Landlocked

The Wehlen band has run into a bit of a vacation snafu. Our boat is undergoing emergency repairs in Corfu; and we are still unsure when or if it will reach us before we have to fly to Berlin (insert sad face). It was nearly impossible to get a hotel room in sweltering Dubrovnik, (we thought we would be on the boat) so we are tucked into the last one around- the Hilton with no access to the sea, but lots of backpackers in the lobby.
What can I say about Dubrovnik? It's almost laughably beautiful and well preserved....from 1205-1358 it was a Venetian colony; from 1358-1808 it was the Republic of Ragusa under the Ottomans. It is best known for an old town surrounded by a huge medieval wall that is so magnificent that the whole place is a UNESCO world heritage sight; and it is where Game of Thrones is filmed. Alas, it is utterly overrun by every single person with two dimes to rub together on this planet.  There are masses of hot tourists pushing their luggage down the street, Japanese under umbrellas, backpackers, ice cream eaters (a name the Wehlens gave them....obviously the lowest of the low), American retirees declaring it the most beautiful place they have ever seen and they should know because at home, they don't mean to brag, they live in a gated community where they "drive around in golf carts. Yes, it's a lot of fun". (actual conversation).
We had a moment last night where we couldn't get out of the old town after dinner. There were so many people coming in and going out, of the medieval gate that there was no movement. The police had to help. Thomas took the photos below-it was actually starting to unnerve me.

Anyway after the Ottomans, Napoleon was here, and built a fort on the mountain (Srdj) behind our hotel. And of course there was the terrible siege of Dubrovnik from October to April 1991 when the Bosnian Serbs attacked the newly independent Croatia, whose port and all its glories they wanted.
We dragged F up to the museum which was surprisingly moving. In rather terrible English, they describe how they never expected to be attacked. They thought no one would bomb a world heritage sight.

F somehow found a tennis center, and has been playing in 100 degree heat (with a nice dash of humidity- Dubrovnik has, I read, a "borderline humid subtropical climate" god help us). In the spirit of air conditioning, Thomas and I headed for the gym which has a very communism meets the Hilton vibe. But it was at this point that I broke down mentally and said I just couldn't- no way no how, risk being killed by a nuclear bomb in this hotel gym. Trump has at least given me that- a genuine embracing of what few moments we have left. So no basement gyms.
In desperation I pointed up hill where a gondola was taking people to a fort. "why don't we walk up there, to the Srdj mountain? We know how to walk up hills." And in a pattern that we see again and again in our marriage, I come up with a wild idea, and the German executes it. T looked up the stats and relayed to me the vertical-in Lech terms. "It's one Oberlech to Kriegerhorn."  Ok that I know, that I can do, that takes me 50 minutes. The one tiny detail I overlooked was the heat and humidity. My God....I can report it was the hottest I have ever been. EVER. I was actually light headed at one point, thinking that this would be a truly ridiculous way to go- keeling over in Dubrovnik. Luckily Thomas had just read an article about ultra marathoners and how little water they actually need. So he didn't bring any; and not did I.
At one point, I Eleanor B W took off my shirt and stumbled up in a jog bra. I actually walked past some of my countrymen who were sitting on the ground. (Obviously I did not stop). Maybe they made it, who knows.

So we have to move hotels- the boat might be here Monday; if so we will jump on for two nights on its way to Split. But we are so sad. When I heard that it was delayed again, I actually got a lump in my throat. I know what you are thinking - get a grip. But I am so very hot; I would like to be taken out to sea now.
Fingers crossed.

Making the crazy sign

Jolly trio  with lobster bibs

Almost done; shirt still on

Arrived safe and sound...

Add caption

Austrian pilots who seemed competent and cheerful....I helped them land as you can see below.
Alas the boat's engine is undergoing unplanned repairs....argh. For now, it's Dubrovnik and all its glories. More soon.

