Friday, June 24, 2011

The Echo Maker by Richard Powers

When his little Jess was not a month old, he could get her to stick out her tongue just by sticking out his tongue at her. No counting the miracles involved. She had to locate his tongue relative to his body. Then somehow map his parts onto the feel of hers, find and order a tongue she could not even see, could not even know about. And she did all this at the mere sight of him, this infant who had been taught nothing. Where was the end of his self, the start of hers?
The Echo Maker

I've read one other Richard Powers book, Generosity. That wonderful novel wove a plot around genetics and the possibility of a genetic explanation for behavior, a happiness gene in this case. It was a little like the current wave of historical novels where some researcher stumbles across a startling new insight about this or that artist and in the process of uncovering this new "truth" takes the reader on a magical mystery tour through a period of history. The reader ends up entertained and educated to boot and the author ends up making lots of money by cashing in on this trope.

The Echo Maker is in this vein. Thematically it focuses on the idea of Consciousness and Self. What is it that creates our sense of Self and what how is it that we are conscious of Consciousness? Into this rather large idea we have Mark Schluter, a young man from Nebraska who rolls his truck one evening and ends up with a rare mental condition called Capgas Syndrome, a brain trauma that causes an individual to suffer the delusion that many close friends and relatives have been replaced by imposters, even robots.

For instance, Mark is convinced that his sister, who has abandoned her job and her life in Sioux City to nurse her brother back to normality, is in fact an imposter, part of a plot to drive him crazy. As the book progresses, this delusion branches out to include almost the entirety of Mark's encounters with people and places.

Mark's sister Karin writes Gerald Weber, a famous neurologist, for help. Weber flies to Kearney, meets Mark, and decides to use him as grist for yet another formulaic book about brain disorders. It becomes apparent that Weber is more interested in using Mark than helping him. Weber himself, spurred on by the crappy reviews of his most recent publication, begins to suspect the truth about his motives and begins to wonder about the kind of person he is.

Add to this Mark's two typically rowdy Nebraska buddies who he suspects had something to do with the accident. They aren't talking as one ends up going to war in Iraq (this is set during Bush II) and the other ends up in jail.

Meanwhile, Karin seeks consolation with Daniel, Mark's estranged boyhood friend who has become a crusading environmentalist, and with another man, a land developer, who she once worked for and who is currently trying to land a deal for an eco-resort to be built right on the land where thousands of Sandhill Cranes land each year during their migration.

All of these plot elements go through a satisfying, if predictable, denouement.

Above all of this we have the huge symbol of the cranes flying in and out of the picture. The book juxtaposes all of the ruminations about the nature of Self and Consciousness with the instinctually natural patterns of the cranes.

Mark is in a sense right. We are all of us imposters, alien from our former selves constantly constructing new patterns of consciousness, ending up in a kind of limbo, a nothingness, unable to be the naturally magnificent creatures we are.

Behold the lilies of the valley.
Even Solomon in all his glory had not so fine a cloak as these.
They sow not nor do they reap, yet God watches over them.
Are you not worth more than these?

This is a novel well worth reading.


Thursday, June 23, 2011

Food Omnipresent


Katherine here. Food on my mind this time.

I'm trying to shed some pounds and get in shape for an upcoming hiking adventure in the Tetons. I'm always trying to shed some pounds and get in shape for something. That's my life. It involves going to the gym and lifting weights and running and stuff like that. It involves thinking about food and eating better stuff. Mostly it involves discipline and that comes and goes with me.

This morning there was a perfect storm of sorts and the omnipresence of food in my life stopped even me. After lifting for about an hour and then walking the track with J. for two miles, I actually read one of the omnipresent bulletin boards at the Y. The header for this one: Weight Loss.

The juxtaposition of suggestions four and five began this morning's food storm. Suggestion four: Avoid thinking about food. Suggestion five: Begin to think about food in new ways.
I like to follow rules and suggestions unless I feel like breaking them.

