"Hello." It spoke again as I approached. I read the plaque beneath its perch, which told me about the type of bird.

"You've got a big beak," I said.

"Hello."

"Well, that's enough of that."

"Hello."

It wasn't much of a conversationalist. Still, the macaw was pretty cool. Its single word of introduction felt to me like we had already gotten a benefit from arriving early on December 24. We had only ourselves and the animals in this rainforest. We could give ourselves a private tour.

Well, the rainforest wasn't much. I dutifully read the display boards telling me what was what. There wasn't a lot to see. The paved zoo path and the cages had knocked back the jungle. Only in a handful places did we encounter swaths of green lushness. At one of those, a sign told us it wasn't part of the native rainforest but, instead, a grove of foreign transplants.

The animals, in contrast, each had distinct personalities. We saw a dark swan at its meal, surrounding by golden carp roiling the surface of the pond. Each fish attempted to help itself to the crumbs spilled by the swan. As we walked through a section of rainforest, we heard a hidden, native bird that sounded like a rave club electronics track. It sang just the highest end of a human hearing range, but it hit notes on a descending scale.

We found the white tiger roaming through an acre of grass. She flopped down in the sun for a moment. We walked to our left around her, watching. She rolled on her back and exposed her belly. In a pen behind her, we noticed an orange tiger, pacing. Someone had placed the orange one in a prison, essentially. It paced exactly like a prisoner, too, one who had spent too much time in solitary confinement.

"Maybe that one misbehaved?” Diane suggested as she studied how it was confined. Her idea seemed right. If one tiger had attacked or harassed the other, the zookeepers might have needed to cage the aggressor. There would have been no other good reason, in fact, so we hoped it was something like that.

Farther south on the trail we met more caged birds. The sign said we were looking at an alala. However, the alala remained quiet and tried to hide. Apparently, it's a type of Hawaiian crow that went extinct in the wild. So we were seeing one of the handful remaining. Fortunately, local Hawaiians had started a project to reintroduce the alala in the wild. The program was just then starting to show signs of success. Our bird looked like he remained doubtful.

A little further on, a grey crowned crane stared at us like we had forgotten to bring the coffee. (True enough.) It barely blinked. Crowned cranes all look like mad scientists after a long night because they have spiky heads, a bit like English punks but also like Doc Brown in Back to the Future. They've got wild, bewildered eyes, too.

At one of the fences with a big “animal bites” warning sign, an emu trotted over to meet Diane as she approached. The giant birds got an acre of grass to roam in, like the tigers. I waited for Diane to try to pet the emu but she wisely did not. I think the bird was waiting for that, too.

At the lemur cage, we met animals like the ones in the Madagascar movie. They didn't dance but they had pretty (and recognizable) physiques and fur markings. They turned their butts to us, totally unbothered by their first customers of the day at the zoo.

Farther on, we met two binturong. I hadn't seen any before. The smaller and stronger binturong lazed on a branch in the middle of the cage. Another name for this type of animal is 'bearcat' and I could see why. It was about the size of a lynx but with fur like a bear. Although it seemed strong and tough, it relaxed like an opportunity hunter - basically, like a cat. This particular binturong had a surly expression as it ignored us, half-sleeping. I felt as if we were watching a furry Clint Eastwood in a spaghetti western. This time, he was playing a character who refuses to get up from the couch. He was lazy, but dangerous.

Along the southwestern zoo path, we found monkeys of many types. Each one disdained us in their own unique way. Some showed us their butts. Some got up front and relaxed in exaggerated poses, slumping as if to make it clear they didn't worry about us at all. A few remained preoccupied with the bars of their cage. Others played with their favorite toys.

At some point, I turned a corner and discovered albino peacocks. Diane had mentioned them, I thought, when we had each gone separate directions briefly and then reunited. Here they were, in their big cage. Although there were two of them, they looked rare and expensive, like designer editions of this year's top-end model. As I studied the pair, I became aware of motion to my right. I turned to see what it was and spotted a regular peacock, actually a peahen, strutting free. It wasn't in a cage. Rather, it was roaming the paved zoo paths like a tourist. When my gaze fell on it, the bird held motionless for a moment. It gave me a sidelong glare, as if I had interrupted its visit to its albino relatives and I was the one who didn't belong.

Maybe the peahen came to check out the albino peacocks every day. I wouldn't know. She treaded around me, behind and to my left, where she had a better view of her caged relatives.

"There are more," said Diane. She saw me and stepped close. "I've seen at least two others."

In fact, there were half a dozen free-roaming peahens. We saw them at a distance, sitting in groups of two or three, or we found them in the underbrush along the paths as we visited the smaller animals like the swimming turtles, poisonous frogs, snakes, fish, salamanders, and axolotl. 

I think it was the first axolotl I've seen in real life.

Volcano Park

Back at the Pana'ewa Zoo, the day had been warm, for December. The sky had been intermittently cloudy and bright. When we drove up to the top of Mount Kīlauea, though, we met a different sort of weather. At this elevation, it was a cold and rainy day. And it was still December, of course.

Normally, people can stand on the edge of the volcano caldera and see across it. On this day, no one could. Sure, we could stand in the wind and rain. But we couldn't see through the swirling mists. The air turned grey and opaque in the distance. 

We could still see a quarter of a mile, maybe. It simply wasn't far enough to do more than make out faint, silver shapes halfway across the caldera. On the national parks app, we saw we had just missed an eruption warning. We'd been lucky in that respect. People had been allowed back in. Also, the steam vents in the caldera were billowing at their fullest and probably their hottest, too. But the wind on the rim gusted at high speeds. It was loud. It blew the rain into people's faces from unexpected directions. It billowed the tourist raincoats, knocked down umbrellas, spat moisture into every sleeve, every cuff, and down the backs of anyone who left part of their neck exposed.

Now, I was unaccountably happy about this. I enjoyed the weather. Yes, it was December. So what? It was Hawai'i. I could have hiked around the mountain for hours. However, I could see everyone else's faces around me. I knew they all were miserable. Adults with children were already cranky, of course. So were their children. So were teenagers. Instagram posters gave the entire world a bitter glare. College students, usually the hardest to faze, gave their friends tired, surly glances. People looked exhausted by the wind and rain. 

After an hour of hiking from place to place around the rim, Diane remarked to me, "I'm not enjoying this as much as I thought I would."

As I've mentioned, I have a great emotional immune system, immune to all sorts of hints. Even I caught this one.

"Let's get to someplace with trees," I suggested. I grabbed the brim of my hat as another gust tried to carry it away.

"Out of the fucking wind."

"Um, yes." Although I liked the wind and enjoyed the sight of tourists in plastic raincoats getting caught in the gale, I knew it wasn't enough to entertain Diane. Even when she cackled as she watched a fashionista in a yellow, see-through raincoat turn the wrong way and explode, suddenly, into a crystal sphere of surprise, it wasn't enough. 

"There have to be better hiking locations somewhere around," she muttered. 

Off we marched, back to the tourist center and back into our car. 

Timing: don't go to Volcano Park at two in the afternoon like we did if you want to see the Lava Tube Caves. We decided the tubes should be our next stop but, alas, we did not make it in. We were not even close to getting a slot. The parking lot had filled to overflowing, probably hours before. Park police were shooing drivers away from trying to find a spot in there. We dutifully moved on. But the site after it was full, too. And the next. Tourists who couldn't get into the lava tubes were settling for the sites close by. We had to keep driving. We couldn't get into the petroglyph sites, either. We looped around for miles. Eventually, between our park map and our sense of where we would find a good hike, we navigated to one of the more remote locations, the Hillina Pali Overlook. Sure enough, we found parking and, not far away, a hiking trail through groves of trees that sheltered us from the wind and rain.

We couldn't stay protected for all the miles, of course. Sometimes we climbed barren slopes of volcanic ash, pumice, and basalt, When we did, though, I still liked being out in the weather. 

"How are we doing for time?" Diane asked at a distant point in the trail. 

"It's pretty late. We'll have to head back soon." We needed to drive back to the city of Hilo. After we returned the rental car, we'd have to hike downhill to the docks and re-board the Zaandam for dinner.