Dubrovnik 

Dark Matter

There is presently a heat wave- known affectionately as 'Lucifer' -hovering over Europe.  Even Thomas' father is starting to talk about global warming, much to Eva's chagrin.  Next thing you know he will be wearing love beads and giving up cake. 

Flying to Dubrovnik tomorrow, to meet up with the boat on Wednesday. Thomas surprised us by hiring a small (presumably cheap) jet to take us because the connections are so complicated. Frederick is delighted, while I am pretending not to panic. It will be three hours with unknown pilots in a plane with an emergency bathroom only. (what's not to like....)

It's been such a lovely month with a rather cheerful teenager. Together, we have accomplished much: 583 backhands,  seven chocolate bunt cakes, and PEA mathematics 400.  Alas I am painfully aware how infrequent these quiet times with F will be in the future; and it's making me rather melancholy. Or maybe it is just due to the large steaks we ate last night. (We are delicate sleepers when faced with dead animals at dinner...lots of dreams about dark water. )

In an attempt to keep up wth the youngster, I am reading Neil DeGrasse Tyson's book "Astro Physics for people in a hurry". It is not an easy read- most of the time I bounce along a bumpy road, waiting for a word I understand (whipped cream density vs that of hot chocolate! Eureka!). Anyway, I recently came upon the section on dark matter.  It seems that 85% (!) of the universe is made of a mysterious substance- a substance that appears to produce gravity, but not interact with the universe in any other normal way- it emits no light or electro magnetic radiation for example. De Grasse Tyson calls it the single greatest mystery in science today.  Last night over steaks and sea air, the Wehlen trio took a stab at solving this, the largest secret in the universe. Thomas speculated it could be dust; Frederick said maybe prehistoric aliens, recognizing the universe was expanding too quickly, stuffed dark matter around to slow it down.

I said maybe dark matter is love- and both of my left brainys laughed.  

But not for very long. xo

Turn, Step, Hit. (Repeat as Needed)

   

The Magnus effect (often called the Magnus force and named after its 1852 discoverer Gustav Magnus) is a lift force of tremendous importance to all athletes who want to bend the flight of a ball.


Thomas recently informed me that by itself wind doesn't make any sound; what we hear is simply the wind hitting objects- our ears, for example. When wind blows against pine trees, you hear a particularly beautiful noise- some have likened it to a violin. I think it sounds very much like a mother soothing her baby.

Whatever the source, I am enjoying the sound of wind against pine from my pink bedroom which is now mercifully cool. As most of you know, Thomas installed something I believe is called "air conditioning" in the bedroom. (I do not ask, because then I will be culpable in a German court of law.) But the nights are much better now.

Our days our filled with the usual surf and chilly water and a ton of tennis on very hot courts. But there is also plenty of physics and math, alas. F signed up for a chunk of work and he is hacking away at it in high spirits. He plows through the math pretty much on his own, but with the physics he needs occasional help. Thomas doesn't skip a beat- (it would be like if someone asked me how many wives Henry the 8th had) he just turns slowly from looking at the British open (god help me during golf season) and says something that sounds like this:

"The derivative of the force times the speed of light minus the square of the sum of the Maxwell.
Don't forget, that q is a constant.".

Then Frederick nods and they go on. I must admit I am impressed at how Thomas' synapses still seem to be firing on all cylinders. (Did he not drink in college?) I know he didn't study...he just went to class. Just sat there got the gist of it and went to play tennis.

    Gravity is what allows the game of tennis to be played. Without gravity, the ball wouldn't come down and bounce in the court after it was hit. A tennis ball is constantly undergoing an acceleration due to the force of gravity. The force of gravity acts downward on the ball, and is perpendicular to the court surface. An equation for the magnitude of the force of gravity on the ball is given by:

F_g=mg

Speaking of tennis, our teachers are one rather handsome former Portuguese champion and a really kind, not as young gentleman slated for hip surgery in a few weeks. It's insane. He is practically crippled, but whacks it back with nary a complain. On the contrary, he is crazy about Thomas- every thing Thomas does is praised and celebrated.  I am not kidding-it's not entirely clear that he knows my name, and we play every day.  The only thing he ever says in reaction to our shots is how wonderfully Thomas plays. I can be flaying around and he will offer nothing more than a detailed analysis of how squash has influenced Thomas' slice. Once he finally directed something at me- and all I heard was "very nice legs".