I wanted to follow the weight loss suggestions so I showered and dressed in the midst of a conundrum as I tried to avoid thinking about food while trying to think about food in a new way (the bulletin board gave no suggestions about what new ways we should think about food, but I decided I'd try to focus on more fruits and vegetables since that's my usual approach to thinking about food in a new way).

Part of my struggle was complicated because of my workout surroundings. Plastered all over the weight room are posters of the new government replacement for the food pyramid. I'm going to miss the food pyramid. We've been together for years. It never helped me convince my mom that sugar is NOT a required food group, but I always liked the pyramid's symmetry.

The new Plate icon that replaces the pyramid is clear, I suppose, but the fork confuses me. If we're supposed to cut back, why add an eating utensil? This, added to the 30 minute conversation about the number of Weight Watcher points you can eat in pretzels and pizza dough without toppings that J. and I walked in front of on the the Y track, made it a workout where food thoughts were hard to escape.

I get home. There's a massive story about a new food study on the front of The Denver Post. It's long term, from Harvard, and basically says potatoes suck no matter how you fix them, but the most harm comes from eating French fries. Yogurt is awesome. Go figure.

I turn on Wimbledon and settle in to knit a bit and watch tennis between rows. They actually discuss Dojovik's gluten-free diet. They do this for quite a while. I tried hard to think about knitting and tennis and not about food while realizing that gluten-free diets have replaced lactose-intolerant diets in the media conversation. I probably should mention that Jenny Craig and Weight Watcher ads along with numbers of food product ads have buzzed by with a few exceptions. There was the welcome relief of a tasteful pitch for Wimbledon products (the towel looks lovely)and a low-budget local ad for Pyro City in Wyoming where fireworks are available for sheer pennies.

The phone rings and happily it is Franny with happy news. While she and her husband are in California later this summer, they get to eat at Chez Pannisse, meet Alice Waters herself, and tour her garden. Heavy, heavy envy. I tell her I am avoiding thinking about food to keep from begging to go along which would involve a new mortgage at this point in our yearly travels.

On the other hand, she asks for help with a Meadowood reservation. I think The Restaurant at Meadowood may be the best restaurant in the world and I've been to The French Laundry. Anyway, Franny wanted to know if we knew anyb0dy who could help get a reservation at the time she wanted. We know the restaurant manager from our visits, but it's not like we're best friends or anything. I suggested she mention her boss and that might get her more traction than the Starkey name. We'll see. Franny is good at getting what she wants.

So, that's my perfect food storm. I don't know what to do about suggestion number four. Avoid thinking about food. It's impossible. Besides, I have lunch with Alice and dinner to plan.


Sunday, June 19, 2011

On Father's Day


I'm not a big fan of special days. Father's Day. Mother's Day. Birthdays. Even Christmas. They mostly seem like scams to line the pockets of greeting card companies.

This is going to sound really sappy, but my life has been so blessed that everyday seems special. I'm going over to Chris' in a few hours for a Father's Day brunch that I will thoroughly enjoy. Franny wrote a nice thing on her Facebook page honoring me and her about-to-be-a-father husband. Nate will give me a call sometime later today. I appreciate all of those gestures, but if all three of the kids forgot about the day it wouldn't phase me in the least. I don't need to be reminded that I am loved.

I think I have been a good father. My children remain the focal point of my life whether I want them to be or not. When they were young, I loved watching them play soccer, or softball, or rehearse plays, perform in plays, or get newspapers out. I ached for them every time they got disappointed, or whenever a girlfriend or boyfriend did something creepy. I sat beside them in hospital rooms when necessary. I clearly expressed my approval or disapproval whenever appropriate.