"I think I want to call 'pumpkin.'" This is her short-hand term for, 'the magic of this is wearing off and my enchanted coach is turning back into a pumpkin.' Sometimes, when we're at a party, she'll turn to me, whisper 'pumpkin,' and I'll know it's getting late and she's tired. It works on hikes, too. 
 

Not Even Not Traveling 66: Hawaii - Arriving in San Diego

Flying There and Being There

We planned and packed. We rose before dawn. We slept as we flew. Suddenly we were in San Diego and I was talking about computers with our Turkish-American immigrant Uber driver.

It turned out he had written a program to places calls for the Uber / San Diego Airport waiting list. After months of trouble-shooting, he got his hardware and software right. He started getting the best possible spot in the Uber ride list. Other drivers noticed. They wanted in. Now he offers his software as a paid service. The other drivers pony up to get the best spots in the Uber ride list for the airport. So we talked about his software for a while but also hardware. I asked questions about his design and I agreed he had implemented the failover correctly. I couldn't validate the load balancing just by his description but I had to say his app performance sounded like he'd done things right. (Also, I made sure he said he had offline backups and he'd tested them.)

Now our Uber driver was getting his main income from his app. His driving had become his side gig. It was very cool. His scheduler could probably expand more. Due to the way scheduling is different in different airports, he would need a server pair per area but still, that would be fun.

He's got an active mirror, a backup, and he's keeping up with the increased load of his customer base. He's doing it all with homegrown equipment. Also, he was a fun driver.

Segway Tour of San Diego

At our hotel, we checked in early. The staff was nice. We wanted to drop our bags and bolt. We didn't have much time in San Diego and Diane wanted to see as much as she could. She had scheduled a full afternoon of tours. First came our segway ride.

Amy was the tour guide. She's a Navy vet who spent most of her military tour in San Diego. She mustered out in the city. Now she proved able to tell us about the history of San Diego, how the harbor was discovered and named twice by different explorers; how the downtown was a scrub-brush desert; and how none of the plants we saw were local. The last part shocked me a little. San Diego looks lush. Every tree and flower was deliberately imported.

Opinion: Balboa Park was the best part of the tour. We entered over the Cabrillo Bridge, a narrow two-lane road that's more friendly to pedestrians than cars. Inside, we got to see how the park hosts museums, theatres, gardens, biking trails, and of course the San Diego Zoo, the most popular zoo in the country. One of the museums, in there is the Comic-Con Museum. (We did not drive into that one on our segways.) Balboa hosts the San Diego Air & Space Museum, Automotive Museum, History Center, a Model Railroad Museum, the San Diego Museum of Art, and the San Diego Natural History Museum. You could spend a week just visiting the park.

A woman named Kate Sessions started the park, at least according to Amy. Sessions gave her plant nursery to the city, then she donated trees and exotic flowers every year. She's responsible for a lot of the plant life in San Diego. In 1915 and in 1935, the park hosted International Expos; some of the park architecture comes out of the preparation efforts of those. Then in World War II, the U.S. Navy took over the park and made it into a training ground and barracks. (They gave it back.) This is an intensely varied and worthwhile place.

Kayaking Tour of La Jolla

We discovered a few hidden factors involved in a kayaking trip in La Jolla in December.

• It's chilly (see: December)
• The previous kayakers complained to our faces about not having wetsuits
• The tour guides all had wet suits
• And we could rent wet suits

So we rented them. More properly dressed than I'd planned, I pushed-launched our two-person kayak into the waves. I had help from Tumas, our guide. Tumas hailed from Toronto, he said, not San Diego. He had gone to school in the U.S. and decided to get his green card so he could settle in the United States.

Diane and I paddled out into the deeps. Tumas promptly steered his kayak to stay in position between us and the shore. Apparently, most of the problems on the tour have come from kayakers straying too near the rocks.

Tumas pointed out leopard sharks beneath us but, to be honest, I only saw a few ripples and flitting, darkish shapes. Instead, I spotted bright orange fish around us. Those were garibaldi. They didn't dart around. They hung out and nibbled on rocks like stoners nibbling on crumbs from the couch, unwilling to move.

We were the only ones moving (except for another ripple that Tumas said was a seal). The main site we wanted to see in at La Jolla was a series of caves below the cliffs along the shore. The sun was already low. We wanted to get into the caves before it got dark. We weren't allowed to bring cameras in the kayak but trust me when I say the caves were, well, okay. Not breath-taking. Not astounding. They're nice if you like weird light and seaweed. And history. During prohibition, gangsters used the caves for smuggling barrels of alcohol, which they brought in on rowboats.

Back outside the caves, we saw a cloud of diving birds. They had formed a hunting flock, which our guide called a 'kettle.' The kettle consisted of cormorants, pelicans, and a few seagulls teaming up to pick off individual fish from a school in the shallows. The cormorants and pelicans seemed to be having success.

Then at my request, we kayaked southward toward a roost of sea lions. We could see thirty of them. Close on the north side, we saw a couple males threatening each other. Males weigh maybe 1200 to 1400 pounds. They are loud and territorial. They establish their positions on the rocks; a few females join; and that's their social order. Trouble starts when a male encroaches on another's territory.

Two of the males were mad. Our guide moved his kayak between them. The biggest sea lion howled. He swam toward Tumas's kayak. He picked up speed for a charge. Then he dove under the water. A minute later, he popped up somewhere else.

"They're pretty cool, aren't they?" said Tumas.

"Yes." That's why I wanted to get close. I wouldn't have gotten between them, though.

"Notice they don't eat the garibaldi?"

"Yeah. Why not?"

"Garibaldi don't poop like other fish. They excrete waste through their skin."

I thought about it for a second and said, "They must taste terrible."

"Yeah!" He smiled at the thought.

Not Even Not Traveling 65: Hawaii - Diving in Molokini

Our Snorkeling Excursion

It was Christmas Day. The tour owner himself was driving the boat. He let a lot of his staff take the holiday off and now he was captain. He seemed to be having fun with it. He punched the throttle. His big, ninety-capacity boat hit the waves like a jet ski. Diane leaned close and told me it reminded her of a kids-only roller coaster she rode as a child in Hershey park.

We noticed whale tail fins to the port (left) side, far away.

Then the boat turned. We gave each other looks of surprise. The vessel spun completely around. This wasn’t supposed to happen. One of the crew approached us.

“We forgot the food,” she whispered. It turned out the captain hadn't waited at the dock for the catered food to arrive. And it was a tour requirement. So he seemed out of practice at being the captain. 

When we got back on the correct course, the owner kicked the engine up another notch. Diane and I stood at the front, bouncing, and watched the ocean and the shorelines. Our ship was turning towards a small island. After a while, a single flying animal popped out of the sea to our left. It glided for a while, not really flapping. Then folded its wings and popped back into the sea.

“Was that a flying fish all alone?” I asked. The alone part was what surprised me most.

“Yes,” said Diane.

We looked for another but never saw one.

In time, our ship slowed and approached a cove on the northwest shore of the island. Another tour group had set anchor in the cove, too. 

Coral Hygiene

"This is a protected marine habitat," the captain warned over the loudspeaker. He started describing the fines we would pay for touching the fish, going ashore on the beach, and a list of other impermissible activities, each of which would result in the sort of fines that would wreck a small country's defense budget. I listened with a smile because I knew, for each rule, someone had decided, "I'll bet I can ride a sea turtle with a horse harness" or something and now that’s why we have the rule. People are amazing.

Now, since I have facial hair, I had to use vaseline to get a good mask seal as we suited up. It gave me the dignified appearance of a man who just head-butted a petroleum jelly monster but hey, it did the job. I mean, for the first time in my life, my diving mask didn't leak. In the water, I dove down to test it. Still no leak. We paddled toward what looked like the prime spot. Everything was perfect. I could see fish forty feet down to the bottom. Then thirty, then twenty. We stopped and paddled in circles. 

Now, these first ten minutes were what Diane later described as "bad." She was hyperventilating. Between the cold of the water and the weirdness of breathing through a tube, her body was trying too hard. She was convinced she would never want to go snorkeling again and she was probably composing a one-star review for it, mentally. I experienced something similar. I kept tasting salt water no matter how hard I clamped down on the mouthpiece of my snorkel. As I relaxed and paid attention to the fish beneath me, though, the seal of my lips around the mouthpiece improved. Everything started to feel natural. Breathing was never difficult again, the entire day.