At which point I sort of rolled my eyes: fine whatever, look it you must, but hurry up about it. 

It was only later that I realized he was talking about Thomas' legs....he was ruminating on how beautiful they were....how beautifully they covered the court. Or maybe he was talking about the looks of them (they aren't half bad), but in any case, he wasn't talking about mine. 

I am going to send him the below photos of Thomas for his scrap book.

    When a tennis racquet hits a tennis ball, the force of the racquet on the ball delivers an impulse to the ball while the ball is in contact with the racquet. The magnitude of the force of the racquet on the ball varies with time, starting low at initial contact, then reaching a maximum when the ball compression and racquet string deformity reaches a maximum, before reducing back to zero as the ball leaves the racquet strings. The Impulse-Momentum Theorem states that \vecJ=\vecp_f-\vecp_i=\Delta \vecp, where J is the impulse on the ball and p is the momentum of the ball. 

pre dinner swim. 

Luis taking a break to attend to Thomas

Physics in pink

In what's left of our spare time, we have tried our hand at a few weighty questions, usually at restaurants. (The Wehlens love to rant in public.)  For example: 

Should we try to contact life in other planets even though it will take 50,000 years perhaps for a response, and the response might be hostile? Stephen Hawking, among others, thinks we should keep quiet. 

Basically we came to the conclusion that it is better to be smarter and dead a little earlier, than dumb and dead anyway.

Or, why do hornets release a pheromone after they die that alerts the other hornets to attack? Is it to dissuade predators? and how does that work with natural selection? wouldn't the dying hornet's ability to release this die with him? (answer:  the pheromone is released to protect the others by letting them know that danger is near. So the genetic advantage is not the releasing of the pheromone, but the ability to smell it.)

The Wehlens left yesterday, and then we got the very sad news about Jim H; so I for one am a little down. Thomas' mother has actually taught me a lot (without knowing it) about how to deal with the rough spots in life. Make tea; serve cake on fine china; work on your backhand volley. Nothing is meaningless. So for God's sake, keep the arms straight and the racket head up for a high ball to the backhand. That's all you can do.

But it's enough.

If a train is going through a tunnel that is half it's size, how close to the speed of light does the train have to be to become invisible to a person watching the tunnel... ?
 Answer: I don't even know if the question is correct. Thomas is in charge of the physics homework. 

PS Introducing a new Blog Segment called "GOOD NEWS FROM NASA" ....today's NYT:

'NASA Denies Trump’s Request to Send Astronauts Past the Moon on New Rocket'

(But keep the super ideas coming DT!! 

Some of you asked for the visual....

I really may have created a monster. The first lesson turned into a surprise interview, with the instructor firing questions at F. "What's your favorite airplane? "; "Are they produced in the US?"; "Which carrier has the largest fleet?".  F passed that test, and then the guy proceeds to try to talk him out of it. "It is a lot of homework. With books and reading and lots of time on a simulator".

Music to his small (ish) ears- so we are back on Friday....Thomas will be at the America's Cup, so I will make the trip out to sunny Novato. Hangers on or flight/pilot enthusiasts welcome! 

You'd better believe they serve margaritas in Novato.

Am I larger than this plane....?

The great and real business of living

“I know words, I have the best words. I have the best, but there is no better word than stupid.”
Donald Trump


I think a moment must be taken to acknowledge the fact that one Frederick Claus August Wehlen, grandson to Charles A. Brigham, has today, completed more time at Phillips Exeter Academy than anyone since his great grandfather, Henry Hanna Brigham. F wanted to know the exact date he passed the mark, and I said we really didn't write down kick out days. He thought we should have- you know, so we could send a card.