None of that has changed. Nothing makes me happier than seeing Chris on stage, or watching Nate's latest film, or listening to the approbation laid on Franny by her White House bosses. Nothing makes me madder then when I see someone in a commercial that Nate should have had, or when I read a nasty review of something Chris has produced ("Office Broadway " comes to mind), or when I hear Franny's tired and frustrated voice after working her 80 hour weeks.

I already have everything I want for Father's Day. I have wonderful memories of both triumph and despair. I have the satisfaction of seeing Nate continuing to work at his art. I have the pride over Franny's remarkable successes. And I have the joy of watching Chris be a great and loving father.

Life is good.

Friday, June 17, 2011

All this and Silver Sneakers too

Two items caught my attention in the Post recently. "Ethanol subsidies survive in Senate" (8A), and "Lamborn says NREL wasn't in his sights" (1B). The first should come as no surprise to anyone. In spite of all the posturing about the need to do something about the deficit and the need to keep everything on the table (everything but higher taxes), the members of the Senate played to their base and voted to keep ethanol subsidies. After all, the Iowa caususes are looming on the horizon. Tom Coburn from Oklahoma, a state safely out of the corn belt, led the effort to get rid of the subsidy. "We continue to spend money we don't have on things we don't need," Coburn declared.

Meanwhile, Chuck Grassley, Coburn's republican colleague from ethanol dependent Iowa, couldn't understand how anyone could "prefer less domestic energy production." All of Grassley's republican friends from all the other corn producing states agreed and voted to kill the resolution.

In fairness, since I wrote this the Senate has passed a reworked version of the bill. That fact does nothing to lessen the hypocrisy of senators in general and bread belt senators in particular.

When these republican senators talk so passionately about the need to get the deficit under control, how am I supposed to take them seriously?

The other item is even more glaring. It seems republican congressman Doug Lamborn recently signed onto a letter asking to stop funding the Energy Efficiency and Renewable Energy folks in Washington, the people who supply 90% of the funding for the National Renewable Energy Lab (NREL) in Golden. However, once he discovered that the NREL employs 2300 people, he has reconsidered. The residual jobs and business opportunities generated by such a place amount to 5500 private and public sector jobs and $700 million to our economy, according to Ed Perlmutter, democratic congressman from Jefferson County.

The letter Lamborn signed said that renewable energy research was a "sinkhole for tax dollars, funding ideologically pleasing projects and commercialization and demonstration programs that are best left to the private sector." The idiocy of that language aside, Lambert regrets the potential impact the loss of funding would have on the local economy. I suspect he also regrets the potential impact his signing will have on his next election.

And what about Mitt Romney? An article in The New Yorker (June 6, 2011) talks about Mitt's dilemma as a republican candidate who ramrodded a Massachusetts health care bill through the state legislature requiring all citizens to purchase insurance. Massachusetts health care was Mitt Romney's greatest political accomplishment right up until the time conservative wingnuts told him it wasn't.

Massachusetts health care as created by Romney and Ted Kennedey relies on private insurance and sets up an exchange for citizens who might need such a marketplace. It will help those who can't afford to buy insurance. It mandates coverage. Sound familiar? In the first edition of Romney's book, No Apology, Romney proudly asserts that the health care model established in Massachusetts could very easily pave the way to universal coverage for the nation. In the second edition that sentiment has been deleted.

So now we have Romney running against his own plan, a plan that was initially heralded by conservative icons like the Heritage Foundation and Newt Gingrich. All those conservative voices have now changed their tune. To use a republican phrase, they have flip-flopped. They now lambaste "Obamacare" for the very same reasons they once praised Romney's accomplishment.

By the way, these same conservative voices (you can add Tim Pawlenty to the list) did the same thing with "cap and trade" as a vehicle for addressing energy needs and climate change. This originally conservative idea has been renounced because Obama has championed it.

How can we hope for anything to get accomplished in a poisonous climate like this?