So my first-time snorkeling advice is: give yourself a couple minutes to adjust. We both got comfortable.

After our adjustment period, the snorkeling experience was great. We were looking down on a coral reef and a range of fish I've only have seen in aquariums before. They included a few slender, bottle-nosed specimens I'd never seen anywhere. One of them was long and thin and silvery blue. It blended with the seafloor so well, it was difficult to make out. When I pointed it out, Diane had a hard time understanding there was a fish. 

But soon enough, we were pointing out weird fish to each other more or less constantly.

Half an hour later, the captain rang a bell to call us back to the boat. He was ready to take us to our next snorkeling site, informally called "turtle town." 

Swimming with Yertle

When we got in at the turtle site, though, we saw forty feet down to blank, blue nothingness. We maneuvered. We tried to find interesting fish and underwater alcoves. In theory, we were swimming with turtles. But we weren't. We didn't see any. 

Eventually, I noticed a rock moving far away. I realized the rock had flippers. After I watched it move for a while, I went and got Diane. I pointed it out to her in the same manner she and I had pointed out fish before. It took a while for her to see it. After she started tracking the animal, we swam together above it for twenty minutes.

By the end of our dive time, we had gathered a group of five, all tracking the turtle. As I started looking around the ocean bottom a little farther, trying to find more to track, I got separated from the group. Basically, I got lost. I figured that if I found the turtle again, I'd find my group. So I paddled in a big circle until I found a turtle moving pretty far beneath me in the near-dark of the sea. When I looked around, I found no other swimmers nearby. That was weird. I tracked the turtle for a while, convinced the other snorkelers would show up. I kept looking but I never found any people. So I swam away from the turtle, back toward the distant boat. In a minute, I found my group. They were tracking the original turtle, which I had lost. So I must have found a different, smaller turtle. 

I paddled around with the larger group for a while. The captain blew the "all back" horn. We clambered aboard, divested ourselves of the diving equipment, and took our seats. The boat bounced. Around me, people ate from the food supplies from the tour buffet.

Hawaii Whale-0

Next, the captain took us to where he had noticed a whale surfacing in the distance. I’m good at spotting whales even in whitecapped seas, or so I assumed after the one time I did it, so I got up when I heard the news. I marched to the prow of the boat to look. At first, I noticed nothing important. I know the spout plumes move differently, at least to my sense of motion, than the regular, white, ocean spray. After about a minute, I saw one, a plume twice as tall as the waves. 

I pointed. Everyone around me turned their heads too late. There was nothing for them to see. In a minute, I noticed another plume. I pointed. 

"He probably is seeing them," my wife said in support of my phantom ability. Our fellow passengers weren't sure. They shook their heads. An Australian lady sidled up next to me.

"Are you really seeing them?" she asked.

"Yes."

"I love whale watching," she told me. She described the one other time she had gone to see them on a cruise off the coast near Perth. After six hours, she finally glimpsed one. She'd been thrilled. Now, I thought, we were seeing three sets of plumes, so I mentioned it.

"Seems unbelievable," she said with a smile. When we got close enough, I pointed again and, at last, she saw what I saw. She exclaimed, "Oh, it's lovely!"

After they heard her remark, a few other ladies came to join us. Soon the other passengers started to see the plumes, too. They swarmed to the decks of the boat, every corner and cranny. We listened to the captain, clearly a veteran of this sort of event, as he described what we should look for. He said we were pulling up beside a mother and her calf.

I wondered where the third whale had gone. From the timing of the plumes, I was pretty sure I'd seen one, but it had disappeared before the boat drew close. Meanwhile, from the bridge, the captain kept up his narration. He kept saying this was a mother and calf but, if so, the calf was mostly grown. These were both large humpbacks. We kept watching them for ages. They kept surfacing. The Australian lady was clasped her hands and sometimes, clapped. 

Finally, I remembered my camera. Since it was really my phone, I hadn't been able to take it snorkeling for pictures of fish or turtles. I could use it now, though. I headed down below decks. Despite the wall of glass windows there with great views of the whales, the space was deserted. Amused, I dug through my bag. 

“A breach!” The captain shouted in surprise.

Whoops. I ran to one of the windows, phone in hand. Sure enough, I saw a whale come down in a terrific splash. It had not done a belly flop so much as a back flop. The creature had turned while in the air. A moment later, the second whale rose up.

"Another breach!" yelled the captain. "Two! Very rare!"

We stared as the pair of whales seemed to play. For a minute, they swam near the surface. The ocean roiled.

"Another!" he shouted. Sure enough, the slightly-smaller whale leaped out of the water again. It twisted and fell with a mighty, booming splash. 

For a few minutes, the whales settled down to a routine of skimming under the waves and surfacing from time to time, usually together. They were a synchronized swimming team. After I took a few photos and videos, I meandered back up to the fore deck.

"Did you see the breaches?" Diane asked. She shielded her eyes from the sun as she turned to me. 

"Oh yeah." I nodded. We pointed at the whales and talked about them for a few minutes. At last, one of them kicked up a tail fin. 

"Uh oh," I mumbled. A moment later, the other whale did the same. 

They were gone. We had spent more than twenty minutes with them, though. And we had been up close. The Australian woman pattered across the deck toward us. Her gestures were wide, her eyes crinkling. She couldn't stop smiling. 
 

Not Even Not Zen 427: Biomythography - Note 138: On Generation X, Part V

On Generation X, Part V

41. AIDS Started an Un-Sexual Revolution

AIDS made for a major difference from the hippie generation. Early in the Generation X college experience, the news services ran stories on herpes transmission. The AIDS crisis was beginning at the same time but no one knew it. Hospitals started to notice a series of mysterious illnesses. After a few years and a lot of suspicions, doctors managed to draw connections between the illnesses. 

Finally, a researcher traced the cause back to a single virus, HIV. Researchers developed a test for HIV. Still, none of this really changed anyone's behavior. The major news organizations treated AIDS with an emotionless sense of remove.

When folks who received blood transfusions started getting AIDS, however, public awareness spiked. Behaviors didn't change but everyone became suspicious of the nation's blood supply. (Regrettably, the news made some people reluctant to give blood.) After a few more years, the World Health Organization started a campaign to raise awareness about AIDS. Eventually, the awareness efforts started to work. Herpes and AIDS hit in the middle of Generation X. If you were on the older side, maybe you got in on a more progressive, forgiving dating culture. If you were on the younger side, though, you might have been scared of sex before you even entered puberty.

42. We Learned Multiculturalism

Multiculturalism promoted the idea that different groups could coexist. It diverged from the melting pot concept in a small but significant way. The melting pot expected us to blend and become roughly the same. The 'salad bowl' approach of multiculturalism expected us to stay different. In it, our American and world sub-cultures could remain distinct while being enjoyed by everyone. That was the idea, anyway.

For me, the movement began with playing cowboys and indians. I know, Gen X childhood came before the official effort to promote multiple cultures. Yet as I was growing up, I noticed with some relief that it was becoming more and more acceptable to play the 'injun' in our pre-adolescent games. Even though the cowboy remained the main hero, the Sioux warrior or Navajo maiden came to be seen as honorable. They got respect. The game changed.

Music came next, I think. Countries that once had been colonized started sending their music back to the colonizers. Fusions took place like ska, afrobeat, and folk punk. Other cultures simply started finding markets in American minds, ears, and hearts for things like Bhangra. In schools, we started to learn literature and history from around the world. 

43. Generation X Grew Up Without Food Delivery 

This seems like an awfully small change. I nearly felt wasn't significant enough to make the list. Still, our generation had a different relationship to food than the ones before or after. Meal delivery, microwave cooking, production monopolies, and distribution systems brought everyone more processed food.

More and more processed. Quicker. Easier. And generally more expensive.

Eating a bag of green beans or boiling some potatoes is still fairly cheap. A lot of Gen X meals from our childhood are affordable although they are not fast. Eating chips from a can is fast but it costs more. Generation X grew up with dinner at home. Most of us had a vegetable, a bit of meat, and a potato on our plate. We were allowed to eat out on special occassions. 

Then came convenience foods. We had TV dinners. We ate fast meals at restaurants. The restaurants themselves got faster and faster. Places started delivering pizzas to our homes. Finally, after the Internet, a flood of deliveries spilled out into the food marketplace. Now there are generations who don't remember when getting a delivery was not an option. There are generations who don't remember cooking without a microwave. 