The Brigham/Wehlen clan is feeling a bit cocky now, and thus will be sending more kids Exeter's way: more impressionable minds; more cold nights with non huggers and bad food; more dreamers; more chemistry (CMB and F will be in the same AP class next year- you heard me: those two playing together with chemicals); more hockey; more crew: more more more. 

Today is the day Covfefe withdrew from the Paris climate accords. But it also an exquisitely beautiful full circle moment for our family; a quiet redemption; a day that makes us think ghosts just might walk among us.

Oh! It is also National Book Day! And under Trump, learning might be the most subversive, reactionary, revolutionary act you can do. As Phillips said: .."WHEN we reflect upon the grand design of the great Parent of the Universe in the creation of mankind, and the improvements of which the mind is capable, both in knowledge and virtue, as well as upon the prevalence of ignorance and vice, disorder and wickedness, and upon the direct tendency and certain issue of such a course of things, such reflections must occasion in thoughtful minds an earnest solicitude to find the source of those evils and their remedy."

So get on it my thoughtful minded people. Find those sources of evil and their remedy-
won't you?



xx

Before

After

The only autograph in my father's yearbook: "Brig- we never did have our own little celebration, did we? Brick."
Ok first-nice punctuation Brick! in a yearbook, no less! second: that sounds ominous. I don't think Brick was referring to chess.

Ok this makes me laugh so hard! Could you have made this guy up??? Man most likely to have "German" relatives. I didn't say Nazi. You thought it, but I didn't say it.  

Summer soon blog nation!

Prodigal's coming home Thursday. He has been rather emotional about leaving school and friends; while at the same time thrilled to come home. I remember that feeling- that great sweet spot of the bittersweet. 

Frederick said to me the other day: "I just can't believe it is already half over." I told him he should be comforted by the fact that the best was yet to come. Upper and Senior years are so good-all that power, all that confidence. And F said: "I don't know how it could get any better..." (?) 

Ahh how quickly they forget the cold and the boredom and the latin verbs! How quickly they forget how much they needed your texts and care packages. I can't thank you all enough for checking in on him as you did. It wasn't always easy. But something is clearly useful about sticking teenagers together under one roof, with a lot of work and no parents. 

It toughens them up and it softens them. F is mushier now: more outspoken about his fears and joys, more in touch with gratefulness.  

He seems to be in charge of rallying the troops towards shenanigans over at Wentworth. They got busted for one rather complex scheme, but they didn't force F to rat out his cohorts. (He simply told them he "would rather not say" who helped him, and they let it go.) The funny part, and this is what I like about the place, is the dean was so intrigued by the technical aspects of the plan and it's rather decent execution, that he kept bringing the subject back to that. So first he would say: ok this was very bad, you mustn't put an obscene sentence in lights on the rival dorm, Bad. 

But...tell me again, how did you connect the flash light to the lap top? Why did you go with pascal and not perl? interesting....

Thomas volunteered to help him pack up this year - he left this morning; but he is comically nervous about screwing something up. 

You just know the place will be organized beyond anything ever seen in the PEA basement. My strategy for moving out was to befriend the extra large man at Exeter packaging, and catch the early flight the hell out of there. 

Saw the K's last night, and they told me Herney is already gearing up for the Brigham deluge- getting ready to cheer for three grandchildren of his old friend Charlie B. Really it's too much to imagine. 

As you may have heard, I got the bright idea to give Frederick flying lessons for his 16th birthday (anything to keep him out of a car..) and now I am sort of regretting it. First lesson is the day after he gets home. His summer is so busy with a job and test prep and taking a math class he wants to skip, that I sort of felt he needed a little time off of the earth. 

Full report to follow on the (hopefully) friendly skies. 