My daughter has only two more weeks in the White House before she takes some time off to have a baby. I can't wait until her last day with the Obamas because in a sense it will be like my last day. I won't feel the need to read Mike Allen's Playbook every morning. I won't feel the need to read all the nasty things people have said about the Obamas in the last 24 hours. I won't feel like I have to watch The Daily Show unless I want to.

I will go back to being interested in the entire political scene on an intellectual level only. I will once again realize that as long as I think only about myself and my needs, my life will go on pretty much unchanged. Sure, I feel better about the direction of my country with Obama at the helm, but things are still basically the same at 9096 W. Quarto Place as they've always been.

Retirement income? Check.

Health care? Check.

Taxes in line? Check

Safe from illegal immigrants, gay marriage, medical marijuana, and anything else I'm supposed to fear? Check.

I get all this, plus I qualify for the Silver Sneakers program at the Y.

Sunday, June 12, 2011

A Disney Graduation

My kids took me to Disney almost twenty years ago in a kind of reversal of the traditional family approach to theme park vacations. Chevy Chase taking his family across the country on his doomed odyssey to Wally World comes immediately to mind.

I remember Chris greeting us at the gate (yes, there used to be a time pre-9/11 when you could greet your relatives and friends at the gate) with balloons and a sign heralding our arrival at Orlando International. He was so pleased with himself and his family and his plum role at Disney.

It is wonderful watching your children feel successful.

On our second trip it was Nate's turn to be pleased. He had a nice place in an apartment complex with easy access to a barbeque area. He was writing his own material at MGM Studios and was working with a masterful improv comedian named Johnny Sachs. He took us all out to an amazing champagne brunch at the Cyprus and looked so happy when he took the bill over the protestations of his brother. It was a moment I'll always remember.

Our grandson Sage's graduation brought us back to Orlando after fifteen years. His commencement was pretty much like all commencements. The girls were wearing stiletto heels and cocktail dresses. The boys had pastel shirts and matching ties paired with comfortable looking shoes. Many of them pumped their fists after receiving their diplomas. Lots of kids walked across the stage to concentrated cheering coming from various groups of family and friends clumped around the auditorium. Some kids got more than others. Some got none.

I liked the valediction, at least I liked what everyone told me about the valediction, since my tinitis makes hearing in such venues nearly impossible. He started out by thanking four or five teachers by name for inspiring and pushing him. Then he spent the rest of the time basically saying that everything else about education in general and his school in particular sucked. His classmates were content to coast by because they were lazy and their teachers were even lazier. The administration served no useful purpose. No Child Left Behind really meant that No Child Would Stand Out. It was fun to watch the robed faculty squirm in their seats as they were so eloquently berated.

We stayed at The Boardwalk at Disney because it offered the best transportation to Epcot and Hollywood Studios for Kathie's mom. All we had to do was walk down to the dock in front of the hotel and hop a ferry to one of the parks.

The day at Epcot was terrific. Small crowds until close to fireworks time. A relatively cool day. We did the obligatory rides: Spaceship Earth, Captain EO, The Seas. I liked The Land best because of all the hydroponic plants in the experimental food lab.

We had a terrific lunch at Chefs du France in the French section of the World Expo. Later that evening we had dinner at Hacienda in Mexico and were able to watch Illuminations (the nightly fireworks display) through a window.

The day after Sage's graduation we went to Hollywood Studios, where both Nate and Chris used to work. Ruth Ellen loved The Great Movie Ride and the Indiana Jones Stunt Spectacular and liked checking out New York Street. Although we had lunch at The Brown Derby (think Cobb Salad), the heat and the crowds made it not as nice as the day spent at Epcot.

That night Ruth Ellen rested after a tough three days while Kathie and I had a farewell dinner at the bar of The Flying Fish. Spectacular. K. had a dessert of a kind of brownie topped with a jabanero and chocolate ice cream with a bacon and chocolate mousse on the side. The Flying Fish makes it into my personal pantheon of great restaurants and the best thing about it was there wasn't a pair of mouse ears in sight.