During my childhood and adolescence, my father spent four or five hours on a Sunday afternoon making spaghetti sauce from scratch. He was right that it was better than anything we can get from a store or from a delivery. It took the whole afternoon, though. It was an era when people devoted more time to cooking and accepted the need to start with raw ingredients. We didn't know it could be different. At the time, it usually couldn't. 

AFTERWORD

There are a few things that certainly qualify as generational differences but I don't consider as defining our generation. 

A. We Learned Cursive

The change in skill doesn't translate to a change in culture. It is cool to be able to read old documents like the Declaration of Independence from a copy of the manuscript. It makes history more personal, more emotionally deep and effective. Still, it doesn't seem significant.

B. We Had Encouragement to Experiment

I'm not convinced this is true. We did have samples of uranium ore in our rock collections. We did have chemistry sets, gunpowder, plywood, and free time. But I'm not convinced parental attitudes (or societal attitudes) were more encouraging. In some ways, they were pretty repressive about free-thinking.

C. We Had the Birth Control Pill

This doesn't make the cut partly because of timing - the pill affected Baby Boomers before Generation X - but also because it did make the cut in this Generation X list, actually. I felt it was a major part of the women's rights movement in the 1970s, so I included it there. 

D. We had Drive-In Movies

Again, this item affected Boomers more. Also, although the American 'car culture' was significant, I think drive-ins were trivial, culturally. 

E. Color Television

This one is timed correctly. But as a generational difference, I don't think color had much effect. I'm willing to listen if anyone thinks they have a convincing argument otherwise.

F. Music Became More Mobile

America progressed from phonographs to LPs, to reel-to-reel, to 8-tracks, to cassette tapes, and to the Walkman and other portable music players. I don't think the technology made for an important societal change, though. In fact, I think it was less significant than putting wheels on luggage.

G. We Remember Luggage Without Wheels

For heaven's sake, it took too long for someone to think of this. But it's still not important. We all have weaker arms and backs, now. (And we probably have fewer injuries.) That's about it.

H. We Remember Blizzards

There are generational differences in weather patterns but they are definitely not universal. They're all local. Changes in snowfall happened for some people in some areas, maybe. But I'm not buying this as a real thing at all, culturally. 

I. Global Warming

Okay, a global warming trend did re-start in the 1970s. Is it any different for Generation X than for other generations? I don't think it is. In fact, you can make a good case it had a bigger effect on Millenials. 

J. Mimeographs

Aside from the various fanzines that got published via mimeographs and early photocopiers, I don't think this type of technology made for a societal effect. Fanzines were cool. There is that. Other generations didn't have that mixed sense of looking up at a magazine rack in a music store and thinking, a) how amatuerish, b) how cool, c) how crazy and determined of someone.

K. Punk

I wanted to include punk music. It defined my tastes and defined some of my friendships. Punk culture departed from hippie attitudes. It began the next generation, musically. But is music by itself enough when we were a "baby bust" compared to the previous generation? Were punk and new wave influential enough? They didn't get the airplay of early rock and roll in the 1960s.

If punk is influential enough, reggae could be, too. And ska, death metal, the 1990s country music revival, grunge, Dr. Demento, and Eric Idle singing "Always Look on the Bright Side." Maybe together, they are. Maybe.

L. We Saw Horror Movies

The gore movies, not the Hitchcock-style films, coincided with our generation. They got popular, so I guess we watched them. Did they make a difference? I don't think so. 

M. We Played Dungeons and Dragons

We learned to play games that were not like bridge, spades, hearts, or canasta. D&D did not pit two players against each other like in chess. It didn't even pit a half-dozen players against each other like in Risk or Diplomacy. D&D let people form teams. It allowed game play without a defined goal.

You made your own goals. And that's something. 

For punk music and D&D, I'm willing to listen if anyone thinks they have a convincing argument they defined Generation X.
 

Not Even Not Zen 426: Biomythography - Note 137: On Generation X, Part IV

Generation X, Part IV

I'm surprised to find so many factors making differences between generations. Understanding them may be a futile pursuit, as my instincts inclined me to believe before I began. Assembling a list of differences, though, highlights how much has changed in America. 

Some of the items in this list are worth books of their own but my reasons for including them are generally cut to a paragraph each. I'm trying to put these elements in roughly chronological order, too. That means I haven't even mentioned the Internet so far. I think I could get to it this time.

31. First, We Were Baby Busters

One day when I was around ten, I reported to work at my childless neighbors, the Vances. I had agreed to do gardening assistance Vance at the rate of one dollar per hour. A magazine, possibly Scientific American, had come out with an issue that declared the end of the Baby Boom generation. It charted birth rates in the United States since World War II. Virginia Vance had been reading the article. She had it in her hand when she answered the door. She flipped open the pages, creased the back, and showed me the chart.

"You're a Baby Buster," she said.

“What’s that?” I hadn’t even broken anything yet.

“It’s what they’re calling you.”

She explained. During World War II, childbirth rates fell. Then men returned from their deployments, couples met and married, and they started families. Birth rates climbed from around 20 per thousand people in 1945 to around 25 per thousand in 1955. Now they had declined to 19 per thousand. I had been born in the decline. Hence, my generation was assigned the name Baby Busters.

Years later, as newspapers and magazines backed away from the term Baby Busters and flailed around for another term like "MTV Generation," "Computer Generation," "Slackers," or "Grunge Generation" the whole concept came to feel fabricated, like something media companies just made up. Only the media seemed to care about it. When they seemed to settle, eventually, on "Generation X," their choice felt like they'd given up. Going with "X" was admitting, essentially, they couldn't think of a name. 

There isn’t one thing that defines Generation X. That’s probably the reason for the naming problem. Instead, as generations do, we endured a collection of changes.

32. We Hung Out at the Mall

After American city downtowns started dying, malls sprang up in their place. Obviously, Generation X couldn't hang out at the soda fountain on Main Street. We could meet at the record store in the mall, though. So we did. The mall was our downtown. 

This aspect of life seems almost embarrassing because meeting spaces don’t seem important. But they are. Malls were not just retail markets. Even now, when a commercial construction firm designs a mall (a rare event these days), they spend time considering how people will meet and relax within the spaces. The point of the designers is to encourage purchases at the shops but that means they want to create a general friendliness for the area. People being social is a societal interest; but it's also a commercial one, especially in America.

33. The Sun Stopped Being Everyone’s Best Friend

As we were growing up, we knew folks who practically worshipped the sun. Maybe we were those folks. 

People tried to tan. They slathered on baby oil. If they lived in the north, they wanted better vitamin D. There were state-sponsored vitamin D health campaigns. For two decades, we nuzzled up to the sunlight. Then the news about the ozone hole came in. We had already started getting unexpected burns. Sunscreen had started to appear on store shelves. 

We found out what chlorofluorocarbons were. We educated ourselves on ozone. It was a strange idea to most of us that we needed to protect ourselves from the sun. What about our vitamin D? 

The ozone layer is partially repaired now, or so atmospheric scientists say, but it likely will never be fixed completely.

34. Enshittification Picked Up Its Pace

This trend has gone by other names. In the 1950s, construction companies learned to use sub-standard materials. If you look at the attic of a 1920s house in Maryland you'll see six by six cedar joists and beams. Cedar resists rot and it's strong. It's stronger than necessary, in fact. A house builder doesn't want a house to last a hundred years; they need it to last a few years past the sale. Ideally, the building shouldn't fall down in an earthquake, as well. 

American companies modeled their businesses on corner-cutting during manufacturing and planned obsolescence. Appliances should break in a few years; that's the basic model. Printer cartridges follow the model. Blenders, too. Washing machines. Plus, companies bought into cutting quality along with costs. We deregulated airlines to make flights cheaper and worse - as bad as people could tolerate. Commercials increased their bite of our time. By the 2000s, commercial breaks that were once 8-10 minutes per hour expanded to 15-20 minutes. Food ingredients cheapened, led by fast food chains. Meat quality decreased. Fillers increased. Shrinkflation began. 