Clouds pull each other's pants down and laugh.

Hike Wrap Up

Two years ago, one of our hikers weighed 50 pounds more than she does now. She always liked to walk, but she became obsessed after a little contest at her bank in which employees were challenged to log their daily steps over a two month period. So far this contest, she has walked more than a million miles; and that was before she walked to and from Stinson Beach. I'm not kidding- she walked 9 miles more than we did on the way out to the beach (we walked from Sausalito to avoid the noisy bridge), and she walked 25 miles more, when the next morning- she put on her backpack and her gold toed tennis shoes, and walked the hell home.
Thomas looked at her like she was crazy: "You won't be home until 8 pm"
(she walked in her door at 8:01).
I guess you had to be there, but I nearly cried when I saw her on the bridge as we were driving home that evening. Amid the swirling fog and the honking, noisy mess of a Monday, we saw her strolling happily along- looking out to sea. She had been walking for 8.5 hours, with nearly 2 hours to go.

This is a woman who smiled so much as a kid, her parents thought she might be a simpleton. (no joke) But she is also someone with a few incredibly sad stories. The first one was about how her mother died when she was little, and as she told me, the police drove her past her mother's mangled car at the accident scene on their way to identify the body; because in those days, they didn't think of how this might affect a kid. And you all know the incredible story of her dog Bobby- the Albert clone- and the fire that killed her friend who was saving him. When Bobby was on fire he ran through the neighborhood looking for her, leaving little footprints on the places they went together (she was away on business).

I don't know what my point is other than when I saw her on the bridge, it made my heart squeeze. We have all been a little bruised haven't we? It's lovely to see someone who keeps walking.


Finally, she told me this story: she absolutely loves the great blue heron of California; and she bemoaned the fact that she hadn't seen one in a very long time. But after exiting the bridge that night, standing alone along Chrissy Field was the bird in the photo above.: a great blue heron to greet her.
"Wow" I told her. "I just got chills".

And she said: "Yea, but you would think that fucker could have handed me a beer."

Stinson March Photos

"The reason for leaving sometimes is to return. Simply return."

Yrsa Daley-Ward

I'll write the details later...perhaps on this same page; but for now, a few photos for MMB who is bored in an airport. XX

Jim came accessorized with name tag and child's necklace; presumably to make identifying his dead body easier. 

The heaven of the cool quiet redwoods. 

Accidental photo that captures my misery on Coyote ridge

First mile behind us

Thomas carrying two backpacks

Julia 

Crossing a field before hiking up from Pelican Inn to the Dipsea

The Miracle picnic table

Northern California Fog always nearby

I wish I could capture the light in this portion of the Dipsea. ...it is prettier than this. 

First sight of the goal. Our house is at the end of the lagoon in the photo. 

Waiting for pasta to be served. 

Steeling myself for the 50 degree water. Paparazzi took photo from hot tub, capturing my wimpiness. 

"In love with how it happened so far. Even the terrible things. 

Ysra Daley-Ward

The Great Green Hill Far Away

Because It's There....
George Mallory

   From my bedroom window, I can see City Hall, St. Mary's Cathedral, and the docks of Hunter's Point. But the thing that always caught my eye was an incongruous green hill with several trees on top-like hair on a doll that sticks straight up, making it look surprised. I had absolutely no idea what or where this hill was; and it was driving me slightly crazy. Until the obvious hit: I should just walk over and find out.

  Now some of you will ask why I didn't google it. But some of you are not very romantic: because really, what could be finer than a long, slow walk ending in a mystery solved?

