Money, Money, Money

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The O’Jays > Abba, but I digress.

I dig this story, “Gift to help cover tuition for students in lab medicine” for a few reasons. Mostly because the donors wanted to remain anonymous. Such a refreshing choice in this “look at me” day and age. I also like how targeted and thought out the gift is. There will surely be positive ripple effects. And of course, the recipients’ gratitude is heartwarming.

Then there’s this. “Michael and Susan Dell donate $6.25 billion to encourage families to claim ‘Trump Accounts’”. Not anonymous, and a very unfortunate name, but a staggering amount that compensates for both of those things.

Both are interesting in the context of this The Nation pod, “Liberal Philanthropy and the Fight for Democracy“. Sentence-long summary, “As powerbrokers of the elite, liberal philanthropists are averse to challenging ‘the systems that spawned them.'” One does not have to be as far left as the typical The Nation reader/listener to conclude that we’re far too dependent on the capriciousness (and ego) of the oligarchy for the infrastructure and safety nets we desperately need. What we need is the the dependability of a more progressive tax structure.

Yours truly just sold some AAPL purchased in 2011. The initial investment was small, but the shares appreciated over 2,000% in the fourteen years, resulting in a large sum. Which I will now gift to several nonprofits.

In revealing that, I’ve violated my fave philanthropic move, remaining anonymous. And, I’ve also sidestepped considerable capital gain taxes.

I can live with those demerits because I do not aspire to be in any pantheon of modern-day philanthropists. My aim is simpler. It’s to honor the memory of those who’ve been generous with me and to transmute the incredible luck I’ve had as an investor into tangible contributions to the common good.

“Keep Your Hand On That Plough, Hold On”

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Science has no answers for Multiple Systems Atrophy. Some day it will, but until then, I lean heavily on the humanities for sustenance.

Ian McEwan is on my Mount Rushmore of writers. Presently, I’m reading his most recent novel, What We Can Know. The main character is a former academic caring for her husband who is suffering from Alzheimers. I marvel at McEwan’s ability to evoke that world. A hyper creative, all-world imagination that deeply moves me.

Then, a week ago, I stumbled upon a Robert Plant/Saving Grace Tiny Desk concert. Plant’s voice, at 77, is more bluesy and folksy than rock and roll. Major props to him for continuing to create. And for moving me. Deeply.

Lynn’s hearing is about the only thing M.S.A. has spared. So I shared this song with her. All I know to say to her now is, “Keep your hand on that plough, hold on.”

Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, all them prophets dead and gone
Keep your hand on that plough, hold on
Never been to Heaven, but I’ve been told the streets up there are lined with gold
Keep your hand on that plough, hold on

Hold on, hold on
Keep your hand on that plough and hold on

Mary wore three links of chain, every link was Jesus’ name
Keep your hand on that plough and hold on
The only chains that we should stand are the chains of hand in hand
Keep your hand on that plough and hold on

Hold on, hold on
Keep your hand on that plough, hold on
Hold on, hold on
Keep your hand on that plough and hold on

Hold on, hold on
Hold on, hold on
Hold on, hold on
Keep your hand on that plough, hold on

It’s Happened

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A large part of the rationale for the move to the Adult Family Home three months ago was that I could recover, and therefore Lynn and I could heal and get in sync, and spend whatever time is left as positively and peacefully as possible.

I am not in a good place, but a much better one. Way, way less stress. FuFu, Alison, and Jeanette, among many others, have saved me.

As a result, for the last two months, Lynn and I have enjoyed my visits. We look at photo albums. We listen to music. I tell her about my day. We loop the hood.

Most of all, we touch. I hold her hands and massage her calves. She hugs me tightly as if she’s not going to let go. We press our foreheads against each other. I caress her head as she falls asleep. We kiss.

It’s how we communicate.

I’ve never partnered with someone who is dying, so I’m improvising. All the time. What to say?

Last week I kneeled on the floor next to her hospice bed as she cried before napping. I told her I loved her and that she was okay, which of course, was untrue. Then I told her how sorry I was for what she’s experiencing. And that she’s been fighting it every minute she’s been awake for a few years and that was why she was completely exhausted. And that I wanted her to Rest even if that meant being alone. I told her how much I am going to miss her. More tears.

Then I told her she wasn’t alone and wouldn’t be alone. That she is bearing the fruit of having built such a caring and loving family.

We have had a much more intense relationship than you would probably guess. Intensely good most of the time, intensely bad some of the time.

I told her I was skimming an old Apple Note I wrote from when we were in marriage counseling five or six years ago. And how my one regret is all the time we wasted being mad at each other. I asked her to forgive me for being so stubborn and selfish. More tears.

I suspect she wanted to say something similar, but I was okay with her not being able to because I wanted to take most of the responsibility for our epic, sporadic struggles.

Even though we wanted to at times, I told her we never quit, and that was something.

In hindsight, we probably wasted 10% of our time together being too mad at each other to thoughtfully interact. Even though we learned to repair things, 10% of 38 years is almost four years! What we would do to have four years back.

More than Lynn, I accepted that we were never going to coast conflict free like some couples seemingly do. That the heartache was part and parcel of the intense intimacy. Again, in hindsight though, I wish we had far fewer, less intense conflicts. Fewer days where we couldn’t even talk to one another.

My unsolicited advice. Don’t take whatever committed relationships you’re in for granted. Be as proactive as you can. Trust one another enough to talk about what lies below the surface so that resentments don’t build up. Learn to listen and get more comfortable probing your partners’ feelings. If possible, by yourself, or together, enlist the help of a professional to learn to have fewer, less intense conflicts.*

Most of all, don’t assume you have many years and decades left, because you may not.

*LOL, I’m gonna get slammed for that wee bit of hypocrisy. :)

Paragraph To Ponder

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From The New York Times.