Social media shifted from chronological feeds showing what you wanted to see into engagement-maximizing algorithms prioritizing outrage and ads. Software companies shifted from selling software their customers owned into mandatory subscriptions that removed features from cheaper tiers and forced continuous payments for the functionality we all once purchased outright.

35. Unions Faded Away

As we were growing up, American companies moved manufacturing overseas. The move had supply chain repercussions affecting the shape of the world economy. The first consequence was a crippling of American unions.

Unions fought for living wages and basic benefits like healthcare. As their negotiating leverage diminished, Generation X saw the loss of small tokens of workplace respect, usually enshrined in office conditions. Jobs stopped keeping bank schedules and started demanding more free overtime. Workers lost paid lunch hours, then lost paid lunch half-hours, and finally lost smoke breaks. In some cases, the Boomer generation of workers kept their benefits while excluding Generation X and later hires.

We lost our pensions. In fact, we lost the idea of pensions. Companies moved pension funds into stock-based retirement funds. Corporations went from giving some loyalty and expecting strict loyalty in return to saying aloud, “anyone who believes in loyalty is a sucker.” We increased our productivity many times over without the rewards seen in previous generations.

36. Unmentionable Things Became Mentionable

I’m not sure when this took place. Somehow, we transitioned from not talking about poop, pee, sex, medical procedures, death, or the reasoning behind adult decisions (“because I told you”) and we started - this seems entirely due to us making a series of conscious decisions- talking about them. 

We mentioned the unmentionable. We said the word “cancer.” I’m not sure if all the extra talk is good. American Indian men saw talking too much as a sign of thoughtlessness. That view is part of the stoic tradition, too. We had something nice going in our culture with honorable deeds being done quietly and good behavior being taken for granted. We decided to speak more anyway, to make things clear for people who missed nonverbal signals or pretended to miss them. Maybe we will find a balance that gets the advantages of clarity with the comfort of appropriate silence. We don’t seem to be finished with this yet, if such things are ever finished. 

37. We Lost Some Repair Skills 

Every generation loses some. We probably haven’t had good plasterers in this country since the invention of sheet rock. This time we lost abilities related to the wires and tubes in electronics.

The technological revolution brought on by solid state electronics generated devices that were harder to fix. When transistors got carved into the wafers of computer chips, we lost the chance to repair circuits. With the logic of wires and tubes embedded in circuit boards, the best we could do is swap the boards. 

Nowadays with the Right to Repair, Maker Faire and other consumer-rights movements, we may be seeing a return to repair skills but, for a while, we had a generational failure to learn them. Our parents replaced diode tubes in the television. Their skills became irrelevant. Our uncles rewired the copper coil in radios. That trick doesn't apply to modern radios. Maybe even radios no longer apply. We swapped computer components for a while, as a way of repair, but we no longer do even that, very much. 

38. We Made Personal Computers, BBSes, FidoNet, and Internet

Transistors allowed computers to scale down from the size of ENIAC room-fillers to mainframes, then to minicomputers, and eventually to microcomputers, which we usually call personal computers, laptops, desktops, or phones. 

Boomers started the personal computer revolution but Generation X got heavily involved around the time bulletin board systems (BBSes) came around. We played on FidoNet (an early form of cross-country communication by telephone lines), and next the Internet (Usenet, FTP, and Telnet at first but soon the World Wide Web).

The timing of these things meant boomers controlled the underlying infrastructure but Generation X technicians provided the new Internet based services. It’s hard to describe how much this changed daily life; and maybe it’s not necessary. Although this group of technologies defined our generation in many respects, the revolution didn't come during our formative years. We didn't grow up with the Internet. Some of us created it. The rest of it eased into it. 

We all renewed contact with some people who we lost track of after college, high school, or earlier, because we'd made a world where lifelong contact is possible without living in the same small village. 

39. We Were the Last Generation of Newspaper Readers

We grew up with news segregated into topics and accompanied by the Sunday funnies. Sometimes we read articles six pages long. Sometimes they revealed how an aspect of society, say, the children’s court system, worked. 

The publishers and editors were gatekeepers. They affected our basic expectations of the world. But there were laws protecting the diversity of views and ensuring news competition. Our court system violated those principles of competition. Now the presence of monopolies in the market has helped create the sameness of, and the click-bait nature of, the materials we read. 

40. We Were the Last Generation Dependent on Libraries

Libraries are still around. They still assist with research and still act as community meeting spaces. Two of my local town groups meet in the closest library to us. Nevertheless, we've endured amazing differences since the times when libraries hit their peak, maybe in the 1930s. Now we have reference information available through our phones. We've got fairly definitive answers available to us essentially at all times.

We no longer have to rely on the hazy memory of our relatives. We don't have to suspect our uncle just made up an answer. We can ask our phones and find out, well, darn, he was right this time. But look, he was wrong about the previous six things he said. 

In our formative years, sometimes we waited decades for the same revelation.
 

Not Even Not Zen 425: Biomythography - Note 136: On Generation X, Part III

Generation X, Part III

21. Gambling was illegal

"It's just immoral," was a phrase I heard a lot, growing up, about gambling. Legislatures had made nearly every form of gambling illegal because it was so obviously bad. Casinos, for instance, were designed to take money and give nothing in return. Of course they were against the law. Was your neighbor running a lottery? Well, it had ridiculous odds of hundreds to one, so it was also made illegal. Poker games with buddies? Well, playing for chips was okay but you couldn't play for money. That was the moral stance.

Horse racing? Well, it was legal. The inconsistency made adults frown. The stock market? It was also legalized and also frowned upon. Remember the Great Depression? Betting on stocks was immoral even when it was legal, and its immorality had consequences. After the stock crash of 1973, I heard many people say betting on stocks should be illegal.

The proponents of gambling said the moralists were simply being 'puritan,' that a little gambling fun never hurt anyone, and anyway the stock market was doing well again. New Hampshire started a lottery based on horse racing (to make everyone feel nothing much was changing, I suppose). Other states followed, many of them giving even worse odds and with no ties to horse racing. The state governments didn't offer odds of merely hundreds to one but thousands or millions to one. They promised more money for programs people wanted (like senior living homes and neighborhood schools) and the result was what our friends called 'math taxes' - that is, fees imposed on people who couldn't do math and hence played those lotteries.

22. Underage Drinking Started Getting Enforced

In the generations previous to ours, drinking while underage was normal. During Generation X, police started to enforce the laws more. A social movement against liquor got revitalized by Mothers Against Drunk Drivers (MADD), which won quick success and received a parody movement in opposition, Drunks Against Mad Mothers (DAMM). But MADD was not kidding. Their members had lost children to something they felt was preventable. They kept at it. They succeeded in, among other things, raising the drinking age.

As a result, some members of Generation X could drink legally at 18, some at 20, and some at 21. Some folks (like me) got grandfathered in by our home state. Some did not. One of my college friends turned legal at 18, then illegal, then legal at 20, then illegal, then legal again at 21. People had to stop framing the issue in terms of morality because the community morals were so inconsistent. Instead, they discussed drunk driving and road safety. Those issues seemed to win the debate.

Enforcement lagged behind the laws, though, I was able to buy beer and wine when I was 15 years old. No one asked me for identification. By the time I was twenty every place asked for ID.

To be fair, lots of people had been driving drunk, many more than I usually see mentioned. There seems to be some revisionism going on. In a discussion nowadays, a person or two may reluctantly concede that folks drove drunk back when Generation X was growing up. If you ask for specifics, though, hardly anyone admits to driving drunk themselves.

23. Women's Liberation Hit During our Formative Years

I'm going to start off with an achievement that never gets mentioned: mental freedom. Women gained the ability to realize they were not broken or psychopathic. People seem too embarrassed to mention it. In retrospect, it seems too unbelievable to discuss, as well.

In 1973, Trident Press published a book called My Secret Garden by Nancy Friday. At the time, the medical profession treated female sexual fantasies as a sickness. Women could be involuntarily committed to treatment if they admitted to having them. After the fantasies were compiled systematically for discussion, though, psychologists started to back off their preconception of them as abnormal.

My Secret Garden gets sneered at even now. But the book was groundbreaking. It contributed to broader 1970s conversations about female sexuality and helped destigmatize women's sexual thoughts and desires. A lot of people apparently don't count that as any kind of freedom. I disagree because I consider it vital to have real freedom of mind.