  We know a surprising amount of people whose lives were changed, saved actually, by very (very) long walks. A Swiss friend found himself deciding between suicide and walking home from Zurich to Zug- a distance of 30k. I'm not kidding; he told Thomas it was more or less a flip of a coin situation. So rather than kill himself, he did the next closest thing- he turned into a long distance runner. He is now alive and well, with a rather good resting heart beat. Another suffered from debilitating depression after his father died and that's all he does- walk; no meds, just walking. He is this insanely attractive, tortured soul....so totally my type. But he was close to bat shit hanging by a thread crazy, and I mean that as a compliment. At dinner with him, he would focus so hard on what you were saying...as if you were spitting pearls of wisdom and wit. Even when you were talking to someone else, and thought he was too..he would fearlessly interject a little sentence into your conversation: "The capital of Angola is actually Luanda.", and turn his back again. It was intoxicating.
  Of course a man that listens like that is definitely a mutant of some sort, so walk he must. Walking keeps him upright- literally and figuratively; and the pain in his feet eases the pain in his heart.

  Anyway, Thomas accepted my invitation on a Wednesday afternoon without hesitation, even though Thomas "hesitates" at plenty of my invitations. But he rustled up the dog and some water. En route we were sort of giddy. Whenever we lost sight of the hill, we would alternatively laugh and worry (was it a mirage??); then we would cheer when we found it again. Like most distant hills- be they in Tibet or San Francisco-it is farther away then you think, and steeper than you hope. But! But! it was as good a result as I could have hoped for- a secret and a surprise and a Hershey's kiss all together in the palm of your hand. I am tempted to not tell you what it is, but make you walk there yourself. 

   Ok fine...be that way. Below is the map with our route. The hill is called Bernal Hill and for the really lazy among you (you know who you are) here is a section from the website that does a better job describing it than I could. But you really need to walk there. Amy- you could dash over to the Taqueria after! Oh! did I mention there are two enormous grown up swings that fly you out over the city? 

  Anyway, the next time a little green hill beckons you -any green hill-......for God's sake, go. 

  
  Am leaving in a few hours for our walk to Stinson. So excited..The first bruschetta will be served at 5 pm at 307 Seadrift Road. All welcome...well, all who walk there. I will try to post photos along the way-we are taking a slightly longer route: from Sausalito to Pelican Inn, and then to the Dipsea. If you don't hear from us tonight, get some food and wine and come find us.
xx

   

From the Bernal Hill Website. (How I love the person who wrote this-a true romantic) 

  "Bernal Hill provides visitors with a breathtaking 360-degree panorama and clear views of San Francisco Bay, the Golden Gate Bridge, downtown, San Bruno Mountain, and the hills of the East Bay. These windswept slopes are still sunny when Twin Peaks is shrouded in afternoon fog. Red-tailed hawks soar overhead, the breeze sends waves undulating through the native grassland community, and visitors hike around the hill’s peaceful summit to escape from the complexities of urban life. As one of the few remaining natural refuges in San Francisco, Bernal Hill is a special place for the city’s human and wildlife inhabitants.

One of the most dramatic tales of Bernal Hill took place in May of 1876. The Bernal Heights community caught the California gold rush fever after Frenchman Victor Resayre announced his discovery of gold on the Bernal summit, ore that he claimed would fetch $1 million per ton. For several days the hill was the site of extensive mining efforts, until it was revealed that the original discovery consisted of the considerably less valuable quartz.

 Bernal Hill’s steep slopes support a thriving grassland community, suggesting how much of the northern San Francisco peninsula might have looked 250 years ago. In the summer and fall its grasslands are dry and parched, and Bernal appears from a distance to be a tawny, uninhabitable monolith. The native grasses and wildflowers have dropped their seeds, which wait patiently in the soil for the winter rains to awaken them. By early February, the hill is transformed into a palette of brilliant colors as a multitude of native wildflowers bloom, including footsteps of spring, sun cup, blue-eyed grass, checkerbloom, and shooting star. Native purple needlegrass and red fescue blow in waves from the almost constant ocean breeze."

  

Couple more...

Pretty Typical looking housing

Behind me an average day of people dancing on stilts. 

At the Guarida; artistic shot. That stupid skirt is being shortened as we speak! I look like an Amish.