Confronted with allegations that they had cheated in a course and fudged their attendance, dozens of undergraduates at the University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign recently sent two professors a mea culpa via email. But, according to the professors, artificial intelligence had written the emails.

Raye For The Win

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Infectious beat. Funny lyrics.

Baby (whoo-hoo), where the hell is my husband? (Whoo-hoo)
What is taking him so long (whoo-hoo) to find me?
Oh, baby, where the hell is my lover?
Getting down with another? (Whoo-hoo, yeah)
Tell him if you see him, baby, if you see him, tell him, tell him
(He should holler)

Why is this beautiful man waiting for me to get old?
Why he already testing my patience?
I only fear he’s taking time with other women that ain’t me
While I’ve been reviewing applications
Wait ’til I get my hands on him, I’ma tell him off too
For how long he kept mе waiting, anticipating
Praying to the Lord to give him to my loving arms
And despite my frustrations

And he must need me (he must need me)
Completely (completely)
How my heart yearns for him
Is he far away? (Is he far away?)
Is he okay? (Is he okay?)
This man is testing me, uh-huh, uh-huh
Uh, help me, help me, help me, Lord
I need you to tell me

Baby (whoo-hoo), where the hell is my husband? (Whoo-hoo)
What is taking him so long (whoo-hoo) to find me?
Oh, baby, where the hell is my lover?
Getting down with another? (Whoo-hoo, yeah)
Tell him if you see him, baby, if you see him, tell him, tell him
(He should holler)

I’m doing lonely acrobatics, unzipping my dress at 2 a.m.
And I’m tired of living like this
He must be out there getting ready, tryna fix up his tie
Uh, huh-huh, uh, hello? This where your wife is
Wait ’til I get your heart going, I’ma turn it up too
For how much I’m ’bout to love ya, no one above ya
Praying to the Lord to hurry, hurry you along
Baby, I intend to rush ya

And he must need me (he must need me)
Completely (completely)
How my heart yearns for him
Is he far away? (Is he far away?)
Is he okay? (Is he okay?)
This man is testing me, uh-huh, uh-huh
Uh, help me, help me, help me, Lord
I need you to tell me

Baby (whoo-hoo), where the hell is my husband? (Whoo-hoo)
What is taking him so long (whoo-hoo) to find me?
Oh, baby, where the hell is my lover?
Getting down with another? (Whoo-hoo, yeah)
Tell him if you see him, baby, if you see him, tell him, tell him
(He should holler)

T-t-t-t-tell him I’m mm, tell him I’m mm with the mm, mm, mm
Tell him I’m kind, tell him I’m 5’5″
Tell him I got brown eyes and a growing fear
That if he doesn’t find me now, I’m gonna die alone, so can he
Uh, uh, uh, uh, uh, hurry up here, sir?
Uh, uh, uh, uh, uh, uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh, huh
I want it, want it, want it, want it, want it

I would like a ring, I would like a ring
I would like a diamond ring on my wedding finger
I would like a big and shiny diamond
That I could wave around and talk and talk about it
And when the day is here, forgive me, God, that I could ever doubt it
Until death, I do, I do, I do, I-
Is he about it, ’bout it, ’bout it?
This man is testing me, uh-huh, uh-huh
Uh, help me, help me, help me, Lord
I need you to tell me

Baby (whoo-hoo), where the hell is my husband? (Whoo-hoo)
What is taking him so long (whoo-hoo) to find me?
Oh, baby, where the hell is my lover?
Getting down with another? (Whoo-hoo, yeah)
Tell him that my grandma said it, tell him grandma said it
(Your husband is coming)

I would like a ring, I would like a ring
I would like a diamond ring on my wedding finger
I would like a big and shiny (ooh) diamond (yes), diamond (yes)
Diamond (yes), diamond (yes), diamond (yes), oh
Where is my husband? (Ah)

Attia’s Blindspot

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Given our deep-seated commitment to fitness, I should be a Peter Attia stan.

No, I’m not a Stanford educated MD, but I know a lot more than him about the fragility of life. At the end of his 60 Minutes profile, he talks about living into his 90s in order to spend meaningful time with his grandchildren. Admirable goal fo sho.

But then he naively explains how he also charts his 75 patients’ lives long into the future. Each of whom pays over $100k for his team’s work up and counsel, but I digress.

Someone has to tell him. And them.

Peter, all our exercise does is improve our odds of living longer better lives, but it doesn’t guarantee shit. There’s still a chance that at some point some of our cells divide uncontrollably, ignoring signals to stop. Or we could get hit by a car while completely exposed in our Zone 2 groove. Or [fill in the blank]. Related. There’s no guarantee your kids will have kids.

Control is a complete illusion.

Granted, no one is going to pay six figures for my advice, but here it is anyways. Focus on your current family not your future one. Live this year like it might be your last. Because it could be.

Paragraph To Pillory

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From the same New York Times article regarding the President’s recent M.R.I. scan.

“’I gave you the full results,’ Mr. Trump said, mischaracterizing the summary that was released by his physician. The summary did not say that Mr. Trump had an M.R.I. scan and had few details on what testing the president had undergone. When asked why he had undergone an M.R.I., the president said, ‘you could ask the doctors.’ Magnetic resonance imaging, a noninvasive technology that creates detailed images of the inside of the body, is often used for disease detection and monitoring, or to detect bone or joint abnormalities.

The only conclusion to draw from this absurd softening of his boldface lie is that the “paper of record” is afraid of the Mad King’s army of lawyers. Which means our democracy is even more imperiled than we realize.

Here’s how it would’ve read in a vibrant democracy. “I gave you the full results,’ Mr. Trump said, blatantly lying about the information that was released by his physician.