More conventionally, our generation got the benefit of sex discrimination getting banned in education. We grew up with girls and boys getting equal(ish) opportunities to take classes and play sports. We benefited from the legalization of abortion, too, and increased access to contraception, which gave women control over their bodies. (These also led to a huge reduction in violent crime starting about fifteen years later.) We had the Equal Pay Act. In 1974, we got the Equal Credit Opportunity Act, which enabled women to obtain credit cards and loans without a male co-signer. In 1978, we got the Pregnancy Discrimination Act, which made it illegal to fire or discriminate against pregnant workers. We got the first battered women's shelters and the first treatment of domestic violence as a systemic issue, not just as a personal one. In short, the United States changed in fundamental ways. Generation X was the first to grow up with the changes.

24. We Were the First Generation Encouraged to Incur Debt

In previous generations, people often didn't carry any debts - because they couldn't.

Loans weren't available to most people except as layaway programs in department stores. Many women couldn't acquire debts at all in their own name. People of color faced similar challenges. Poor white men with the wrong types of job couldn't get loans. On top of everything else that restricted credit, many religions opposed interest charges as usury. When banks eased credit guidance and raised credit card rates, those churches initially tried to shut down MasterCard and Visa. They seem awfully quiet about usury nowadays.

I got my first credit card at J.C. Penny, a store card, when I was fifteen. I had a job, so I was eligible. I got a free plastic cup and pitcher set with my application, too. Two years later, I got my first government-backed loan for college. The terms of my college loans came at a reasonable discount compared to modern loans. When a typical mortgage interest rate was 17%, I paid 8% for college because the government guaranteed it for me. Now, when the mortgage rate is 4%, a student loan is still 8% and that's no longer a good deal.

25. We Had Student Smoking Sections

It's amazing how openly the country surrendered on the subject of child health. Tobacco companies had been fighting for decades to keep people smoking despite the consistent negative results of science research on lung cancer. They had been winning the public battle, too. Of course, we have similar fights going on today over microplastics, pesticides, glyphosates, PFAs, and more. The companies responsible will win for a long time. I don't know if we'll have the equivalent of student smoking sections in public schools on any of those issues, though.

I'm not even certain how official our student smoking sections were. I've never read a book of school rules. What I know is we had outdoor areas the teachers told us were for "only students to smoke." I bought cigarettes so I could go hang out there, where the hardcore smokers, some of them pretty girls, talked endlessly about how terrible a habit it was.

26. We Had Leaded Gasoline

This is a contender for crime of the century, even in a century filled with crime.

In 1921, an engineer for General Motors named Thomas Midgley discovered a compound called “tetraethyl lead” that stopped car engines from shuddering. Midgley led a conglomerate, the Ethyl Corporation, to make leaded gasoline. Cars and generators used his new formula, which caused catastrophic damage to the environment. As one of the effects, our nation saw a widespread cognitive decline. Childhood lead exposure impaired the development of our brains. We got an increase in cardiovascular disease and kidney failures from the lead. Higher exposures gave us elevated rates of psychiatric issues, including depression, anxiety, and neuroticism. In the 1970s, after legal wrangling, we started phasing out leaded gasoline in the United States. In 1996, we banned it outright.

The results of the toxic lead are persistent. It lingers in the atmosphere, so we still breathe it. It's in our dust, soil, and water and it always will be there. We will always be dumber and more neurotic than previous generations. We will always pay higher health care costs due to the lead.

27. We Carried Pocket Knives

At the age of ten, I was, at last, allowed to carry. I had won a Boy Scout pocket knife in a contest. It had a can opener, a blade, a corkscrew (so useful for ten year olds!), an awl, a second blade, and a flathead screwdriver. I carried it everywhere I could for the summer. No marshmallow stick was safe from whittling.

The tool knives were emblematic of a level of trust and responsibility. We absorbed the cultural rules: don't pull it out in a fistfight because it's more honorable to lose the fistfight; no threatening anyone; don't whittle toward your body; don't complain when you whittle toward yourself and get cut; don't unscrew the door jamb just to screw it back in; do unscrew the outlet plate to impress your friend but then, for heaven's sake, put it back.

We had BB guns. We had air pellet guns. We had rolls of gunpowder caps. We had fireworks. We had chemistry sets. Some older teens had hunting guns in their room. A lot of these things went to school. It didn't matter, usually. Because we were trusted.

28. Life Expectancy Was 20 Years Less Than Most of Us Got

“Men live to sixty two,” my science teacher told me in fourth grade. “Women get to sixty-seven. But of course those are only averages.”

“Why do women live longer than men?” I complained.

“I think no one knows.”

In fact the life expectancy calculations kept growing as we aged. Now we have life expectancies of 76 for men and 81 for women. We know more about what those numbers mean, too. We understand the averages are not only a measure of improved cancer treatments (remission for 20 years instead of none) but all other health improvements. We know that testosterone looks implicated in men dying a little earlier. Still, our generation grew up with the expectation that half of us would be dead by now. And it's not as bad as that. Our lingering in this world affects Social Security calculations. It affects decisions about retirement, bucket lists, healthcare, hospice care, and spiritual life in general.

Gen X has more chronic illnesses (like hypertension and diabetes) than the Boomers; we are currently the sandwich generation caring for parents and children both; and we suffer unexpected financial strain from the caring, too.

29. Unions Faded

As we were growing up, American companies moved manufacturing jobs overseas. The move had supply chain consequences affecting the shape of the world economy. The first consequence, though, was a crippling of American unions.

Unions fought for living wages and basic benefits like healthcare. As their negotiating leverage diminished, Generation X saw the loss of small tokens of workplace respect, usually enshrined in better office conditions. Jobs stopped keeping bank schedules. Workers lost paid lunch hours, then lost paid lunch half-hours, and finally lost smoke breaks. In some cases, the Boomer generation of workers kept the benefits while excluding Generation X and other, later hires.

We lost our pensions. In fact, we lost the idea of pensions. Companies moved pension funds into stock-based retirement funds. Corporations went from giving some loyalty and expecting strict loyalty in return to saying aloud, “anyone who believes in loyalty is a sucker.” We increased our productivity many times over but without the rewards seen in previous generations.

30. Healthcare Turned from a Non-Profit Service to a Profit-Making One

One of the worst consequences of this transition was complexity. I know it doesn't get mentioned often but the difficulty of figuring out what your insurance will cover while you're ill or dying is not trivial. Yes, the current system results in huge overhead costs, the largest in the world. It produces weird gaps in insurance coverage. Our system prizes efficiency in service delivery (not billing) over effectiveness. However, what we want most while ill is an effective treatment. But I think complexity is a real killer, sometimes literally.

Lack of transparency is perhaps the next-worst thing. We don't get to read Consumer Reports about the success rates of hospitals, surgeons, specialists, or nursing units. We don't know where the value is for our money and therefore we can't really make cost competition or quality improvements happen.

On the plus side, the American system results in profitable hospitals and good pay for doctors. Those aren't insignificant things. A few countries around the world experience doctor shortages more or less constantly because they don't pay enough to keep them.

Not Even Not Zen 424: Biomythography - Note 135: On Generation X, Part II

Generation X, Part II

11. We were a generation without serious childhood diseases

I had teachers who were partly crippled by polio. Others bore pock marks or scars from past diseases. Those were fairly rare to see but all the older adults I knew saw their friends and family members die around them or dealt with them partly crippled by disease. The younger adults and I did not.

12. We saw vast improvements in dentistry

My grandfather had all his teeth knocked out before he was thirty-five. My father had less than half of his removed. I’ve had only my wisdom teeth taken out. Over three generations, that's pretty good progress.

Once, tooth removal was the standard of care. Then dentists learned to do root canals. They figured out pain management, too. I experienced my first dentistry under the influence of laughing gas. By the time I was eleven, my dentist replaced it with novacaine. By the time I was twenty-four, I got topical novacaine, too.

Braces improved. Once, only the upper classes could get them. Then various stages of the middle class could afford to straighten their teeth. Now we have expanders to wear instead of knocking out teeth. And we have plastic, 'invisible' braces.

13. Some of us got contact lenses

This is one I wouldn’t have noticed myself. In ages past, someone like me would have wondered why a few others were so bad at fighting or sports. Even in more recent generations, sufferers from poor eyesight had to wear glasses. Everyone could see that you couldn't see.

When our generation reached its teen years, contact lenses became available. They made a difference, socially. They still do. In time, if U.S. insurance companies permit it, corrective surgery could replace contact lenses but we are still in a contact lens era.

14. The Cold War defined our expectations and its end confused us

We read popular books about nuclear armaggedon, prepared for atomic attacks, saw movies starring radioactive creatures, and listened to commentators describe the end of life on earth, which was more or less a weekly feature. Families built backyard fallout shelters. The church hosting my scout meetings had their own fallout shelter. Thanks to the Space Race, I learned binary, octal, and hexadecimal math. Children absorbed the stories about sudden annihilation, fighting the commies with lasers, and fighting atomic bomb survivors with rocks. We assumed the existential threat as background noise to our normal childhoods of playing outside, watching television, and going to school.

When leaders declared the Cold War over, it didn't seem believable. After all, the Cold War had justified our formative life decisions. As it turned out, I'd say we were right to be skeptical.

15. We Grew Up Assigned to Tribes

When Generation X was young, we found ourselves assigned to the European tribal labels or to the labels 'African," 'Asian,' or 'Indian,' each treated as a tribe even though the designations didn't make sense. I was assigned to the 'Irish' tribe because of my last name but, like most Americans, I was descended so thoroughly from a mix of everything European (and a little native American), it wouldn't have made sense to assign me Irish even if I'd grown up in Ireland.

As I child, I realized lumping the Chinese and the Japanese together as one label, when they were so different and very often still hated each other, made no sense. It didn't even attempt to make sense. The same went for Indians like the Hopi and Navajo, traditional enemies, or the Lakota and Pawnee. In fact, the term Indian was inaccurate on so many levels, it was weird to have a friend called an Injun in school. But he called himself an Injun, too. And I called myself Irish.

The way these old designations got replaced by newer dividing lines has given me (and perhaps many others in Generation X) a sense of them being arbitrary.

16. We had superstitions

It's hard to describe how pervasive they were. My uncles described the ghosts in their houses. Grown men in the neighborhood dodged black cats. Women inspected dropped items for omens. Seances were forbidden but popular. Tarot cards got banned. Neighbors put up horseshoes over their doors. Friends bought key chains with rabbit's feet at the end. People believed in luck. They believed in it deeply.

We had no easy way to test our superstitions. They ruled a noticeable sliver of society. I think it may have been all the Space Race education and the tireless work of people like Harry Houdini that brought our superstitions under control.

17. We had insects

Nowadays if you drive anywhere on the east coast, your windshield is clear at the end of your journey. 

That wasn't how my mother drove when I was growing up in Maryland. She hit dozens of bugs every trip. Thousands of them, large and small, died on our windshields every year. Then, one year, she noticed we had been hitting fewer bugs. We had been hitting fewer each year for several years, in fact. 

Finally, we stopped hitting them at all. 

18. We had birds

We had flocks of birds crossing the sky, end to end. I haven't seen flocks as large as those in a long time. You can't have flocks of thousands without food to feed them. The food has to include insects. Now we don't have enough insects. Even if the insecticides hadn't killed millions of birds directly, millions would have died anyway once we lost their food source.

19. We had broadcast television

Broadcast television used (and still uses, but on different bandwidth) radio signals to encode audio and video information. When broadcasts were introduced, coupled with the rasterization in cathode ray tube screens that let us see images, they constituted a form of magic. The television antennas picked up the radio signals, the television hardware decoded them, and we saw whatever shows the local broadcast towers were sending. 

"It's on! It's on!" Our parents would yell. And we came running back from the kitchen whenever we heard the call. We were captive to the timing of those broadcasts.

In my area, we got NBC, ABC, CBS, and an independent station on the standard VHF bands. With a switch on our set, we could move to the UHF bands and decode three stations there, as well. Those include an independent broadcast and two PBS stations. During our lifetimes, satellite television and cable television eventually grew into competitors for broadcasts. For our formative years, though, we saw only broadcast TV.

20. We obtained consumer freedom with videotapes

Plenty of people made video recordings of family birthdays and other, personal events. More, though, recorded shows from broadcast TV. Now VCRs gave them the ability to could build show collections. They could binge-watch the shows on their own schedule. They could fast-forward through the commercials, too. Naturally, the television business hated it. 

By law in the United States, videotapes and cassette tapes had to be sold with a fee included to compensate the authors and other copyright holders. The legislators assumed we would be making a copy not otherwise detectable but still covered by copyright law. It was, in their opinion, a special case and not fair use. Other countries enacted similar laws. They allowed creators to make some money based on societal assumptions. Videotape users hardly noticed since the fees were built into the cost of the tapes.

Later, though, the Supreme Court ruled that private tapes were fair use. This effectively eliminated the U.S. based video levies. 

I've never liked the consequences of removing the levies. They were a useful, civil arrangement. Now we have some people who (rightly) feel they should be able to buy something once and own it. What they do with it afterwards, such as copying it to a cassette, is their own business. We also have creators and copyright holders feeling (rightly, again) that people will misuse the ability to make copies. We could have a societal understanding about how to behave - but we have given up having even the hope of one, it seems.
 

Not Even Not Zen 423: Biomythography - Note 134: On Generation X, Part I

On Generation X, Part I

The defining trait of America's Generation X might be the presence of latchkey kids. Immediately preceding the early 1960s, a generation of mothers stayed home. During Generation X, in contrast, many mothers chose to work in offices. Of course, kids had always been a bit 'free range' in times before. Since the end of child labor, parents had told their children to play outside and not come back until dinner. But Generation X was more free than ever. Mothers no longer patrolled their homes or neighborhoods. Professional daycares had not sprung up. Kids had keys to their houses and the freedom (and responsibility) to care for themselves and their friends.

Normally, I don't see meaningful distinctions between generations. That is, I wouldn't try to single out the times in which people grow up any more than their religions or educational levels or economic situations. Those make some sense to talk about, though. Maybe it's worth thinking about whether there genuinely are lessons to learn from our times and places of origin. Occasionally, we might notice something quite serious to a generational difference, such as the Vietnam War, the killings at Kent State, the presence of latchkey children, or the end of the Cold War and the fall of the Berlin Wall.

Here, in roughly a linear order, are factors I think might define Generation X. 

1. We raised ourselves as free range kids

As mentioned above, we went outside wandering, drinking through hoses, and meeting strangers in person. Getting lost and finding our way back were factors of our daily lives. Negotiating with other kids to play games was a regular occurrence.

2. We benefited from a civil rights movement

When I was young, grown-ups in the neighborhood got angry about mixed marriages. To them, that meant between Irish (low white) and Italian (colored). The adults stood in groups, berating those unions and the Catholic churches that permitted them. Once, a blonde woman said, "What about the Lovings?" meaning the couple in Virginia. The rest of the group laughed. A man replied, "That's not really a thing." They didn't consider the civil rights movement to be practical.

But they were wrong. It took a while to prove, but it turned out that treating people with equal dignity and equal rights under the law is, in fact, practical.

3. We witnessed assassinations

For sixty years between the killings of Presidents McKinley and Kennedy, Americans didn’t seem to think about eliminating political leaders. Suddenly, after Kennedy, guns became everyone’s solution to differences of opinion. Someone killed Malcolm X. They got the younger Kennedy. Then Martin Luther King. Someone crippled George Wallace. People kept on trying. They wounded Andy Warhol. They murdered Barbara Colby.

Sometimes, as with the plots against Ford, Carter, and Reagan, the shooters didn’t even seem motivated by politics. They simply had easy access to guns and to famous people. Next, a man shot John Lennon. It wasn’t social commentary. It wasn’t personal. Shootings became a form of expression for frustrated people.

4. We grew up naked or nearly so

This one, more than most, probably depends on local circumstances.

In my childhood, we wore very little during the summer. Running around nude was considered normal for babies. Some of us grew up partly in summer camp barracks. We got naked in locker rooms. These experiences gave us a different attitude towards our bodies. They gave us a different concept of nudity, too, which wasn’t sexualized. I don’t know for sure if it was healthier or not but I suspect it was.

5. We learned through corporal punishment

While some aspects of society re-started with Generation X, like civil rights and assassinations, some ended with our generation, like being free range kids and receiving corporal punishment.

Beating children had been the main way parents modified behavior for millions of years. When my wife wanted us to join the generational trend of seeking alternatives to spankings, I felt we were taking a risk. And we were. But it seemed to pay off. There may be unintended consequences yet from failing to be physical. Raising immoral children doesn't seem to be one of them, though. Our grown kids have good consciences despite a lack of corporal punishment.

6. We made our own meals

They were terrible meals. We made ketchup and cheese sandwiches. We gnawed on warm, mushy apples. We pocketed tangerines and peeled them later, on the playground. Everyone relied on peanut butter and jelly, even the kids who weren’t allowed to spoil their dinner.

I ate hard peaches and crabapples from neighborhood trees. (I threw up, once. You can only eat so many crabapples.) But although most of us didn’t learn much about cooking, we did learn food self-reliance early. There's something to be said for eating plain foods, too. Lots of us were used to doing it.

7. We drew maps

This was a ‘free range’ skill, I suspect. We memorized paths and landmarks. We learned to follow the stream. We buried pirate treasures consisting of our old stuffed animals and cap guns. Then we located the X on our homemade treasure map and dug them up again.

We could glance to the sun and judge our cardinal direction. We knew our mealtimes without a watch. Sometimes we read paper maps. But always, even without them, we found our way home. We found our way around our houses in the dark, too. We hardly thought about it.

8. We didn’t use our safety belts

By the time I was in college, I made a habit of stopping at every car accident I saw to try to help. At an accident in Massachusetts, I met a panicked man marching the other way on the darkened shoulder of the road.

“She’s hanging upside down!” He pointed behind him. I thought he may have been the first bystander on the scene. “I don’t see how we can get her out.”

As I continued, I approached a turned-over sedan. It was resting with its roof on the grass between a guard rail and a strand of trees. Inside, I could see a woman looking anxious. I didn’t see how she could have done this to her car but I didn’t think much more about it, either. Obviously, she had made it happen somehow. I saved most of my amazement for the seatbelt.

It was bewildering that she'd worn one. No one ever did. For Generation X, it wasn't an option in the older cars when we were children. Seat belts came with new models, of course, but no one used them. They weren’t available yet in school buses or public transit. Yet here was a woman who had worn hers and she was lucky, maybe, that she did. She hadn't been thrown when her car turned over. After I talked with her, I realized she was feeling sick from hanging upside down. So there were problems with the system. Still, she decided not to try to get out of the belt until the emergency crew arrived to give us advice.

9. We were the second generation who didn't know where our food was coming from

We mostly didn’t grow up with local butcher shops, vegetable gardens, bakers, fish vendors, fruit stalls, or local specialty stores. They were all fading. Instead, supermarkets popped up to replace them. The supermarkets effectively moved all the little vendors inside and gave them a big, protected place to partially exist.

Thanks to newish methods of freezing and canning, we didn’t have to worry so much about what was in season, either. Instead of meat or vegetables produced locally, we got perishable items from farther away. True, the food we ate got worse and worse. But it happened slowly. We hardly noticed. When we did, not enough of us cared. Perhaps in a few cases, we did care enough (for instance, I heard twenty-five years of complaints about tomatoes), but we discovered we had no power to change the system. Too many people were too willing to buy apples or tomatoes that looked good but tasted terrible. And so our system produced more and more items that looked good but were otherwise  just colored cardboard.

10. Slowly, our rivers stopped catching fire

When I roamed the forests as a seven year old, I came across old tires, broken barrels, washing machines, smashed beer bottles, and abandoned cars. Sometimes I played in the abandoned cars. I found plenty of big trash in Piney Branch Creek. By the time I was eleven, grown-ups had cleaned up the creek. They made the open containers of chemicals disappear. They reduced the open sewage, too.

The Clean Water Act of 1972 regulated industrial pollution and water processing. People took it seriously. It was the law. Besides, we wanted to breathe. We scrubbed industrial smokestacks to clear the air. Governments stopped dumping radioactive waste into oceans and bays. Our cities sent men to gather up the old appliances left in our parks. They even hauled away some of the abandoned cars. We lived our childhoods during this turning point.

Not Even Not Zen 422: Biomythography - Note 133: Superstitions, Part I

Superstitions, Part I

When I was young, adults took their superstitions seriously - even when they said they didn't. Grown men froze when they saw a black cat. They told me they wouldn't cross paths with one even if it meant taking the long way around to where they were going. I don't think anyone does this nowadays but, as a child, I saw it done.

Sometimes my friends' mother would insist I throw a pinch of salt over my left shoulder when I spilled at the table. My friends, when we were looking up at the stars at night, wished upon falling stars with hope for their wishes being granted. We wished again when blowing out our birthday candles.

Men and women looked for omens in the gathering of birds. Adults feared crows so much they would walk away from a gathering of them. Others would exclaim, "Good luck" as they were hiking by my yard, stoop low, and snatch a four-leaf clover from the ground. Even when adults told me they didn't have any fears of magic, they entertained themselves with astrology, Ouija boards, or tarot (although tarot was somewhat openly feared). They expected bad luck when someone broke a mirror. They avoided cracks in the sidewalk for fear of "break your momma's back." They pulled out a keychain and showed everyone the lucky rabbit's foot they had attached.

People still do these things. The difference in how many people and how often has been tremendous. I've only realized it in retrospect, though. 

I used to visit the graveyard next to the house of my parents' friends. It was small and green. The trees around the headstones created a sheltered space to talk and play. I sang there. I whistled. But if an adult heard me making any sort of music, they would tell me to stop, citing the 'bad spirits' I might attract. (It wasn't even a comment on the quality my singing, apparently.)

"Don't open those umbrellas inside!" my grandmother would call from the kitchen to the foyer on a rainy day. "It's bad luck!"

If I started to open mine anyway, an uncle would leap in to intervene and repeat, "Bad luck! Bad luck!"

So I guess we all believed in luck. It was part of the age we lived in, although people's beliefs in the randomness of good fortune weren't consistent. My father scoffed at the idea that umbrellas could influence anything one way or another. He generally disdained superstitions not his own. However, whenever anything bad happened in the family he would mutter, "It comes in threes," meaning our misfortunes. Then he would stew over the problem until he thought of two other recent unlucky events. If he couldn't think of three in total, he would worry for a week or two until something bad happened, which he regarded as a relief.

This is a part of American social life no one talks about, which is the only reason it's worth mentioning. Superstitions were stronger going farther back in time. There were probably more of them, too. I remember a German friend of my parents who saw omens in fallen objects and the shapes they made when they fell. It was a superstition she grew up with. Plenty of people told me about lucky pennies - you have to find them head's up. If you pick up a penny when it's laying head's down, that's bad luck. It's why I decided as a teenager, still somewhat convinced of my bad luck, to pick up all the bad luck pennies I could. That way, no one else had to incur my sorts of misfortunes.

Three years running, my middle brother and I pulled apart the Thanksgiving turkey wishbone and made a wish. Eventually, the honor fell to my middle and youngest brother. (I think my middle brother won pretty much every time. He wasn't lucky so much as strong and smart enough to pick the best side. Luck, after all, favors the strong and the cunning - and the people who don't refuse their luck.)

For a few years, my father told me I had bad luck. (I had broken at least two mirrors although my father politely said he didn't know the reason for my misfortunes.) I possibly started my father's belief in my bad luck by complaining about it. In gumball machines, I would put in my penny and get, too often, no gumball. Then my younger brother would put his in, turn the crank, and get two or three. This sort of thing happened often enough for me to dread it, for my brother to laugh about it, and for my father to halfway believe in our luck situation. My brother and I would switch places in line suddenly, to try to fool the luck. We hardly ever did, it seemed. One time I put in a whole dime to get a Baby Ruth candy bar from a vending machine. Nothing came out. My brother put in his dime and got two candy bars.

For my father, who was watching us, this was a confirmation. He'd seen the bad luck in action too often. On that day, he offered to buy me another candy bar. (He didn't want to take the second candy bar from my brother.)

"I'll put in the dime and pull the lever," he said. "But you don't touch it."

I knew what he meant. My touch might transmit bad luck. Fortunately, luck didn't seem to be something I could give to others like a bad cold. It was mine alone.